Again Clara gazed at the fast fading heights of her beautiful native isle—but with what different feelings; now she had all her family with her, and was leaving none behind; and even if she should be again wrecked, death itself would not be half so awful where they could all die together; and her heart was light and buoyant.
But Francisca, though she endeavored to look cheerful, could not suppress the tears that rose fast and unbidden to her beautiful eyes, and over-running them, would trickle slowly down her cheek.
“What ails you, sister mine?” said Clara. “Are you crying for some gay Habenero you are leaving behind you? Cara mia! dry your eyes! You will find beaux as plenty as stars in the bright land to which we are going! And if you don’t like the Castilians, I will get you a fair, handsome Englishman, like my husband! only not quite so good-looking, when we get to Albion’s Isle!”
This, though said in jest, came near touching the source of Francisca’s tears, though the object was Willis! and not a Havanarian! and she replied, as she brushed away her tears,
“Did you not cry, and feel sad, when you, for the first time, saw the hills of your beloved home sinking from your sight?”
“Oh yes! yes!” answered Clara; “and I wont plague you any, if you promise me not to cry more than an hour!”
Francisca soon dried her eyes, and in the company of her father, sister, and De Vere, in a fine ship, and with a good breeze, she, and all, had every prospect of a speedy and happy voyage to the shores of Spain.
Leaving them to pursue their way, let us once more rejoin the Maraposa, and see the fortunes that befell her in her trial again to make a final voyage to Africa.
——