am decorated with chains of sea-treasures wound about waist and
neck and arms, and the old crone stands by gibbering and nodding
approval.

The Baron laughs at her last shot as she moves away with my media in
her hand and some unusually rich guerdon from him.

"What is she chattering about?" asks Mrs. Steele.

"She zay she know dthe Senorita vidth dthe pretty eyes would like dthe
shaills, and dthat vas vhy she follow her in dthe church, but Senorita
ees easy frighten. Senor must take gude care off her and nefer leaf
her."

Mrs. Steele smiles indulgently and draws out her watch.

"It's time we were going," she says. "The _San Miguel's_ lights will
be all out, I'm afraid."

The Baron's "cargodor" meets us at the wharf laden with our bizarre
purchases, and, after bestowing us and them in the boat, he dips his
oars and we glide out into the bay. The far-off steamer is wrapped in
darkness, the lamps are all extinguished in the staterooms, for it is
long past eleven, but the waves flash every attack of the oar, and the
Southern Cross shines aslant the sky.

CHAPTER IV

[Illustration: Chapter Four]

I DRINK COCOANUT MILK AND GO FISHING FOR PEARLS

I fancy I have just fallen asleep when I am roused by hearing someone
speaking at the port hole. I open my eyes to find it is the peep o'
day, and out of the dull, grey dawn a Mexican's face looks in at my
window.

"What do you want?" I demand, and in the same breath, "Go away! Mrs.
Steele! Mrs. Steele!" To my amazement Mrs. Steele appears in the
doorway all dressed.

"That's only the Baron's boatman, my dear, come to call you. I've had
a raging headache, and the place was so hot I dressed and went up on
deck, and there was the Baron de Bach pacing up and down--_he_
couldn't sleep, either. He suggests we take a boat and go out to catch
the early breeze and see the sun rise from the other side of the bay.
Will you come?"

"Of course I will," I say sleepily, and not in the best of tempers.
"There was no need to send that evil-looking brigand to wake me! My
nerves are in a continual tremor in this blessed place. Do you know,
Mrs. Steele," I say, fishing under the berth for a renegade stocking,
"I've a sort of presentiment I shan't leave the shores of the Pacific
without some kind of misfortune or hair-breadth escape."

"Nonsense!" says my practical friend, "you've eaten something that has
disagreed with you. Hurry as fast as you can; the Captain says we
weig