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You must wait till supper's over. They were headed by an athleticlooking, swarthy-featured man, who was armed with a cutlass, which he waved over his head to cheer on his companions. “Did you—did you really think that they would take you for a Frenchman?” she exclaimed. She remained for a few moments standing as though listening to his retreating footsteps. " "Unpossible, master," rejoined Ben; "the tide's running down like a mill-sluice, and the wind's right in our teeth. ‘Quite mad, nuns are.
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