Oblivious of this comedy, Richard Keene and Eleanor had already wandered back, hand in hand, to their days of childhood.  But even in the joy that filled the young girl’s heart in the presence of her only kinsman, there was a strange reservation.  The meeting that she had looked forward to with eager longing had brought all she expected; more than that, it seemed to have been providentially anticipated at the moment of her greatest need, and yet it was incomplete.  She was ashamed that after the first recognition, a wild desire to run to Hurlstone and tell him her happiness was her only thought.  She was shocked that the bright joyous face of this handsome lovable boy could not shut out the melancholy austere features of Hurlstone, which seemed to rise reproachfully between them.  When, for the third and fourth time, they had recounted their past history, exchanged their confidences and feelings, Dick, passing his arm around his sister’s waist, looked down smilingly in her eyes.

“And so, after all, little Nell, everybody has been good to you, and you have been happy!”

“Everybody has been kind to me, Dick, far kinder than I deserved.  Even if I had really been the great lady that little Dona Isabel thought I was, or the important person the Commander believed me to be, I couldn’t have been treated more kindly.  I have met with nothing but respect and attention.  I have been very happy, Dick, very happy.”

And with a little cry she threw herself on her brother’s neck and burst into a childlike flood of inconsistent tears.

Meantime the news of the arrival of the relief-party had penetrated even the peaceful cloisters of the Mission, and Father Esteban had been summoned in haste to the Council.  He returned with an eager face to Hurlstone, who had been anxiously awaiting him.  When the Padre had imparted the full particulars of the event to his companion, he added gravely,—­

“You see, my son, how Providence, which has protected you since you first claimed the Church’s sanctuary, has again interfered to spare me the sacrifice of using the power of the Church in purely mundane passions.  I weekly accept the rebuke of His better-ordained ways, and you, Diego, may comfort yourself that this girl is restored directly to her brother’s care, without any deviousness of plan or human responsibility.  You do not speak, my son!” continued the priest anxiously; “can it be possible that, in the face of this gracious approval of Providence to your resolution, you are regretting it?”

The young man replied, with a half reproachful gesture: 

“Do you, then, think me still so weak?  No, Father Esteban; I have steeled myself against my selfishness for her sake.  I could have resigned her to the escape you had planned, believing her happier for it, and ignorant of the real condition of the man she had learnt to—­to—­pity.  But,” he added, turning suddenly and almost rudely upon the priest, “do you know the meaning of this irruption of the outer world to me?  Do you reflect that these men probably know my miserable story?—­that, as one of the passengers of the Excelsior, they will be obliged to seek me and to restore me,” he added, with a bitter laugh, “to my home, my kindred—­to the world I loathe?”