“Yes, I can understand that,” said Resilda.

Sir Charles had vowed never to speak of the matter again.  But he had kept his vow for five long years, and besides here was a girl of a remarkable beauty expressing sympathy and asking for information.  Sir Charles broke his vow and talked, and the girl helped him.  A suspicion that she might have primed herself with knowledge in view of his coming, vanished before the flame of her enthusiasm.  She knew the history of its building almost as well as he did himself, and could even set him right in his dates.  It was she who knew the exact day on which King Charles’ Chest, that great block of mortised stones, which formed as it were the keystone of the breakwater, had been lowered into its place.  Sir Charles abandoned all reserve, and talked freely of his hopes and fears as the pier ran farther out and out into the currents of the Straits, of his bitter disappointment when his labours were destroyed.  He forgot his gallantries, he showed himself the man he was.  Neither he nor Resilda noticed a low rumble of thunder or the beating of sudden rain upon the windows, so occupied were they with the theme of their talk; and at last Sir Charles, leaning back in his chair, cried out with astonishment and delight.

“But how is it that my mole is so familiar a thing to you?  Explain it if you please!  Never have I spent so agreeable an evening.”

A momentary embarrassment seemed to follow upon his words.  Resilda looked at her father who chuckled and explained.

“Sir, an old soldier years ago came over the hill in front of the house and begged for alms.  He found my daughter on the terrace in a lucky moment for himself.  He had all sorts of wonderful stories of Tangier and the great mole which was then a building.  Resilda was set on fire that day, and though the King and the Parliament might shut their eyes to the sore straits of that town and the gallantry of its defenders, no one was allowed to forget them in the Quarry House.  To tell the truth I sometimes envied the obliviousness of Parliament,” and he laughed gently.  “So from the first my daughter was primed with the history of that siege, and lately we have had further means of knowledge—­” He began to speak warily and with embarrassment—­“For two years ago Resilda married an officer of The King’s Battalion, Major Lashley.”

“Here are two surprises,” cried Sir Charles.  “For in the first place, Madam, I had no thought you were wed.  Blame a bachelor’s stupidity!” and he glanced at her left hand which lay upon the table-cloth with the band of gold gleaming upon a finger.  “In the second place I knew Major Lashley very well, though it is news to me that he ever troubled his head with my mole.  A very gallant officer, who defended Charles Fort through many nights of great suspense, and cleft his way back to Tangier when his ammunition was expended.  I shall be very glad to shake the Major once more by the hand.”