CHAPTER XXXVII.
Don Sanchez again proves himself the most mannerly rascal in the world.
In silence we led Mrs. Godwin to the seat we had occupied, and seating ourselves we said not a word for some time. For my own part, the realisation of our loss threw my spirits into a strange apathy; 'twas as if some actual blow had stunned my senses. Yet I remember observing the Moors about their business,—despatching one to Elche for a train of mules, charging a second boat with merchandise while the first returned, etc.
"I can feel for you," says Mrs. Godwin at length, addressing Dawson, "for I also have lost an only child."
"Your daughter Judith, Madam?" says I.
"She died two years ago. Yours still lives," says she, again turning to Dawson, who sat with a haggard face, rocking himself like one nursing a great pain. "And while there is life, there's hope, as one says."
"Why, to be sure," says Jack, rousing himself. "This is no more, Kit, than we bargained for. Tell me, Madam, you who know that country, do you think a carpenter would be held in esteem there? I'm yet a strong man, as you see, with some good serviceable years of life before me. D'ye think they'd take me in exchange for my Moll, who is but a bit of a girl?"
"She is beautiful, and beauty counts for more than strength and abilities there, poor man," says she.
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