I suppose, what I demanded of Fate--to be gently wafted into the
position of a hero of romance, without rough hands at my throat. It
is what we all ask, I suppose; and we get it sometimes in ten-minute
snatches. I didn't know where I was going. It was enough for me to sail
in and out of the patches of shadow that fell from the moon right above
our heads.

We embarked, and, as we drew further out, the land turned to a shadow,
spotted here and there with little lights. Behind us a cock crowed. The
shingle crashed at intervals beneath the feet of a large body of men. I
remembered the smugglers; but it was as if I had remembered them only
to forget them forever. Old Rangsley, who steered with the sheet in his
hand, kept up an unintelligible babble. Carlos and Castro talked under
their breaths. Along the gunwale there was a constant ripple and gurgle.
Suddenly old Rangsley began to sing; his voice was hoarse and drunken.

"When Harol' war in va--a--ded,
An' fallin', lost his crownd,
An' Normun Willium wa--a--ded."

The water murmured without a pause, as if it had a million tiny facts to
communicate in very little time. And then old Rangsley hove to, to wait
for the ship, and sat half asleep, lurching over the tiller. He was
a very, unreliable scoundrel. The boat leaked like a sieve. The wind
freshened, and we three began to ask ourselves how it was going to end.
There were no lights upon the sea.

At last, well out, a blue gleam caught our eyes; but by this time old
Rangsley was helpless, and it fell to me to manage the boat. Carlos was
of no use--he knew it, and, without saying a word, busied himself in
bailing the water out. But Castro, I was surprised to notice, knew more
than I did about a boat, and, maimed as he was, made himself useful.

"To me it looks as if we should drown," Carlos said at one point, very
quietly. "I am sorry for you, Juan."

"And for yourself, too," I answered, feeling very hopeless, and with a
dogged grimness.

"Just now, my young cousin, I feel as if I should not mind dying under
the water," he remarked with a sigh, but without ceasing to bail for a
moment.

"Ah, you are sorry to be leaving home, and your friends, and Spain, and
your fine adventures," I answered.

The blue flare showed a very little nearer. There was nothing to be done
but talk and wait.

"No; England," he answered in a tone full of meaning--"things in
England--people there. One person at least."

To