“Then you have her safe?” cried my lord.
“Three miles from here, on the river bank, is a ring of pines, in which the trees grow so thick that it is always twilight. Ten years ago a man was murdered there, and Sir Thomas Dale chained the murderer to the tree beneath which his victim was buried, and left him to perish of hunger and thirst. That is the tale they tell at Jamestown. The wood is said to be haunted by murdered and murderer, and no one enters it or comes nearer to it than he can avoid: which makes it an excellent resort for those whom the dead cannot scare. The lady is there, my lord, with your four knaves to guard her. They do not know that the gloom and quiet of the place are due to more than nature.”
My lord began to laugh. Either he had been drinking, or the success of his villainy had served for wine. “You are a man in a thousand, Nicolo!” he said. “How far above or below the ship is this fortunate wood?”
“Just opposite, my lord.”
“Can a boat land easily?”
“A creek runs through the wood to the river. There needs but the appointed signal from the bank, and a boat from the Santa Teresa can be rowed up the stream to the very tree beneath which the lady sits.”
My lord's laughter rang out again. “You're a man in ten thousand, Nicolo! Nicolo, the bridegroom's in town.”
“Back so soon?” said the Italian. “Then we must change your lordship's plan. With him on the ground, you can no longer wait until nightfall to row downstream to the lady and the Santa Teresa. He'll come to look for her.”
“Ay he'll come to look for her, curse him!” echoed my lord.
“Do you think the dead will scare him?” continued the Italian.