good
ship bound for Genoa in Italy, whereof Mr. Dixon, the master, having
intent to enter and victual at Alicante, undertook to carry us there for
ten pounds a head, so being we could get all aboard by the next evening
at sundown.

Here was short grace, to be sure; but we did so despatch our affairs
that we were embarked in due time, and by daybreak the following
morning, were under weigh.

CHAPTER XXXV.

_How we lost our poor Moll, and our long search for her._

We reached Alicante the 15th March, after a long, tedious voyage. During
this time I had ample opportunity for observing Moll, but with little
relief to my gloomy apprehensions. She rarely quitted her father's side,
being now as sympathetic and considerate of him in his sufferings, as
before she had been thoughtless and indifferent. She had ever a gentle
word of encouragement for him; she was ever kind and patient. Only once
her spirit seemed to weary: that was when we had been beating about in
the bay of Cadiz four days, for a favourable gale to take us through the
straits. We were on deck, she and I, the sails flapping the masts idly
above our heads.

"Oh," says she, laying her hand on my shoulder, and her wasted cheek
against my arm, "oh, that it were all ended!"

She was sweeter with me than ever she had been before; it seemed as if
the love bred in her heart by marriage must expend itself upon some one.
But though this tenderness endeared her more to me, it saddened me, and
I would have had her at her tricks once more, making merry at my
expense. For I began to see that our happiness comes from within and not
from without, and so fell despairing that ever this poor stricken heart
of hers would be healed, which set me a-repenting more sincerely than
ever the mischief I had helped to do her.

Dawson also, despite his stubborn disposition to see things as he would
have them, had, nevertheless, some secret perception of the incurable
sorrow which she, with all her art, could scarce dissimulate. Yet he
clung to that fond belief in a return of past happiness, as if 'twere
his last hope on earth. When at last our wind sprang up, and we were
cutting through the waters with bending masts and not a crease in the
bellied sails, he came upon deck, and spreading his hands out, cries in
joy:

"Oh, this blessed sunlight! There is nought in the world like it--no,
not the richest wine--to swell one's heart with content."

And then he fell again to rec