ot care for him? Why should she?

But it was hard to have hunted a bubble for years, and have it break
in his hand at last. "Set not your affections on things on the earth,"
murmured Yeo to himself, as he pored over his Bible, in the vain hope of
forgetting his little maid.

But why did Amyas wish to increase the distance between himself and
Ayacanora? Many reasons might be given: I deny none of them. But the
main one, fantastic as it may seem, was simply, that while she had
discovered herself to be an Englishwoman, he had discovered her to be a
Spaniard. If her father were seven times John Oxenham (and even that the
perverse fellow was inclined to doubt), her mother was a Spaniard--Pah!
one of the accursed race; kinswoman--perhaps, to his brother's
murderers! His jaundiced eyes could see nothing but the Spanish element
in her; or, indeed, in anything else. As Cary said to him once, using a
cant phrase of Sidney's, which he had picked up from Frank, all heaven
and earth were "spaniolated," to him. He seemed to recollect nothing but
that Heaven had "made Spaniards to be killed, and him to kill them." If
he had not been the most sensible of John Bulls, he would certainly have
forestalled the monomania of that young Frenchman of rank, who, some
eighty years after him, so maddened his brain by reading of the Spanish
cruelties, that he threw up all his prospects and turned captain of
filibusters in the West Indies, for the express purpose of ridding them
of their tyrants; and when a Spanish ship was taken, used to relinquish
the whole booty to his crew, and reserve for himself only the pleasure
of witnessing his victims' dying agonies.

But what had become of that bird-like song of Ayacanora's which had
astonished them on the banks of the Meta, and cheered them many a time
in their anxious voyage down the Magdalena? From the moment that she
found out her English parentage, it stopped. She refused utterly to sing
anything but the songs and psalms which she picked up from the English.
Whether it was that she despised it as a relic of her barbarism, or
whether it was too maddening for one whose heart grew heavier and
humbler day by day, the nightingale notes were heard no more.

So homeward they ran, before a favoring southwest breeze: but long
ere they were within sight of land, Lucy Passmore was gone to her rest
beneath the Atlantic waves.

CHAPTER XXVIII

HOW AMYAS CAME HOME THE THIRD TIME

"It fell about th