es, wondering why the captain was in such a black
temper, though it was owing probably to the weather.

And why should he go on slaving like a dog? To earn money for that wench
of a woman who had been making a public fool of him all this time? And
create a future for Pascualet, leave him the richest fisherman in the
Cabanal? No, no, no! There was nothing left for him to live for. Die,
then, and take with him to destruction all he had been working for! and
the _Mayflower_, his other child, that he talked to as he would have to
a daughter--yes, her, too, away with her, and perish with her the very
memory of the sweet hopes and dreams that had gone into the building of
her. He wished to God that one of those big waves, instead of filling
under the boat's bow and throwing her rudely about on its foaming crest,
would open underneath her keel and let her drop to the bottom.

A signal came from the _Mayflower's_ teammate. The net was dragging so
heavy now from the huge catch inside that the boats were making scarcely
any headway. Wasn't it about time to haul her in? Pascualo smiled
bitterly! What the devil did he care! Certainly, haul her in when you
please! The crew began pulling at the cable that stretched from the
lower edge of the net to either boat, and they pulled and pulled
joyously. In spite of the wet weather and the back-breaking exertion,
Tonet and the sailors were in great glee. This was something like a
haul! A hundredweight at every foot!

But _tio_ Batiste, from his place on the tip of the bow, where every
dash of spray was reaching him, gave a sudden call:

"Look, Pascualo, Pascualo! Look! There she comes! There she comes!"

The old fisherman was pointing to the horizon, where the leaden mantle
of cloud seemed to be condensing into a blackish vapor. The Rector had
been watching the men hauling at the net. The little boy and Tonet
happened to be standing side by side, and the resemblance between them
was more striking than ever.

"Pascualo, man alive! Pascualo!"

"What's up!" the Rector answered, coming to himself.

"The hurricane! It's coming! It's on top of us!"

The mass of black was driving rapidly nearer, and spreading out as it
advanced. Overhead a livid flash of lightning seemed to rend the sky in
twain, and the thunder crashed, as though a huge piece of canvas had
been ripped asunder. And a moment after, the _levante_ itself, that
dread easterly gale that never blows in the Gulf of Valencia but