Having pointed out, at our desire, what few things she would like transported to the ship—­her chest, the oil, not omitting the live tortoises which she intended for a grateful present to our Captain—­we immediately set to work, carrying them to the boat down the long, sloping stair of deeply-shadowed rock.  While my comrades were thus employed, I looked and Hunilla had disappeared.

It was not curiosity alone, but, it seems to me, something different mingled with it, which prompted me to drop my tortoise, and once more gaze slowly around.  I remembered the husband buried by Hunilla’s hands.  A narrow pathway led into a dense part of the thickets.  Following it through many mazes, I came out upon a small, round, open space, deeply chambered there.

The mound rose in the middle; a bare heap of finest sand, like that unverdured heap found at the bottom of an hour-glass run out.  At its head stood the cross of withered sticks; the dry, peeled bark still fraying from it; its transverse limb tied up with rope, and forlornly adroop in the silent air.

Hunilla was partly prostrate upon the grave; her dark head bowed, and lost in her long, loosened Indian hair; her hands extended to the cross-foot, with a little brass crucifix clasped between; a crucifix worn featureless, like an ancient graven knocker long plied in vain.  She did not see me, and I made no noise, but slid aside, and left the spot.

A few moments ere all was ready for our going, she reappeared among us.  I looked into her eyes, but saw no tear.  There was something which seemed strangely haughty in her air, and yet it was the air of woe.  A Spanish and an Indian grief, which would not visibly lament.  Pride’s height in vain abased to proneness on the rack; nature’s pride subduing nature’s torture.

Like pages the small and silken dogs surrounded her, as she slowly descended towards the beach.  She caught the two most eager creatures in her arms:—­“Mia Teeta!  Mia Tomoteeta!” and fondling them, inquired how many could we take on board.

The mate commanded the boat’s crew; not a hard-hearted man, but his way of life had been such that in most things, even in the smallest, simple utility was his leading motive.

“We cannot take them all, Hunilla; our supplies are short; the winds are unreliable; we may be a good many days going to Tombez.  So take those you have, Hunilla; but no more.”

She was in the boat; the oarsmen, too, were seated; all save one, who stood ready to push off and then spring himself.  With the sagacity of their race, the dogs now seemed aware that they were in the very instant of being deserted upon a barren strand.  The gunwales of the boat were high; its prow—­presented inland—­was lifted; so owing to the water, which they seemed instinctively to shun, the dogs could not well leap into the little craft.  But their busy paws hard scraped the prow, as it had been some farmer’s door shutting them out from shelter in a winter storm.  A clamorous agony of alarm.  They did not howl, or whine; they all but spoke.