I turned over and went on with my dream."

"Ah!" he says, making the German words rumble and bristle with emphasis, "I am happy that assurance from me could so calm and comfort you."

"Yes," I say hypocritically, "the effect was magical; but were you frightened?"

"Yes, I admit it. Very much. But not for myself, I hardly need say——"

"What was that I heard about a pistol?" I interrupt, "or did I dream it?" A faint flush passes over the Peruvian's face.

"Did you hear? I was looking to see if it was in order when Madame Steele opened her window. I was waked very suddenly, you see, and my neighbour was shrieking that the boiler had broken and in a moment we would all be in Eternity. I thought of you, Fräulein——"

"In English, please," I say, "I can't follow you in German."

He stops an instant, eying me doubtfully; a moment longer he hesitates, and then, seeing that Mrs. Steele is busily talking of the terrors of the night to a group of passengers, he continues in a lower tone:

"I dthought about you, it is needless dthat I zay. I hurry on mit my long ofercoat and hold mine pistol deep in mine—mine—how you zay?"

"Pocket."

"Yes, in mine pawket, and I come dthree steps by a time up here to your door."

"Heavens!" I say, "did you want to shoot me?"

"No, I vould safe you!"

"What was the pistol for?"

"You zee a Peruvian vill dthink qvick by a time like zo—he vill zay: 'I must safe dthe life of Señorita—dthere vill be boats, but dthere vill be many to crowd in and all vill be lost. So I vill take von leedle boat and I put dtherein Madame Steele and Señorita; if any people try to growd in, I hold dthem back; if any inseest, I shoot dthem dead, and safe Señorita.'"

"Very humane of you.—Señor Noma," I call out suddenly, as that fiery gentleman is passing by, "I want to hear how heroic you were last night."

"Ah, mees," says the Guatemalan deprecatingly, as he stops before us, "I did sit one meeserable quarter-hour by the rail with two life presairvairs and try to raimember one Ave Maria."

Acting on Mrs. Steele's wise suggestion, I keep the Peruvian at bay as much as possible; but this is not so easy as it might seem, and my best safeguard is to stay with Mrs. Steele every moment and insist I understand only English. Baron de Bach observes a day or two after this:

"Señorita's knowledge of French and Jherman ees better zome days dthan odthers. But it ees gude for me that I vill learn spik zo beautiful Eenglish."

"Forgif me, Señorita," he says, beginning afresh after a pause, "but vhat blue eyes you haf!"

"You are colour blind, Baron," observes Mrs. Steele, with a quiet smile. The Peruvian starts slightly. Had he forgotten her?

"Madame——" he begins.

"Hush!" I say, with uplifted finger, "I hear the bells of San Blas."

Mrs. Steele shades her eyes with one little grey-gloved hand, and looks intently towards the undulating outline of the coast. The flood of sunshine that bathes the world is flung back ceaselessly from the shimmering sea, till the poor eyes of mortals are dazed and blinded with the shifting splendour.

Beyond, the rugged coast of misty purple has rest and charm for the dazzled vision. There is a sympathetic interest in Mrs. Steele's beautiful face, and I knew her fancy, like my own, had restored the ancient Jesuit mission to the far-off headland, and the legend of consecrated bells—that still ring out from a tower long since crumbled—is fresh and vivid in her memory.

"I really believe I hear the bells, don't you, Mrs. Steele?" She puts the grey-gloved hand over her eyes as if she were tired.

"I could hear them, dear, if I were twenty."

"Vhat bells ees dthat?" The Peruvian turns away his fine head to listen. "I hear nodthing."

"You are the only one that hears them, Blanche; tell us what they say."

"Even Longfellow can't do that," I answer, "and his sense was so acute and fine he heard them half across the world."

I look out to the misty coast line and repeat:

"Ah, vas I not right, Madame Steele? I vill learn zo beautiful Eenglish on dthis voyage.">

CHAPTER II

MY INTERPRETER AT MAZATLAN

n the fifth day out from San Francisco we make the harbour of Mazatlan, on the Mexican coast. The courtesy of the Captain secures us a good view from "the bridge" as we approach our first port. A great white rock juts up in the bay like a fragment of some Titan's fortress; a lighthouse stares out to sea from a cliff at the harbour's entrance; the tall cocoa palms wave their fern leaves in the blinding sunshine, and red-roofed houses huddle below the dome of the Cathedral rising white above the town.

The harbour soon swarms with the countless boats of the natives coming with fruit and wares to sell or hoping to earn a few reales by rowing the curious to the wharf.

Señor Noma engages the largest of these boats and invites as many as it will hold to go ashore with him. He helps in Mrs. Steele, Baron de Bach brings me, and we are soon followed by Captain Ball and his wife, and Miss Rogers, a pretty girl with her photographic camera and her mamma, who is an Episcopal clergyman's wife, and so proud of the circumstance that the gentlemen have dubbed her "The Church of England."

The Mexican oarsmen make one think of comic opera brigands, except that they look rather dirtier and their speech is music without song. We land at a rude wharf in the low sea wall and pass through groups of dark-skinned natives who eye us with sleepy interest. Through narrow streets we troop one after another towards the heart of Mazatlan.

It is oppressively warm, and Captain Ball begs us all to come into a restaurant and get some cooling drink. Mrs. Steele and I have limes and Apollinaris, while Señor Noma, true to his red-hot appetite, tosses off a glass of mezcal, the fire-water of the Mexicans, the most scorching beverage ever concocted.

"How would you like a true Megsican dinair, Mees?" says Señor Noma, blinking a little as the liquid fire pours down his throat. "It ees not bad."

"I should fancy it might be very interesting," I say.

"Well, then, if Madama Steele and the ladies and zhentlemen present will do me so