"Yessir."
Ben Gunn writhed himself into the companionway. Murray resumed his discourse to the Irish girl.
"First, that there may be no misunderstanding, mistress, 'tis true that I am he who is known as Captain Rip-Rap."
She shrank away from him in a renewed access of terror.
"I have already told you that you have no cause to fear me," he went on gently, "and to prove that to you I will add that I am an outlaw—what is called a pirate, although I detest the word myself—because I am a Jacobite. I believe, too, I may claim your father as my friend."
He looked inquiringly at O'Donnell. The Irishman drained his glass.
"'Tis true," he assented. "This gentleman is one Andrew Murray, who was out in the '15 and was afterward in trouble in New York Province on the score of intrigues with our friends and the French, Moira. He hath been a good servant to King James."
"But for why will you have been the death of all the poor folk on the Santissima Trinidad?" she cried. "And your men will be lifting the treasure that is Spain's, and Spain a safe haven for the exiles the Hanoverian will not suffer to serve their rightful king and dwell in Britain!"
"'Tis regrettable that Spaniards had to die, lass," answered my great-uncle, lowering his voice to a proper depth of emotion. "But I call to your mind that Spain has not helped the Good Cause as she might when there was a bonny chance of fetching the Stuarts home."
"That is God's truth," she admitted with quick passion.