ood in my veins, so I have been told,
though it must be tolerably diluted by this time."

"You sir! I thought that in your veins flowed none but the purest of
Castilian streams," answered the lieutenant, with a slight sneer in his
tone. It was so slight, however, that his captain did not perceive it.
"How came that about, Don Hernan?"

"I will tell you," answered the captain: "an ancestor of mine--in our
family tree he appears quite a modern one--commanded one of the ships of
the holy Armada. She, like that of the Admiral, was driven north, and
ultimately wrecked and totally lost on the land we shall soon make to
the northward, called Shetland. He and his crew were kindly treated by
the chief of the little island on which they were driven. The crew
built a chapel to show their gratitude, and having nearly produced a
famine in the district, were conveyed home with honour; while he, to
prove his, married the old Udaller's daughter, and thinking it likely
that his head might be chopped off as a sacrifice to assuage the rage of
our pious monarch Philip, settled on the island, and did not return home
till towards the end of a long life. His son, who accompanied him,
having recovered his ancestral estates, remained in Spain; but he, when
advanced in years, in consequence of being implicated in some political
plot, fled the country, and naturally took refuge in that of his mother,
where he was cordially welcomed. He was afterwards joined by his son,
who, curiously enough, married a Shetland lady, and thus, even in the
days of my father, who was his grandson, a constant communication was
kept up with our Norse connections. I, also, have more than once heard
of them since my father's death, and have determined to become more
intimately acquainted with my relatives during this northern voyage of
ours. But where are we getting to? What with the strong tide, and the
favourable breeze, we positively fly by the land. Send for the chart on
deck, Alvarez, and let me have a look at its bearings."

The first lieutenant beckoned to a midshipman, who soon returned with a
large sea-chart, which the captain spread out on the capstan head.

"Ah! here we have this small rock--Fate Island, I see the natives call
it--away to the south-west; and that lofty bluff headland, north by
west, now shining so white, as if formed of marble, is Fitfiel Head, or
the _White Mountain_, I see by a note--not an unfit name either; and
that high poi