The silence was oppressive as we ascended the poop ladder. A last babble of Latin ended on an hysterical note. The Spanish captain glared his hatred, gnawing at his hands as he leaned against the rail, and when my great-uncle drew a laced handkerchief from his coat pocket and began to wipe clean his red blade 'twas more than Don Ascanio could stand. He stalked to the far side of the deck, rumbling curses, and fixed his gaze upon the purple hills of Hispaniola. Behind the steering-wheel the black flock of religious gathered closer under the great, gilded lanthorn which crowned the high, pulpit-like recess intended to protect the helmsman; and amongst those cowled shaven-heads and shapeless swathed forms the slim grace and sunny, blue eyes of Moira O'Donnell were as patent as the growing fear with which her father met us.
My great-uncle nodded a satisfaction I was unable to comprehend.
"A fair maid, Robert!" he exclaimed. "Well, well! This is fine. I might ask no better. I congratulate you, chevalier," he added to O'Donnell. "Your daughter is as dainty a little lady as I have seen in a long life."
O'Donnell understood his mood no better than I.
"I wish she was out of this," he growled resentfully. "Don Ascanio has placed the conduct of matters in my hands. What is next? Must you——"
He gestured expressively toward the vessel beneath us.
"It seems— I—I find myself— 'Tis a nauseating prospect— Several hundred men—and priests and nuns, Murray— Aye, a cardinal sin, one I'll never have absolution for, whatever betide—
"You concern yourself without cause," said Murray soothingly. "We have arranged it differently, and to that end I shall act a part with your daughter which you must support; aye, to the offering of violence. And now, tell me, where is the treasure?"
"In the lazaret."
"Master Saunders!" called my great-uncle.