CHAPTER X 



Seville, Feb. 9, 1852. 

 As this was the day I expected Harry, I was determined 

 not to go to the orilla (quay) early, for I felt sure my 

 impatience, waiting on the spot, would prevent his arriving. 

 I had inquired, in my morning walk, what was the steamer's 

 hour, and determined to hit it exactly. Rushing down at 

 the appointed moment, I found my informant had told me 

 wrong ; the boat had arrived a quarter of an hour. 



On the quay (down a broad, sloping causeway, railed oflF 

 from the public) there was a pile of luggage. A remnant 

 of passengers yet bustled around it, arguing, struggling, 

 and bargaining with a contentious company of porters. 

 Alas ! Harry was not to be seen among them. There was 

 still a chance ; he might be one of the passengers who had 

 got ashore before my coming down, and I was just pre- 

 paring to rush back to the city to ransack the hotels. Just 

 then, an internal convulsion shook the swarm a'ound the 

 luggage pile ; out burst a little Gallego, staggering under a 

 huge British portmanto, and followed by its much-desired 

 and now almost despaired-of proprietor. 



I saw him come bowling up the slope with his familiar 

 gait, evidently unconscious of my presence, and wearing 

 that sturdy and almost hostile demeanour with which a 

 true Briton marches into a strange city, through the army 

 of officious importunates, who never fail to welcome the 



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