Strolling aimlessly through the narrow back ways, we came presently to the market that stands against the port.  And here, almost at the first step, Dawson catches my arm and nods towards the opposite side of the market-place.  Some Moors were seated there in their white clothes, with bundles of young palm leaves, plaited up in various forms of crowns, crosses, and the like,—­which the people of this country do carry to church to be blessed on Palm Sunday; and these Moors I knew came from Elche, because palms grow nowhere else in such abundance.

“Yes,” says I, thinking ’twas this queer merchandise he would point out, “I noticed these Moors and their ware when we passed here a little while back with Moll.”

“Don’t you see her there now—­at the corner?” asks he.

Then, to my surprise, I perceived Moll in very earnest conversation with two Moors, who had at first screened her from my sight.

“Come away,” continues he.  “She left us to go back and speak to them, and would not have us know.”

Why should she be secret about this trifling matter, I asked myself.  ’Twas quite natural that, if she recognised in these Moors some old acquaintance of Elche, she should desire to speak them.

We stole away to the port; and seating ourselves upon some timber, there we looked upon the sea nigh upon half an hour without saying a word.  Then turning to me, Dawson says:  “Unless she speak to us upon this matter, Kit, we will say nought to her.  But, if she say nothing, I shall take it for a sign her heart is set upon going back to Elche, and she would have it a secret that we may not be disheartened in our other project.”

“That is likely enough,” says I, not a little surprised by his reasoning.  But love sharpens a man’s wit, be it never so dull.

“Nevertheless,” continues he, “if she can be happier at Elche than elsewhere, then must we abandon our scheme and accept hers with a good show of content.  We owe her that, Kit.”

“Aye, and more,” says I.

“Then when we meet to-morrow morning, I will offer to go there, as if ’twas a happy notion that had come to me in my sleep, and do you back me up with all the spirit you can muster.”

So after some further discussion we rose, and returned to our posada, where we found Moll waiting for us.  She told us she had found no clothes to her liking (which was significant), and said not a word of her speaking to the Moors in the market-place, so we held our peace on these matters.

We did not part till late that night, for Moll would sit up with us, confessing she felt too feverish for sleep; and indeed this was apparent enough by her strange humour, for she kept no constant mood for five minutes together.  Now, she would sit pensive, paying no heed to us, with a dreamy look in her eyes, as if her thoughts were wandering far away—­to her husband in England maybe; then she would hang her head as though she dared not look him in the face