“And the poor Captain Greaves—had he a share!”
“A big share.”
“It will go to his mother?”
“He had no relations. It will go to his Church.”
Her eyes sparkled. “My Church!” she cried, pressing her forefinger to her breast.
“Mine,” said I, imitating her action with my forefinger.
She shrugged her shoulders, looked at me fixedly, smiled, and gave me several nods in the foreign fashion.
I felt no reluctance in talking to her about the treasure. Indeed, I had never sympathized with Greaves’ nervous caution in this way. It was not as if he and I alone had possessed the secret of the dollars: all hands knew there were fifteen tons of minted silver in the lazarette. What on earth was the use of concealing the fact from this Spanish lady, as if she only of all the souls on board the brig was to be feared by and by as the intelligencer?
I was in high spirits that day: the sunshine in the heavens was upon my heart; I enjoyed the company of the handsome lady; I found a growing and a deepening pleasure in viewing her when she talked; I delighted in the music that her voice gave to her English. All was well and we were homeward bound. I had a mind to talk of my dollars and my prospects, and whether she guessed my wish or not she helped me to the subject by asking me how much my share would amount to.
“Many figures in dollars,” said I, “and in British gold just a little fat figure.”