to go on the
general invitation."

"As Mr. Brimmer's ancestors came over on the Mayflower, long before
1792, it doesn't seem so very impossible, if it comes to that," said
Mrs. Brimmer, with her usual unanswerable naivete; "provided always that
you are not joking, Mr. Crosby. One never knows when you are serious."

"Mrs. Brimmer is quite right; we must all go. This is no mere
formality," said Senor Perkins, who had returned to the ladies. "Indeed,
I have myself promised the Comandante to bring YOU," he turned towards
Miss Keene, "if you will permit Mrs. Markham and myself to act as your
escort. It was Don Miguel's express request."

A slight flush of pride suffused the cheek of the young girl, but the
next moment she turned diffidently towards Mrs. Brimmer.

"We must all go together," she said; "shall we not?"

"You see your triumphs have begun already," said Brace, with a nervous
smile. "You need no longer laugh at me for predicting your fate in San
Francisco."

Miss Keene cast a hurried glance around her, in the faint hope--she
scarcely knew why--that Mr. Hurlstone had overheard the Senor's
invitation; nor could she tell why she was disappointed at not seeing
him. But he had not appeared on deck during the presence of their
strange visitors; nor was he in the boat which half an hour later
conveyed her to the shore. He must have either gone in one of the other
boats, or fulfilled his strange threat of remaining on the ship.

The boats pulled away together towards the invisible shore, piloted by
Captain Bunker, the first officer, and Senor Perkins in the foremost
boat. It had grown warmer, and the fog that stole softly over them
touched their faces with the tenderness of caressing fingers. Miss
Keene, wrapped up in the stern sheets of the boat, gave way to the
dreamy influence of this weird procession through the water, retaining
only perception enough to be conscious of the singular illusions of the
mist that alternately thickened and lightened before their bow. At times
it seemed as if they were driving full upon a vast pier or breakwater of
cold gray granite, that, opening to let the foremost boat pass, closed
again before them; at times it seemed as if they had diverged from their
course, and were once more upon the open sea, the horizon a far-off
line of vanishing color; at times, faint lights seemed to pierce the
gathering darkness, or to move like will-o'-wisps across the smooth
surface, when suddenly the