title="[16]"/> first intercourse with a Spanish-speaking race, by their invincible habit of paying compliments, and yet their inability to convince even an unsophisticated person like myself that they meant one word they were saying.

The afternoon I devote to Mrs. Steele in our airy, pleasant stateroom. She is not exactly ill, but wants to lie down and to be read to. So we begin the "Conquest of Mexico." Towards evening I emerge from retirement, and Baron de Bach drops from somewhere at my side.

"Gude-efening, Mademoiselle. You haf us long deserted."

I explain that my friend is not well.

"But she vill make you ill vhen you stay inside. I vill tell her."

"In French it may be safe, but don't attempt it in English."

He looks mystified.

"Pardon, Mademoiselle, you look efer as if you laugh at me, but I am not sure."

"No, it's only my natural buoyancy that gives me a smiling aspect," and I turn the conversation to Mexico. "We shall go ashore at Mazatlan and dine at a native hotel and see the people."

"May I accompany you?" says the Baron.

"Mrs. Steele makes all the arrangements; you must see her about that."

"Ah, but you spik not Spanish, and you must haf intairpretair. Madame Steele!" he says, as my friend appears, looking refreshed from her long rest, "desire you not an intairpretair at Mazatlan, or spik you Spanish?"

Mrs. Steele does not "spik Spanish," and accepts his offices. In some way the Peruvian has secured the confidence and goodwill of my friend in a very brief acquaintance. He is decidedly agreeable, but his slight knowledge of English puts him at constant and amusing disadvantage.

The next evening as we stand at the vessel's side, watching the marvellous display of phosphorescence that plays about the prow of the San Miguel, Mrs. Steele is joined by Señor Noma, and the Baron urges me to come a little further away from the light—"ve can see dthe yelly fishes viel besser." I move away unsuspectingly out of the shine of the ship's lanterns, and the Baron, folding his arms on the railing beside me, begins quite low to recite a Spanish sonnet, liquid, musical, impassioned. I look out over the waters well-named Pacific, and yield my luxurious sense a moment to the charm of the dusky beauty stretching away endless in the night, listening half in a dream to the lapping of the weirdly lit water against the side of the San Miguel, and to the sweet, low music of the Spanish tongue. The spell is broken when the Peruvian begins in a rapid, excited French a sentimental declaration.

"I'm afraid I don't quite follow you," I interrupt. "Are you telling me about jelly fish or the Peruvians?"

"Sacre!..."

A low, repressed volley of Castilian followed by a few words in German.

"Seit jenem Tage wo ich zum ersten Male in deinen schönen Augen geblickt habe, habe ich dich grenzenlos geliebt."

"I'm sorry I can understand nothing but English," I say, turning to see if I can catch a glimpse of Mrs. Steele.

"Señorita!"

The Peruvian holds my finger tips fast to the rail with a hand that trembles a little.

"Señorita, I must gif you anodther proof dthat I am not Jherman, and am unlike your—how you say—practical countrymen. I haf know you two days, yust so long haf I loaf you, and being Peruvian, I must die if I tell you not."

"Blanche, where are you?" It is Mrs. Steele's voice, and I call out:

"Do come here, the jelly fish are simply resplendent on this side."

The Peruvian moves out of range of recognition, into the darkness beyond, while Mrs. Steele joins me on the other side.

"Where is Baron de Bach? I thought he was with you."

"So he was, but he's just gone daft—I mean aft."

"What is the matter?" says my friend; "have you disagreed about something?"

"Yes," I say, "we've disagreed, and he has the best of it, for he can argue his point with four tongues and I've only one."

Mrs. Steele is curious; she slips her arm through mine.

"Has he been overpolite to you, my dear?"

"Mrs. Steele," I say, thoughtfully, "I'm a little amused and still more perplexed by this man. Will you allow me the American girl's privilege of taking care of herself and promise not to interfere if I tell you how matters go?"

"Yes," says Mrs. Steele quickly, "I need no convincing that you can take care of yourself, but I rather like that big Peruvian with all his worldly experience and boyish heart. I hope he hasn't been translating into broken English the eloquence of his face. If you're wise, you'll keep him on friendly ground till near the end of the voyage at least; he will make an agreeable third in our excursions on shore. His knowledge of Spanish and Mexican customs will be useful, but if you allow him to make a goose of himself, there's an end to all friendly intercourse."

She pauses a moment and then adds hopefully:

"But still we've known him only two days; I merely warn you in time for future need."

"It's too late," I say, leaning far over the railing to watch the phosphorescence gleam and darken. "He has just been making furious love in four languages. Let's go in, dear."

That night I wake out of some unpleasant dream to hear Mrs. Steele saying:

"You sleep like the dead; we shall all go to the bottom and you will never find it out till the fish begin to nibble."

I realise sleepily there's a great commotion without; hurried feet fly about the decks; loud orders are shouted under our window, and with a mighty trembling and throbbing, the ship's engine seems to stop suddenly. Mrs. Steele is scrambling into her robe de chambre, and has her head out of the porthole, while I, hardly awake even yet, lean in a bewildered way over the side of my berth to listen.

"What has happened?" Mrs. Steele calls out.

"Man overboard," answers one of the sailors; "we're lowering a boat."

"Dthere ees no fear, Madame," says the Peruvian's voice outside.

I am so sleepy I gladly take his word for it, and am off again to the Land of Nod. Mrs. Steele's voice comes to me from afar off, with some question about a pistol, but the real soon mixes with a dream, and I know no more.

The next morning I hear that for two hours the whole ship was in a commotion. A drunken passenger of the intermediate class had tumbled overboard, been sobered by his bath, and swam valiantly till the ship's engine could be reversed and a boat lowered to his rescue. This occupied so much time that he was sinking from exhaustion when finally the sailors pulled him in. The passengers were in a panic during the outcry and subsequent stoppage of the machinery. Many believed the last hour was at hand, and appeared on deck in ascension robes, and faces by no means expressive of joy at the immediate prospect of Heaven. It was great fun hearing the various experiences at breakfast. Every one had some joke on his neighbour—only the Peruvian was quiet and rather pale. As we sat on deck in the later morning sunshine, he said to me in German:

"You face danger bravely. I heard Madame Steele cry out last night, but no word from you."

"Good reason for that; I was asleep nearly all the time."

"Asleep!" he repeats. "Impossible!"

"But quite true; I only heard you say there was no fear, and then