sail of the raft just drew, but barely so.

"How quiet all seems, Enrico; except the splash of the waves, there is
not a sound abroad."

"Yes, many years hence we may talk of this. Does it not seem strange to
be floating about on a few sticks in the middle of the ocean? Hark! do
you hear that?"

A loud noise, like the blowing off of steam, was heard.

"It is a whale, Isabel."

"I did not know there were many of them here," said the fair girl, again
leaning back, for she had started up in alarm at the noise.

"There are plenty of an inferior description to those caught further
north, and further south," replied Hughes. "But tell me of your own
country, Isabel, a land I do not know."

"No; we will have it the other way about, Enrico. Tell me of our home
among your native mountains, and of the strange customs and manners of
the people."

"But they are not strange, and there is no difference between them and
others, save that they are of more ancient race and speak an older
tongue than the English. True tradition lives among the time-worn
mountains of the Cymri."

"Well, tell me one of them, Enrico mio."

With that faculty of enjoying the present, without thought of the
future, inherent to the Spanish and Portuguese nature, Isabel seemed to
have forgotten her position, even the dread peril which menaced them
from the evil humour and greed of the dissatisfied seamen. All was
merged in the present, in the quiet beauty of the night, the starlight
which glistened in her eyes, the long thin quivering strip of moonlight
dancing over the calm ocean waves, and the presence of him she loved
best.

The soldier was well armed. From his childhood he had been accustomed
to scenes of danger; his manhood had been spent in a country where the
European carries his life in his hand, and all on board the raft seemed
quiet. The men might have renounced their treacherous purpose.

"Well," said he, falling into the humour of the moment and drawing the
thick cloak so as to cover Isabel more completely, while he looked down
on the fair face turned up to meet his gaze, "I had an ancestor, who,
for the sake of his religion, which was yours, lost lands and property
that ought to have descended in direct line to us. Shall I tell you of
this?"

"Do, Enrico mio," replied Isabel, nestling nearer to him.

"There is an old mansion near the sea shore in North Wales. It is a
small farm-house now, Isabel, and though many hundreds