dispense.

In a little island there is not very much to talk about, and the
gossips of Majorca had soon laid hold of Fitz. They said that the
English senorita up at the Casa d'Erraha had found a lover, and a
fine, handsome one at that; else, they opined, why should this
English sailor thrash his boat through any weather from Cuidadela in
Minorca to Soller in Majorca, riding subsequently from that small
and lovely town over the roughest country in the island to the
Valley of Repose as if the devil were at his heels. That was only
their way of saying it, for they knew as well as any of us that love
in front can make us move more quickly than ever the devil from
behind.

At Alcudia they watched his boat labour through the evil seas. The
wind was never too boisterous for him, the waves never too high.

"It is," they said, "the English mariner from Mahon going to see the
Senorita Challoner. Ah! but he has a firm hand."

And they smiled dreamily with their deep eyes, as knowing the malady
themselves.

This time there had been two figures clad in black oilskins in the
stern of the long white boat. Two horses had been ordered by cable
to be ready at Soller instead of one. For Eve Challoner had
telegraphed to her countrymen at Port Mahon when this strange and
horrid numbness seized her father.

The sun was setting behind the distant line of the sea when Fitz and