“Time’s up, my boy, eh?” said he, with a cavernous yawn. “I should have liked another hour of it, but it can’t be helped,” (preparing to turn out).
“I didn’t want to spoil your rest last night,” said Owen, seating himself on the edge of the bed, “so I said nothing about a mishap that has occurred. That smuggling villain, Francisco, took advantage of our absence to fetch a contraband cargo in the boat from Gibraltar, and has been caught in attempting to run it here.”
“God bless me,” said my grandfather, “who would have thought it!—and he such a capital cook! But what’s to be done? where’s the boat?”
“The boat is, for the present, confiscated,” said Garry; “but I daresay the Governor would let us have it in the morning, on explaining, and would perhaps release Francisco, with the loss of his cargo; but—but—in fact, Major, I don’t want the Governor to know anything about our departure.”
My grandfather stared at him, awaiting further explanation.
“Juana looked pale last night,” said the Ensign after a pause.
The Major did not dispute the fact, though he could not, for the life of him, see what the state of Juana’s complexion had to do with the subject.
“She never liked that dingy Spanish lover of hers,” said the Ensign, “and her father intends she shall marry him in a month. ’Twould make her miserable for life.”
“Dear me,” said my grandfather, “how do you know that?”
“She told me so. You see,” said Owen, shading the candle with his hand, so that my grandfather couldn’t see his face, and speaking hurriedly, “I didn’t intend we should start alone—in fact—that is—Juana has agreed to fly with me to Gibraltar.”