ith no calculation on her part."

This cheered me considerably, and did somewhat return my faith in Don
Sanchez, who certainly was the most extraordinary gentlemanly rascal
that ever lived.

Day after day Dawson and I went down to the sea, and on the fifth day of
our watching (after many false hopes and disappointments) we spied a
ship, which we knew to be of the Algerine sort by the cross-set of its
lateen sails,--making it to look like some great bird with spread wings
on the water,--bearing down upon the shore.

We watched the approach of this ship in a fever of joy and expectation,
for though we dared not breathe our hopes one to another, we both
thought that maybe Moll was there. And this was not impossible. For,
supposing Judith was married happily, she would refuse to leave her
husband, and her mother, having lived so long in that country, might not
care to leave it now and quit her daughter; so might they refuse their
ransom and Moll be sent back to us. And, besides this reasoning, we had
that clinging belief of the unfortunate that some unforeseen accident
might turn to our advantage and overthrow our fears.

The Algerine came nearer and nearer, until at length we could make out
certain figures moving upon the deck; then Dawson, laying a trembling
hand on my sleeve, asked if I did not think 'twas a woman standing in
the fore part; but I couldn't truly answer yes, which vexed him.

But, indeed, when the galley was close enough to drop anchor, being at
some distance from the shore because of the shoals, I could not
distinguish any women, and my heart sank, for I knew well that if Moll
were there, she, seeing us, would have given us some signal of waving a
handkerchief or the like. As soon as the anchor was cast, a boat was
lowered, and being manned, drew in towards us; then, truly, we perceived
a bent figure sitting idle in the stern, but even Dawson dared not
venture to think it might be Moll.

The boat running on a shallow, a couple of Moors stepped into the water,
and lifting the figure in their arms carried it ashore to where we
stood. And now we perceived 'twas a woman muffled up in the Moorish
fashion, a little, wizen old creature, who, casting back her head
clothes, showed us a wrinkled face, very pale and worn with care and
age. Regarding us, she says in plain English:

"You are my countrymen. Is one of you named Dawson?"

"My name is Dawson," says Jack.

She takes his hand in hers, and holding