wore clothes of green linen, a ruffled shirt, deer-skin
botas and sombrero.

Three of the ship's canoes awaited the guests, and
as not one of the women had ever set foot in a boat,
there was a chorus of shrieks. Dona Ignacia mur-
mured an audible prayer, and clutched Gertrudis
Rudisinda to her breast.

"Madre de Dios! The water! I cannot!" she
muttered. But Santiago took her firmly by one
elbow, Sturgis by the other, Davidov caught up the
children with a reassuring laugh, and in a moment
she was trembling in the middle of the canoe. Con-
cha had already leaped into the second and waved a
careless little salutation to the Juno. Her eyes
sparkled. Her nostrils fluttered. She felt indif-
ferent to everything but the certain pleasure of the
day. Rezanov was sure to be charming. What
mattered the morrow, and possible nights of doubt,
despair, hatred of life and wondering self-contempt?

Rezanov awaited the canoes in the prow of the
ship. He wore undress uniform and a cap instead
of the cocked hat of ceremony which had excited
their awe. He too tingled with a sense of youthful
gaiety and adventure. As he helped his guests up
the side of the vessel and listened to the delightful
laughter of the girls, saw the dancing eyes of even
the haughty and reserved Santiago, he also dismissed