There's a fine Spanish dame,
Joanna's her name,
Must follow wherever ye go;
Till your black heart shall feel
Your own cursed steel:
Black Bartlemy—Bartlemy ho!"
And I, hearkening to this awful sobbing voice, sweating and shivering in the dark, knew that, since I was indeed Black Bartlemy, sooner or later I must go.
Thus it befell that of a sudden I found myself, dazzled by a fierce sun, supporting me against a rock and my breath coming in great gasps. And in a while, my eyes growing stronger, I stared away to the reef where this man Humphrey waited me with his "dead men all"; and since I must needs go there I wept because it was so far off.
Now as I stood grieving thus, I saw one stand below me on Deliverance, looking also towards the reef, a woman tall and very stately and habited in gown of rich satin and embroidery caught in at slender waist with golden girdle, and about her head a scarf of lace. And this woman stood with bowed head and hands tight-clasped as one that grieved also; suddenly she raised her head and lifted folded hands to the cloudless heaven in passionate supplication. And beholding her face I knew her for the poor Spanish lady imploring just heaven for vengeance on me that had been her undoing; and uttering a great cry, I sank on my knees:
"Mercy, O God—mercy! Let me not be mad!"
Yet, even as I prayed, I knew that madness was upon me ere I plunged again into the dreadful dark.
But God (whose mercy is infinite) hearkened to my distressful cry, for, in a while, He brought me up from that black abyss and showed me two marvels, the which filled me with wonder and a sudden, passionate hope. And the first was the bandage that swathed my thigh; and this of itself enough to set my poor wits in a maze of speculation. For this bandage was of linen, very fine and delicate, such as I knew was not to be found upon the whole island; yet here was it, bound about my hurt, plain and manifest and set there by hands well-skilled in such kindly work.
And my second wonder was a silver beaker or ewer, very artfully wrought and all chased and embossed with designs of fruit and flower and of a rare craftsmanship, and this jug set within my reach and half-full of milk. The better to behold this, I raised myself and with infinite labour. But now, and suddenly, she was before me again, this poor Spanish lady I had slain upon a time, wherefore I blenched and shrank from her coming. But she, falling upon her knees, sought to clasp me in her arms, crying words I heeded not as (maugre my weakness) I strove wildly to hold her off.
"I am Bartlemy that killed you!" says I. "I am Black Bartlemy! They know out yonder beyond the reef, hark and you shall hear how they hail me—"
"O kind God, teach me how I may win him back to knowledge!" So crying, this Spanish lady of a sudden unpinned her hair and shook its glossy ripples all about her: