CHAPTER VII.
DON LAZARILLO LEAVES US.
I went out, closing the door behind me, and called to Butler through the skylight to send the negro boy to me. The lad arrived, and I bade him prepare a tray of refreshments for Miss Noble.
"How does the poor lady do, sir?" said Trapp, who sat in a chair looking on while I got upon the table and called.
"She is sound asleep," said I. "So much the better. You can go forward and get your supper. I'll keep a look-out here for the present."
He went away, and presently the boy Tom arrived with the tray, on which he had heaped some cold ham, fruit, jelly from a bottle, and so forth. I poured some wine into a tumbler, and softly entering the lady's berth placed the tray beside her on the deck, where, should the schooner begin to frisk, it would slide without capsizing. I supposed that all this while Don Lazarillo was in his own cabin gnawing, as his trick was, upon his finger-ends while he reflected upon the proposals he was presently to submit. My thoughts went from him to his dead friend, and I stepped to the berth where the body lay to look at it.
On opening the door I beheld Don Lazarillo on his knees at the side of the bunk in which reposed the body of Don Christoval. His hands were clasped, his eyes were upturned, and, though his accents were inaudible outside the door, he prayed with so much fervor as to be for some moments insensible of my presence. Then bringing his flashing eyes from the upper deck he directed them at me, made the sign of the cross upon his breast, rose to his feet, made the sign of the cross upon the face of the dead body, on whose breast he had laid a crucifix, and then looked at me.
I went to the side of the bunk and stood for a few moments gazing at the pale, still, serene, most handsome face of the dead.
"When ees he to bury?" said Don Lazarillo.
"To-night," said I.
"He is Catolique," he exclaimed.