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 For this purpose he went below to seek Beaudésir, and found him keeping guard at the cabin door within which Mademoiselle de Montmirail was reposing, a post he had held without stirring since she came on board before dawn, and was confided by the Captain to his care. He had not spoken to her, he had not even seen her face; but from that moment he had exchanged no words with his comrades, standing as pale, as silent, and almost as motionless as a statue. He started violently when the Captain spoke, and collected his faculties with an obvious effort. George could not but observe his preoccupation.

"I am in a difficulty," said the latter, "as I have already told you more than once. Try and comprehend me. I do not often ask for advice, but I want yours now."

"You shall have it at any cost," replied the other. "Do not I owe everything in the world to you?"

"Listen," continued George. "The young lady whom my honest fellows rescued last night, and whom I brought on board, is—is—Mademoiselle de Montmirail herself."

"I know—I know," answered Beaudésir, impatiently. "At least, I mean you mentioned it before."

"Very likely," returned the Captain, "though I do not remember it. Well, it so happens, you see, that this is the same young lady—the person—the individual—in short, I have saved the woman of all others who is most precious to me in the world."

"Of course—of course," repeated Beaudésir, impatiently, "she cannot go back—she shall not go back amongst those wretches. She must stay on board. You must take her to Europe. There should be no delay. You must be married—now—immediately—within two hours—before we get the anchor up."

He seemed strangely eager, restless, excited. Without actually acknowledging it, George felt instinctively that something in his friend's manner reminded him of the Marquise.

"There is a grave difficulty," said the Captain. "Where can we find a priest? That fat little Portuguese who looked like a guinea-pig is sure to have run away, if the negroes have not cut his throat."