“We were awfully alarmed for you, my dear,” said Mrs. Markham, “until we saw you had a protector.  Do tell me—­what did he say?  He must have thought the danger great to have broken the Senor’s orders and come upon deck?  What did he talk about?”

With a vivid recollection in her mind of Mr. Hurlstone’s contemptuous ignoring of the other ladies, Miss Keene became slightly embarrassed.  Her confusion was not removed by the consciousness that the jealous eyes of Brace were fixed upon her.

“Perhaps he thought it was night, and walked upon deck in his sleep,” remarked Brace sarcastically.  “He’s probably gone back to bed.”

“He offered me his protection very politely, and begged to remain to put me in the boat in case of danger,” said Miss Keene, recovering herself, and directing her reply to Mrs. Markham.  “I think that others have made me the same kind of offer—­who were wide awake,” she added mischievously to Brace.

“I wouldn’t be too sure that they were not foolishly dreaming too,” returned Brace, in a lower voice.

“I should think we all were asleep or dreaming here,” said Mrs. Markham briskly.  “Nobody seems to know where we are, and the only man who might guess it—­Senor Perkins—­has gone off in the boat with the mate.”

“We’re not a mile from shore and a Catholic church,” said Crosby, who had joined them.  “I just left Mrs. Brimmer, who is very High Church, you know, quite overcome by these Angelus bells.  She’s been entreating the captain to let her go ashore for vespers.  It wouldn’t be a bad idea, if we could only see what sort of a place we’ve got to.  It wouldn’t do to go feeling round the settlement in the dark—­would it?  Hallo! what’s that?  Oh, by Jove, that’ll finish Mrs. Brimmer, sure!”

“Hush!” said Miss Keene impulsively.

He stopped.  The long-drawn cadence of a chant in thin clear soprano voices swept through the fog from the invisible shore, rose high above the ship, and then fell, dying away with immeasurable sweetness and melancholy.  Even when it had passed, a lingering melody seemed to fill the deck.  Two or three of the foreign sailors crossed themselves devoutly; the other passengers withheld their speech, and looked at each other.  Afraid to break the charm by speech, they listened again, but in vain an infinite repose followed that seemed to pervade everything.

It was broken, at last, by the sound of oars in their rowlocks; the boat was returning.  But it was noticed that the fog had slightly lifted from the surface of the water, for the boat was distinctly visible two cables’ length from the ship as she approached; and it was seen that besides the first officer and Senor Perkins there were two strangers in the boat.  Everybody rushed to the side for a nearer view of those strange inhabitants of the unknown shore; but the boat’s crew suddenly ceased rowing, and lay on their oars until an indistinct hail and reply passed between the boat and ship.  There was a bustle forward, an unexpected thunder from the Excelsior’s eight-pounder at the bow port; Captain Bunker and the second mate ranged themselves at the companionway, and the passengers for the first time became aware that they were participating at the reception of visitors of distinction, as two strange and bizarre figures stepped upon the deck.