Every head was instantly uncovered.
"Long live our brave and noble ally, Don Diego! Long live the beautiful
Dona Leonor!"
A faint shade of sadness passed over the priest's face. He glanced from
Hurlstone to Miss Keene.
"Then you have consented?" he whispered.
Hurlstone cast a rapid glance at Eleanor Keene.
"I consent!"
PART II. FREED.
CHAPTER I.
THE MOURNERS AT SAN FRANCISCO.
The telegraph operator at the Golden Gate of San Francisco had long
since given up hope of the Excelsior. During the months of September
and October, 1854, stimulated by the promised reward, and often by
the actual presence of her owners, he had shown zeal and hope in his
scrutiny of the incoming ships. The gaunt arms of the semaphore at
Fort Point, turned against the sunset sky, had regularly recorded the
smallest vessel of the white-winged fleet which sought the portal of the
bay during that eventful year of immigration; but the Excelsior was not
amongst them. At the close of the year 1854 she was a tradition; by the
end of January, 1855, she was forgotten. Had she been engulfed in her
own element she could not have been more completely swallowed up than in
the changes of that shore she never reached.
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