The Sea-Witch
THE SEA-WITCH. CHAPTER I. OUTWARD BOUND. OUR story opens in that broad, far-reaching expanse of water which lies deep and blue between the two hemispheres, some fifteen degrees north of the equator, in the latitude of Cuba and the Cape Verd Islands. The delightful trade winds had not fanned the sea on a finer summer's day for a twelvemonth, and the waves were daintily swelling upon the heaving bosom of the deep, as though indicating the respiration of the ocean. It was scarcely a day's sail beyond the flow of the Caribbean Sea, that one of those noblest results of man's handiwork, a fine ship, might have been seen gracefully ploughing her course through the sky-blue waters of the Atlantic. She was close-hauled on the larboard tack, steering east-southeast, and to a sailor's eye presented a certain indescribable
'Decidedly not. I hope you don't do such things, Mrs Prothero?'
There was a wicked twinkle in a merry eye as this was said.
'The truth is, Miss Gwynne,' said Mrs Prothero, slowly rubbing her hands
one over another, 'there is a poor Irish girl in the barn almost dying,
and it is impossible to send her to the Union to-night, or to leave her
where she is.'
'Oh, I'll write an order for the Union in papa's name. You can't believe
a word those Irish say. You had better get her sent off directly.'
This was said with the air of command and decision of one not accustomed
to have her orders disputed.
'But, Miss Gwynne, if you only knew--' began the overwhelmed Mrs
Prothero.
'I know quite well. We are obliged to commit dozens of them as vagrants,
and I should not at all wonder if we should not be compelled to have
you taken up some day for harbouring suspicious characters.'
The tears stood in Mrs Prothero's kind eyes. She had not much authority
amongst the young people apparently.
'There, mother! I knew Miss Gwynne would agree with me.'
THE SEA-WITCH. CHAPTER I. OUTWARD BOUND. OUR story opens in that broad, far-reaching expanse of water which lies deep and blue between the two hemispheres, some fifteen degrees north of the equator, in the latitude of Cuba and the Cape Verd Islands. The delightful trade winds had not fanned the sea on a finer summer's day for a twelvemonth, and the waves were daintily swelling upon the heaving bosom of the deep, as though indicating the respiration of the ocean. It was scarcely a day's sail beyond the flow of the Caribbean Sea, that one of those noblest results of man's handiwork, a fine ship, might have been seen gracefully ploughing her course through the sky-blue waters of the Atlantic. She was close-hauled on the larboard tack, steering east-southeast, and to a sailor's eye presented a certain indescribable