"But I must confess."
"Confess to me," chuckled the old man in ghastly mockery. "Many a woman has done so and——"
"Art in Holy Orders, señor?" muttered the woman.
The moonlight shone full upon her face, and as he stooped over he scanned it with his one eye.
"Holy enough for you. Say on."
"Fra Antonio, now," she continued, vacantly lapsing into semi-delirium, "he married us—'twas a secret—his rank was so great. He was rich, I poor—humble. The marriage lines—in the cross. There was a—What's that? A shot? The buccaneers. They are coming! Go not, Francisco!"
Hornigold, bending an attentive ear to these broken sentences lost not a word.
"Go not," she whispered, striving to lift an arm, "they will kill thee! Thou shalt not leave me alone, my Francisco—The boy—in Panama——"