, majestical, swan-like, white sails shining against
the blue.

She closed her eyes, and tried to sleep; but sleep would not come. She
was always listening--listening for the dip of oars, listening for a
snatch of melody from a mellow baritone whose every accent she knew so
well.

It came at last, the sound her soul longed for. She lay among her
cushions with closed eyes, listening, drinking in those rich ripe notes
as they came nearer and nearer, to the measure of dipping oars, _'La
donna e mobile--'_

Nearer and nearer, until the little boat ground against the hull. She
lifted her heavy eyelids as Montesma leapt over the gunwale, almost into
her arms. He was at her side, kneeling by her low chair, kissing the
little hands, chill with the freshness of morning.

'My own, my very own,' he murmured, passionately.

He cared no more for those copper-faced Helots yonder than if they had
been made of wood. He had fate in his own hands now, as it seemed to
him. He went to the skipper and gave him some orders in Spanish, and
then the sails were unfurled, the _Cayman_ spread her broad white wings,
and moved off among those other yachts which were gliding, gliding,
gliding out to sea, melting from Cowes Roads like a vision that fadeth
with the broad light of morning.

When the sails were up and the yacht was running merrily through the
water, Montesma went back to Lady Lesbia, and they two sat side by side,
gilded and glorified in the vivid lights of sunrise, talking as they had
never talked before, her head upon his shoulder, a smile of ineffable
peace upon her lips, as of a weary child that has found rest.

They were sailing for Havre, and at Havre they were to be married by the
English chaplain, and from Havre they were to sail for the Havana, and
to live there ever afterwards in a fairy-tale dream of bliss, broken
only by an annual visit to Paris, just to buy gowns and bonnets.
Surrendered were all Lesbia's ambitious hopes--forgotten--gone; her
desire to reign princess paramount in the kingdom of fashion--her thirst
to be wealthiest among the wealthy--gone--forgotten. Her dreams now were
of the _dolce far niente_ of a tropical climate, a boudoir giving on the
Caribbean sea, cigarettes, coffee, nights spent in a foreign opera
house, the languid, reposeful existence of a Spanish dama--with him,
with him. It was for his sake that she had modified all her ideas of
life. To be with him she would have been content to dwell