Transcriber's Note:
Obvious typographic errors have been corrected.

FOR THE LOVE OF LADY MARGARET

Lady Margaret Carroll

FOR THE LOVE OF
LADY MARGARET

A Romance of
the Lost Colony

BY

WILLIAM THOMAS WILSON

CHARLOTTE, N. C.
STONE & BARRINGER COMPANY
1908

Copyright, 1908
By STONE & BARRINGER COMPANY

THE QUINN & BODEN CO. PRESS
RAHWAY, N. J.

CONTENTS

FOR THE LOVE OF LADY MARGARET

CHAPTER I THE END OR THE BEGINNING

And so this was the end? Well, no matter—I had lived my little day—had played my part. The bell had tapped; the curtain had fallen; and so the scene must end. How many of those who had seen the little game played out, and had applauded the actor, would remember after the lights were out and the house was dark? I had passed from Heaven to Hell in four short hours—four hours!

My new white trunks, with the gray doublet, were on the bed, where I had laid them out. I had planned to wear them to Lady Wiltshire's ball to-night.

The guests were just beginning to arrive—Raleigh, with the gallant air and courtly mien; Lord North, with his stupid and insufferable egotism; Francis Bacon, the austere and brilliant, and the Viscount James Henry Hampden, who would, in my absence, promptly take possession of Lady Margaret Carroll.

Ah, my lady! wouldst thou give one thought to me when I had passed out of thy life forever? Wouldst thou, like the rest, move on without one sigh, thine eyes fixed upon the moving figures about thee, forgetful that there was wont to be another by thy side, who was now gone for aye? Would one tear fall from those beautiful eyes which I had looked into so often within the last two years?—years that seemed so short to me to-night, as I looked back over them, and thought of the golden hours, which had once gleamed so bright and happy before me, but now lay so far behind, lost in the moldering ashes of the forgotten past.

It seemed like long years since I had received that short note from my father, with its few curt lines, saying that our paths must separate; that I had disgraced the family; that he had borne with me till flesh and blood could stand no more, and henceforth I would be as a stranger to him.

Life indeed seemed black to me! Past my first youth (I was thirty-two), brought up to do nothing except to enjoy myself, with an ample income, which my father, Lord Richmond, had always supplied—what wonder that I felt as if the anchor had indeed slipped, and that I was adrift at the mercy of the wind and tide.

I might, it was true, drift on for a few weeks on credit, and borrow from my friends, but I had no mind to do that. Whatever my faults, and they were many and grievous, I had at least lived like a gentleman, and had nothing on that score to reproach myself with.

I did not wish to run deep into debt, and cause honest tradesmen to lose their just dues because they had trusted to my honor. No; whatever came, I would not do that. I would face the situation fairly and squarely—would work out as best I could my own salvation, without fear or favor from any man.

The old lord, my father, had always disliked me; I remember as a boy how he never had a kind word for me. My older brother, Richard, was his favorite, and Richard had never lost an opportunity to prejudice him against me.

My brother, as a little boy, had always treasured up all my mistakes and punishments at school, and when he returned home, would recount them to my father with a grave face, so that he would have the pleasure of hearing him reprove me, which I believe that Richard delighted in.

What wonder was it, when I finished school, that I chose, after a year or two in the Irish campaign, to return and remain in London, rather than journey down to the grim old castle, built by the third Lord Richmond during the reign of Stephen, and live there with my father and Richard.

My mother had been dead for years. From out of the dim memories of my childhood I see her arise—a gentle, sweet-faced woman, who loved her family and her home more than all else. She died when I was young, and there remained of the family only my father, Richard, and myself.

This sudden fury of my father's was Richard's work, I had no doubt. He had played on my father's old hatred for me, and had fanned it by his hints of my extravagance and wildness, until it had burned into a flame ready to sweep all before it. Well, they could go their own way now, and I would go mine. Henceforth they should not be troubled with me.

I walked over to my window, and looked down upon the crowd, as it surged to and fro along Cheapside. Many parties of richly clad gallants hurried along, bound for the playhouse and the rout.

On the opposite side of the street, amidst the throng, I descried Bobby Vane, in his new plum-colored cloak, as he hastened to my Lady Wiltshire's ball. I followed him with my eyes, until the torch of his linkboy was lost in the crowd.

The night was hot and sultry, and to me, exhausted by my painful thoughts, the room seemed insufferably close and stifling. Hardly knowing what I did, I picked up my coat and hat, and passed out into the street.

How long I walked, or where, I know not. The faces about me on the street I saw dimly, as though in some dream—indistinct, faint, which on the morn comes to the mind in broken fragments. Thou knowest that such thoughts, such faces, have passed before thine eyes, but when and where thou canst not tell.

I strode on rapidly, looking neither to right nor left, not knowing or caring whither I went; glad that I was occupied, and not sitting idle, tortured with painful thoughts of the morrow. Many I passed thus, some of whom stopped to look back at me as I left them behind in my rapid walk. Some sound of their conversation came to my ears as they whispered after me.

I was coming now into the less frequented part of London, where I did not remember to have ever been before. The crowd upon the streets was smaller here, and was of the poorer class, mostly laborers and tradesmen, and the sight of a well-dressed stranger must have created some sensation in their minds. They said naught to me, however, and I passed on.

I had halted at a corner to let a cart pass by, and moved by some impulse of the moment, I now looked back. A man stood by a house a few feet away, and as he caught my look he shrank against the wall, as though to conceal himself from my sight. I had seen him before—a short, squat man, with a dark bronzed face, and thick black hair sprinkled with gray. He was dressed in the garb of a well-to-do tradesman, but there was an indescribable something in his appearance or manner, I know not exactly what, that suggested the sea to me. It may have been his walk, rolling and clumsy, or the slits in his ears, which showed where once there had been ear-rings, that made me think of a seaman.

I had seen him several times within the last few days, hanging around the corners near my apartments, as though watching for someone. Once on coming down my steps, I ran full into his arms as he stood on the landing, and as I disengaged myself, he glanced keenly into my face as though to fix it in his mind, and with a word of apology passed on. It seemed as though he followed my footsteps, for half an hour later, on passing a fruit stand near the Thames, I had seen him gazing intently at me through the lattice.

And now the same man was just behind me, and when I glanced at him, innocently enough, he shrank back as though to avoid my look. Could it be that he dogged my steps, and for some purpose of his own wished to keep me in sight? I knew not why he should do so. I had no enemy in the city, who would go to so much trouble on my account. But it was worth looking into, and so I turned into an alley, and stepping quickly into a dark doorway, I waited.

A few moments, and footsteps sounded on the pavement, and the figure of my pursuer, for pursuer he undoubtedly was, came in sight. Pausing at the entrance of the lane, he looked cautiously into it, no doubt pondering where I could have disappeared so suddenly. The moonlight shone full in his face as he stood there, and from my hiding place I could see every sinister feature, as like a baffled hound he sought to rediscover the lost scent. An instant thus he stood, as if undecided; then silently he stole into the dark alley, and passing the doorway where I stood melted away in the gloom.

Waiting a few minutes where I was, I stepped down, and turning strode out of the lane and back to the corner whence I had come only a moment ago. Congratulating myself on the fact that I had shaken this spy, I resumed my walk. Through strange twisted streets, overhung with gabled, many-windowed houses; by dark shops, now closed for the day; and along ill-paved crooked lanes I strode, engaged with my own thoughts, as black and gloomy as my surroundings.

What was I to do? Turn my back upon London and all my friends, and one bright lady, more than all the rest to me? I could not remain among those where once I held high sway, the chief amidst the gay throng—now poor, despised, forsaken, stripped of my rank and means, for I had been dependent upon the old lord, my father, for all that I had. Monthly he had sent to me through a London bank, a good round sum in shining gold, which I had promptly sown to the four winds.

The life of a gentleman of leisure in the reign of Elizabeth was no cheap thing, I can tell thee. There were many new doublets, made of silk and satin, of varied colors and shapes, which were ever changing, even as a maid blushes—and as readily. There were the routs and balls; playhouses where the painted actors strutted and declaimed; the dice games in the evenings at the houses of the noble ladies who entertained, where we threw for the golden coin, stacked high upon the table, until daylight peeped in at the closed shutters, and shone upon the flushed, haggard faces and disheveled hair of the lords and ladies. Then there were our servants, many and skillful; our horses and hounds; our wines and dinners; our banquets and routs—all the most elegant. No wonder the sovereigns melted from our purses as snow before a summer sun.

Those were brave old days in London town, when we laughed and idled around, free and happy as the larks. Naught to do save enjoy ourselves; naught to think of save the color of some fair lady's eyes. Sweet, happy days—but gone forever!

Even now, when my hair has grown as white as the driven snow and my eye is dim and feeble, I think of them sometimes with a smile. I would give all of worldly fame and fortune I possess, if, for one brief moment, I could feel again the bounding blood of youth pulse through my withered veins, and my bent form could straighten with the old proud fire, and my step be as light and care-free as of yore; if in my ears could ring the sound of those dear voices—Walter Raleigh's ringing laugh, Bobby Vane's piping tones—and if those true and tried friends—many of whom are scattered east and west, some of whom sleep the last, long, quiet sleep—could be gathered with me as of yore in the great room about the roaring fire of the Mermaid Inn.

A great bar of light loomed ahead of me across the narrow street, and as I drew nearer I heard the sound of shouting and carousing, the clink of glasses, and the deep roars of laughter of the drinkers. Evidently some crowd held high carnival to-night, bent on feasting and frolic.

Nearing the latticed window, I peered in. It was a low room in a tavern, its ceiling black with smoke and age. A great log fire roared up the wide fireplace. Around a long table in the center of the room was seated what looked to me like the crew of some foreign ship—swarthy-faced, with earrings hanging from their ears, and cutlasses and swords buckled around their waists—they seemed none too good for any wild deed of crime and plunder.

There were some twenty-five or thirty of them, who, flagons in hand, sat about the table, telling many strange tales of the unknown regions of the Spanish Main, and motioning to the waiters, who ran frantically to and fro, filling the ever empty glasses. They were plainly the terror and admiration of the other guests, who, huddled together in a corner near the chimney, leered and whispered at their boisterous conduct and wild appearance.

I looked in at them for a few moments, aroused from my thoughts by the extraordinary spectacle. It was doubtless the crew of some foreign merchant vessel, probably a Spaniard, who, returning from a long voyage to the West, and touching at London, had chosen this night to celebrate their return to civilization.

As I peered in, a door at the rear of the room opened, and there advanced rapidly into the room my pursuer, whom I had but just outwitted a few brief moments ago in the alley. Hot and breathless he stood there, as though he had just emerged from some race, and I chuckled when I thought what a chase I must have given him.

He crossed the room to where the foreign seamen drank and feasted; bending over two, who sat at the head of the table, he placed his hands upon their shoulders, and whispered a few words in their ears. Instantly they rose, and putting on their caps, followed him out through the rear door, deaf to the taunts and entreaties of their comrades to "drink one more glass."

"He Placed His Hands upon Their Shoulders"

The seamen cried out in Spanish, a tongue which I understood, and their conversation, mostly about their voyages, was carried on in that same language. But they talked only of such things as seamen were wont to do; so turning away from my station, I retraced my steps toward my room.

Why had this man come so quickly into this place, and whispering to two of the seamen, gone out as silently and speedily as he had appeared? Plainly he was known to these men, for they had shouted at him, and two had followed him out without a word. Where? Was it in pursuit of me? And if so with what motive? Perhaps they meant to capture me, and exact a ransom from my doting father, and at the thought, I smiled bitterly to myself. Ah! a kingly ransom would he pay for my return. Long would he grieve, together with the saintly Richard, should I vanish from his ken.

To reach this place was easier than to find my way back through the long labyrinth of turns and corners, of cross streets and alleys. Retracing my steps, I wended my course through a maze of dark lanes, and had almost despaired of ever finding my way home, when turning I saw two men, who seemed to be engaged in an earnest discussion, and quickening my steps, I approached them, inquiring, as I did so, whether they could direct me to Cheapside.

The taller turned quickly at the sound of my voice, and stood looking down at me. He was wrapped in a great cloak, and I only saw, bent upon me, the flash of a pair of cold black eyes. "Turn the first corner to the right," he answered, with a slight foreign accent. "That will take thee straight to it," and he turned again to his companion as though eager to be rid of me.

With a brief word of thanks I passed on, but had gone only a few steps when I heard a loud oath, and wheeling about saw one of the men draw his sword and make for the other, who seemed to be surprised and dismayed by the sudden attack.

The sword flashed in the moonlight, and I barely had time to dash back, and running in between them to catch it upon my own, which I had hastily drawn, else the luckless victim had departed this flesh in a twinkling.

With another loud cry, the assailant made a hasty pass at me, and we closed. Even in the moonlight I was struck with the unusual beauty of the face—its long aquiline nose, and keen hawk eyes. The hat had fallen from his head, and his jet black hair shone like the wing of a raven.

I had small time to observe these things, however, for he pressed me with the fury of a demon, now thrusting with the point, then cutting at me with the blade. I had on merely a light rapier, more for dress than work, while he was using a heavy service sword, and I began to realize that this could not last much longer, for he would beat me down by the strength of his arm, as with all his swordsmanship he pressed upon me.

I was bleeding from several slight wounds where he had touched me, for he was undoubtedly the finest blade with whom I had ever crossed swords—I, Thomas Winchester, accounted one of the best swordsmen of the North Country; backward, backward he was pressing me, and I could see the evil look on his face, as he steadily pushed me to the wall.

How much longer the unequal fight would have lasted, I know not. I had abandoned all hope and given myself up for lost, when the gentleman to whose rescue I had come, and who had stood by in the meantime as if dazed, suddenly drew his sword and came to my assistance.

Together we rushed upon my tall assailant with all our skill and force, but try as we would, we could never cross the gleaming hedge of steel, with which he seemed ringed about. Now he would meet my ally's blade and beat him back, and when I rushed upon him, thinking to take him unawares, I would meet that impenetrable wall of fire, and would be forced to retreat again. It seemed more than mortal man could endure, but his dark, gleaming eyes showed no change; and it looked as if we would have both been held at bay, had it not been for an unlooked for and unforeseen circumstance.

In meeting the attack of my friend, for I knew not what else to call him, the tall stranger's foot slipped, and he fell at full length on the pavement. We both rushed forward quickly, eager to disarm so dangerous a foe, when raising himself on his elbow, he drew a little silver whistle from his breast, and blew one sharp, long blast.

Immediately it seemed as if the whole street were alive with men. They looked as if they sprang from the very pavements. My friend was seized before he could turn to meet the new foe, and a dozen or more sprang upon me. The first, a burly ruffian armed with a cutlass, I ran through the body with my rapier, but as he fell, he dragged my weapon out of my hand, and before I could disengage it from his body, the others were upon me.

I had one glimpse of a mass of dark, bronzed faces, evil and leering; then there was a noise as of many waters in my ears—I seemed to be falling, falling, and I knew no more.

CHAPTER II I HAVE AN OFFER

I seemed to be back at Richmond Castle. I could see the great green lawn and the dove-cot with its pigeons. Old Dennis, the gardener, was speaking to me, "Mister Thomas, it's glad I am to see thee back." My hound came running forward to lick my hand, and I could feel the fresh breeze of the country, so different from the hot, feverish air of London, upon my face. A great peace fell upon me—I was at home.

The scene changed; I was at Lady Wiltshire's ball. I could see the brilliantly lighted rooms, the eager, joyous faces about me. There was the young débutante, unaffectedly pleased and amused; the bored, tired rake, weary of the game. Yonder comes my Lord Leicester, followed by his crowd of satellites, and with him my Lady Wiltshire and her beautiful ward, the Lady Margaret Carroll, surrounded by a little coterie of admirers.

I could see the light as it fell upon her beautiful brown hair, turning every thread into gold, as rich and pure as any mined from the far fabled land of the Indies in the days gone by, and the deep violet of her eyes, like the azure blue of the sky on a summer day, with not a cloud to disturb or ruffle it. As she turned her head, I could see the rich full throat, white as the driven snow, and the lovely rose color upon her cheek—that fair cheek, the envy and despair of many a titled beauty.

I could hear the whispers of the Viscount James Henry Hampden, who stood beside her; and while he fanned her with the pretty jeweled fan and poured out a stream of small talk, it was a sight for gods and men. It was more than mortal man could bear, and stretching out my arms, I called to her, "Margaret!" She turned her dark blue eyes upon me, and as she did so faded from my sight.

I seemed to be wandering in a vast and limitless desert, no vegetation was in view, and I could see nothing but the hot, burning sand. I was thirsty, but though I searched far and wide, I could find no water to cool my burning tongue. But as I looked toward the horizon, I saw a beautiful, cool oasis; the fresh, green trees seemed to beckon me on. I struggled through the terrible heat and sand, and finally as I reached it, it vanished, and I awoke.

My first sensation was one of pain. I raised my hand to my head. It was bandaged, as was also my left arm; and on attempting to turn on the bunk where I lay, a sudden pain seized me, which turned me faint and sick.

I lay perfectly still for some time, gazing at the ceiling above me—so different from my own apartments. My eyes were met with the sight of plain, unpainted pine boards, the rough, unfinished wood broken and defaced in places, as though dented by some heavy article coming into violent contact with it.

I also became conscious of a rocking, tossing motion, as if caused by the rolling of a vessel upon the open sea, and while wondering where I was, I dropped off into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

I was awakened by someone shaking me roughly by the shoulder, and on looking up, I perceived the man who had dogged my steps on last evening standing over me, with a platter in one hand, upon which there was some salt beef and ship biscuits, and a candle in the other.

He, on perceiving my rueful countenance, broke out into a loud peal of laughter.

"Here, my fine fellow, eat whilst thou mayst!" he cried. "Perchance a day may dawn when thou canst not."

"Where am I?" I exclaimed weakly.

"Eat and ask no more questions," he replied. "Our captain will see thee after thou hast eaten."

Without more words I fell to upon the food, and notwithstanding that it was rough fare, I managed to make a good meal of it. My head had ceased to pain me, and while my arm still throbbed and ached, I was beginning to feel like myself again.

I thought of my encounter with the tall stranger of the night before—at least I supposed it was the night before; for although the room in which I was confined was without windows or openings of any kind, and was dark save for the candle, I had seen a gleam of light, as the sailor had opened the door. He was a short, bronzed fellow, with bold, dark eyes, and a sullen face, garbed in the rough clothes of a seaman.

I fumbled in my pocket, and finding a sovereign, drew it out, and extended it to him.

"My man, I would ask thee a question. Wilt answer it?"

At the sight of the gold, the face of the seaman changed. His dark sullen look was replaced by one, which, if not of delight, plainly indicated that he was pleased, and he extended his hand, with a rough, uncouth bow.

"Anything that I know, I will answer, your honor," he said.

"Well, then, where am I?" I asked.

The man did not answer, and looking at his face, I saw that he seemed to hesitate between a desire to answer, and fear to do so.

"Come now, didst not thou say that thou wouldst answer my question?" I cried.

"Thou art on the ship 'Betsy' of London," he answered sullenly; and picking up his empty platter (for I had almost demolished the salt beef and bread), he strode out of the room before I could stop him, and I heard the heavy bolts turn, as he secured the door.

I had discovered on looking around the room while eating, that I was in a common sailor's cabin, the windows of which were boarded, so as to exclude all light from the room.

Groping my way in the dark, as best I could, I crossed over to the other side of the cabin, and began to feel with my right hand along the side of the room for the boards, with which the window had been planked up. But I was still weak and dizzy, and after a few minutes' work, I was compelled to sink down on the floor to rest, and while I lay there, I heard the sound of footsteps outside the door.

The heavy bar creaked; the door swung open; and I was gazing into the face of the tall stranger, with whom I had fought upon the streets of London. The same high forehead, aquiline nose, thin, cruel lips, and jet-black eyes and hair. He wore a plum-colored doublet, with dark fawn trunks and hose, and had about him that ease and grace which mark the gentleman.

In truth, he would have passed as a handsome gallant, had it not been for the cruelty and sensuality of his face. I have never been able to determine what feature it was that gave him that air of sinister, reckless cruelty. Analyzing his face, no one single member gave it that expression, but the combined effect was that of a man who had never let any fear or scruple come between himself and his desire.

He stood in the doorway a moment in silence, a candle in his hand, looking upward; then closing the door, he advanced into the room, and with a bow and smile, addressed me as I sat upon the floor, speaking in English, but with a pronounced accent:

"I trust that Sir Thomas Winchester will pardon this rude abode, and this somewhat unceremonious treatment. I assure him that nothing but the most urgent necessity is to blame for it."

"If thou wilt have the goodness to tell me where I am, how I came here, and by whom and what authority I am detained in this place?" I said angrily, for the Richmond blood, which had never brooked opposition, and which had been the pride and curse of my race, was up now, and was boiling in my veins.

"One thing at a time, my dear sir," he replied, and seating himself on a stool near the rude table on which he had placed the candle, he motioned me to a seat upon the other side of the room.

But my temper was aroused, and by a shake of the head I declined the proffered seat, at the same time indicating my desire that he should answer my questions.

"In the first place," he replied, "thou art on the brig, 'Betsy,' two days out from London. In the second place, as doubtless thou rememberest, thou didst attack me on the street of London, without any just cause, and wouldst have slain me, hadst thou had thy way. On my men coming up, thou wert unfortunately struck on the head, and being senseless, wert brought on board this ship. In the third place, thou art detained on board this vessel by me, and by my authority," and he looked down coolly upon me, as I sat upon the floor.

"Who art thou," I exclaimed, rising to my feet, "that thou shouldst detain me?"

My heat produced no noticeable effect upon him; with an evil smile he calmly replied, "The Count DeNortier."

In a flash I knew into whose hands I had fallen—DeNortier, the Spanish adventurer and pirate, whose boldness and cruelty had been the talk of London two years ago.

He had taken a Portuguese merchant vessel, bound from Lisbon to the West Indies, and fearful tales had been told of the way in which he had tortured the men and women. After taking everything of value from the ship, he had cut the throats of those who remained alive, and scuttling the ship, had sailed away. The ship, however, had not sunk immediately, and two days later was found by a Spanish vessel, and from a dying sailor the news of the tragedy had been heard.

Since that day, from time to time, had come news of some further devilish act, until the whole of Europe knew and feared this human fiend.

But I was a man. I could meet death like a gentleman, and if this desperado expected me to flinch, he would be disappointed. So unmoved, I awaited further explanation.

The Count, seeing that I was unaffected by his name, continued:

"Thou wouldst perhaps know why I had thee brought aboard, and I will satisfy thy curiosity. I am in need of men—not puppets, but men. When thou wert overpowered upon the street of London, I knew thee to be a man, and had thee brought aboard this ship, not knowing who thou wert. Since bringing thee aboard, I have discovered thy name and reputation. Several of thy countrymen are with me. Come with us. I have lost my lieutenant, and thou shalt have the place. What more couldst thou desire? Gold, wine, the wealth of the broad seas at thy command, a climate the finest in the world, a life of stir and enterprise, which would appeal to thee. Is there more that thou couldst wish?" And leaning back upon his stool against the wall, he looked at me with his cold black eyes.

For a moment the audacity of the scheme amused me. I, a gentleman, to become a wild sea rover; to roam the sea knowing no law or God save that of my captain? It was ridiculous and laughable.

The Count perceived the look of covert amusement upon my face.

"Laugh not, my friend—I am in earnest!" he exclaimed slowly and deliberately. "Weigh my offer well before thou refusest," and he looked at me grimly.

And now the tempter rushed upon me, and whispered—why not? Thou art cut off from thy friends and people, and left an outcast upon the earth, with no home or friends. Why not? To roam the wide seas with none to say thee nay; free as a bird that wings its way among the clouds, far above the path of weary mortals; gold, the wealth of the seas at thy command. Why not?

All the demons of hell assailed me to bear me down. I had no one to mourn for me, or grieve that I should take such a course. To live the bold, free life, though but a day—were it not better than to stand a pariah among men? What matter the morrow? We could live the night with song and laughter, and if with the morn came the pale spectre to hold us to a grim account, we would at least have the consolation of knowing that for one brief night we had lived.

I had almost accepted his offer, forgetting all honor and manhood, forgetting all those higher, nobler things. I had turned to DeNortier, and had opened my mouth to close with his proposition. Already his eye had brightened at the prospect of securing a bold assistant and lieutenant.

And even as I turned there flashed into my mind the thought of a fair maiden, with clear, blue eyes and gold-brown hair, into whose pure soul there had never come one unworthy thought; and I could see with what scorn those eyes would be turned upon me, as one who had disgraced his birth and rank and the honored name he bore.

No, come what might, I would endeavor to be as she would have me. Cut off from her by an impenetrable barrier, I would yet live as a gentleman should, and would pursue my solitary path throughout the long night until the morn.

"Thou hast my answer," I said. "I will not join thee."

The pirate's face had changed, and had grown dark with anger. Although he endeavored to conceal his wrath, his eyes sparkled with rage, and his hand played with the hilt of his sword.

"Thou hadst best reconsider my offer," he said in a low, fierce voice. "We have a short way of dealing with those who thwart us."

"I have decided," I replied. "I am willing to abide by my decision."

He arose to his feet, and stood looking at me a moment; then picking up his candle, he left the room. The bolt turned in its socket; his footsteps died away; and I was left to my own meditations.

They were far from pleasant; afloat on the seas in the hands of a man who knew no law save his own will; shut off from all help, I was indeed in a not-to-be-envied position.

My thoughts turned to London. What did my old friends think had become of me? What did Bobby Vane think? Good old Bobby! How many times had we explored the city by moonlight. How many escapades we had had together, in the ten years we had been in London. We had been more like brothers than friends.

And then there were a score of others, boon companions, with whom I had laughed and drank and feasted; had frequented the playhouses, and seen the puppet shows with their tinsel and glitter. What did they think of me—or care?

Well, it was the way of the world. We have our little day, our little jest, our little song, and then the night falls, and shuts out the last faint gleam of the setting sun. As travelers who pass upon the road, we meet—a moment's greeting; then the journey is resumed, and we disappear in the deepening gloom. And so thinking I fell asleep.

Then passed long uneventful days and nights, during which I saw only the sailor who had first brought my meals, and who had told me his name was Herrick. Three times a day he brought my food, and stood by me, sullen and morose, while I ate. When I finished, he would take the platter and candle and leave me, locking the heavy bolt behind him. All my efforts to draw him into a conversation proved vain; he would not be drawn out, or answer any of my questions.

My health began to suffer from my close confinement, and I had almost given up all hope of ever seeing again the blue skies of heaven. I could still feel the rocking and tossing of the vessel, and sometimes could hear the shouts of the men, but outside of this, I was as much dead to the world as if I had been buried.

It was about the twentieth day, I reckoned, after my conversation with DeNortier, when I heard footsteps approaching the door of my prison at an unwonted hour; as only a few minutes before the grim Herrick had brought my meal—whether breakfast, dinner, or supper, I did not know.

The heavy lock groaned; the door opened, and Herrick stood outside.

"Come," he said, "thou art wanted on deck," and candle in hand, he waited for me.

The candlelight threw into relief his grim, dark features; his broad, flat nose and coarse, rough mouth; sparkled on the earrings in his ears; gleamed on his cutlass, which was suspended from his waist by a broad leather belt—altogether it was a picture for some ancient master, as he stood in the doorway.

Picking up my tarnished hat, I passed up the ladder and stood on the deck of the ship.

The vessel lay motionless upon the water. About the deck there clustered a group of rough sailors—English, by their costume and language, some thirty or more.

On the other side of the vessel there stood about fifty of the most villainous-looking men I had ever seen—the ruffians whom I had noticed in the alehouse in London—of every clime and nationality, their faces stamped with all manner of vice; they were a crew repulsive enough to make men shudder.

Between these two groups there stood DeNortier, and a broad, squat man, whom, from his dress and deportment, I surmised to be the master of the ship.

A few ship-lengths distant there lay another vessel, long, low, with the hull painted a dull black. Many culverins protruded their frowning mouths from her dark sides; her decks were crowded with men. From her mast there flew a black flag, and as I gazed at it the folds opened wide to the wind, and I saw upon its face the skull and crossbones of the sea rover.

From the vessel was putting out a boat filled with men, which was making for the ship on which I stood.

The voice of DeNortier fell upon my ears at this moment.

"Well, honored sir, I trust that thou hast had a pleasant trip."

I turned to him as he stood beside me looking at my face, with a sinister smile on his own.

"Pleasant trip!" I cried. "Yes—as the sufferings of the damned are pleasant, such pleasure have I had."

He shrugged his shoulders, then came close to me, and spoke in a lower tone:

"Thou hast in thy power to change it. Would it not be better to be a leader among those merry men yonder—to have the treasure of the world at thy command—than to languish out a miserable existence in some foul prison, shut out from the world; or perhaps to die by the thumbscrew and the torture?"

"Better," I replied, "perhaps—but answer one question."

"What is it?" he asked.

"Why dost thou detain me here?"

"I have told thee once," he answered; "it is not necessary to repeat it."

"Granting that," I said; "in case of my refusal, what dost thou intend to do with me?"

"I shall take thee with me to my rendezvous; shall keep thee until thou dost change thy mind. If thou wilt not join us after a reasonable time—why, dead men tell no tales." And as he said this, his black eyes narrowed to a mere slit.

He gazed at me a moment, then, turning his back, walked to where the pirates, whose boat had arrived, were scrambling aboard the vessel.

I was about to follow him, when my attention was attracted to two seamen who came up the companionway, bearing between them a man. They came forward to where I stood alone, and as they neared, I looked at the burden in their arms. It was not—could not be? Yes, it was the gentleman to whose rescue I had come on the street of London, and to whom I owed my present situation.

The confinement had told on him, great hollows were under his eyes, his cheeks were wan and thin; no wonder I looked at him twice before I knew him. The seamen brought him forward to where I stood, and there deposited him, as though he were a bundle of goods.

I believe he did not know me when he raised his eyes blankly to my face, but as he looked at me a moment, the light of recognition crept into them, and he held out his hand in greeting, with a smile.

"Pardon me, that I did not at first know thee, but thou must remember that I only saw thee a moment in the moonlight, when we were both engaged, and this cursed imprisonment has so worked upon me, that I hardly believe I would know my own mother, could I see her."

I laughed at the energy with which he spoke, and after grasping his proffered hand, sat down beside him.

"Dame Fortune has played us a scurvy trick," I said, "but perhaps the wheel may turn. I am Thomas Winchester, Kt., of London. Pray, whom have I the honor of addressing?"

He bowed. "I well know Sir Thomas Winchester by reputation, and am glad to know in person so redoubtable a gentleman," he answered. "Thou wert in Ireland some years ago with Sir Philip Sidney. Permit me to introduce Captain Henry Steele, at thy service."

Steele? Steele? Where had I heard that name before? Ah, yes, it all came back to me. I remembered Philip Sidney's recounting, at the old Mermaid Inn, over a pipe of the fragrant Virginia tobacco, the tale of how this man Steele had swam across a river in the Low Country, during the campaign with Spain, and had traveled ten miles through a country swarming with the enemy, where capture meant certain death, to carry dispatches to a besieged fortress.

I remembered the crowded room; the cloud of blue tobacco smoke, through which peered the eager, interested faces of the listeners; remembered the applause which the tale evoked; and Francis Drake's "By God! 'twas a gallant deed, sir."

No wonder was it that I wrung his hand, glad to have so sturdy a warrior with me. Short, erect, strongly built, with a face that bespoke courage and determination, his was a noble spirit, and one calculated to invite confidence and trust.

"And now let me thank thee for thy assistance in that fight on the street of London," he said. "The gods only know what I would have done without thy arm, for I have never before seen such swordplay in mortal man."

"Tell me," I inquired, "how thou didst come to get into a difficulty with thy assailant?"

And then, in a few short words, he told me that he had just returned from the Low Country a few days before, where he had been engaged in the noble fight that the Netherlands were waging against their Spanish oppressors. He had spent the early part of the night at a tavern with some of his friends, and was returning to his lodgings, his head heavy with wine, when he was stopped on a corner by DeNortier, who held up a sparkling ring, set with a precious stone, and asked him if he had lost it. He stepped nearer, to look at the gem; the man struck him in the face, and then, drawing his sword, had rushed at him.

The rest I knew. Then he requested me to tell him where he was, and I told him all that I knew. I had barely finished, before I saw DeNortier approaching us.

"Well, gentlemen," he said, "the boat awaits you."

I looked around—I had no weapon, neither had Steele. We were both weak from our long confinement, and were surrounded by the cutthroats whom DeNortier had brought with him from London. Resistance seemed useless, so gathering up my faded cloak, and assisting Steele, who was very feeble, I followed DeNortier to the boat.

For a moment I hesitated at the ladder, which led down to the little craft, but the pirate, as if divining my purpose, had placed his whole force at the entrance. Grim and cold they stood, weapons in hand. Bowing to the inevitable, we went down the ladder into the boat, and were rapidly rowed over to the pirate vessel.

The men who manned the craft were like those I had seen on the "Betsy," wild and reckless, and were dressed in fantastic costumes. They were also heavily armed.

On attempting to address one of them, I was immediately silenced by Herrick, who seemed to be in command, and who growled out that if I wanted to save my neck, I had best hold my tongue. Taking the polite suggestion, for the remainder of our trip I held my peace, and we neared the vessel in silence.

Reaching the pirate, we were immediately carried down the cabin way into a large bare room, with a rough bunk in one corner, and only a rude table together with a chair or two. The window of this room was enclosed by an iron grating. Here Steele and myself were left alone.

CHAPTER III WE TAKE THE MERCHANT

Ten days more passed; but they were not so dull and tedious as those I had spent heretofore. Both Steele and myself were rapidly improving in health, under the cheering influence of our mutual companionship and conversation.

We passed the days in recounting our mutual adventures; he telling of his experience in the Low Country; the many hairbreadth escapes that he had met with at the hands of the Spaniards; of the struggles that the people of Holland were passing through in their fight for freedom, and how many gallant Englishmen had drawn swords in their cause. He also asked me something of my Irish campaign with Sidney many years ago, when I was but a light-hearted lad, before I had ever gone to London and lost the sweetness and freshness of my youth in that great city of fashions and society.

I would tell him of the gayeties of London of which he knew little; of the nobles and ladies of fashion, and their empty, care-free, butterfly existence.

I told him of a great play which I had seen, when the little man, Shakespeare, had played a noble tragedy before the crown, and tried to give him some idea of the great lighted house with its audience of nobles and fair ladies.

Steele's eyes flashed, as I tried to depict the play, and the enthusiasm of the people as they saw some noble scene.

"It must have been grand!—grand! lad," he cried. "I would give five years of my existence to live such a life, be it only for a day."

I also told him of my father's dismissal, for Steele's was a fine and generous nature, which invited confidence; and he agreed with me that Richard must have had a hand in it.

We also talked of the golden Virginia, which Raleigh was determined to make into a great, vast empire; and discussed its wild, ferocious tribes, and its mines of gold and gems. So passed ten days.

We had exhausted all plans for escaping; none seemed feasible. Were we to overpower our jailer, our condition would not be bettered; and so being surrounded by a shipload of pirates, and with no means of escape, we mutually agreed to wait until land was reached before making an attempt to free ourselves.

On the eleventh morning, just as we finished our breakfast, Steele went to the grating to look out, and as he did so, uttered an exclamation.

"Look!" he cried, pointing out upon the sea.

I ran over to the window, and following his finger, saw far away on the horizon a dark speck, which Steele asserted was a ship. Even as we looked we heard a hoarse order in Spanish, a language I am familiar with. It was DeNortier's command to the pirates to put about in the direction of the distant vessel.

All the morning long we followed that dark speck upon the water, gaining little by little, until about two of the evening we had gotten well in sight of her. She was a great galleon, bearing the yellow flag of Spain, her decks crowded with men, women, and children, who pointed and gesticulated at us.

Slowly, steadily, we drew nearer, nearer, until within a few yards of her. I could see the soldiers trying to drive the women and children down below. Suddenly we came about; I heard the hoarse word of command, and then like a peal of thunder from a clear sky, the pirates discharged their culverins into the galleon.

The slaughter was fearful. Men, women, and children were mowed down; and the screams of the wounded and dying rang loud and clear in our ears. Men ran hither and thither upon the decks. A few of the soldiers returned the fire of the pirates, but they seemed paralyzed with terror.

Slowly our vessel came around in the wind, and discharged another broadside—and yet another, the musketoons of the pirates keeping up an incessant fire all the while. The deck of the galleon literally ran blood. Of the many who had thronged the vessel but a few minutes before, barely one-half were alive.

The others lay huddled into great heaps—some dead, others grievously wounded, many praying, others screaming with pain. An officer, his steel helmet gleaming, ran to and fro, trying to get the men in order—but in vain.

They seemed utterly beside themselves with fright, and abandoning the culverins, from which they had never fired a shot, the gunners ran down the hold; while the remainder of the men stood as if dazed by the destruction which the pirates had wrought.

As we looked on, sick at heart, and wishing but for some weapon, that we might strike one blow for the galleon, we heard the door behind us open, and old Herrick, a grin of delight upon his face, came into the cabin.

"The captain wishes you to come on deck," he informed us.

We followed the old ruffian in silence up the companionway, and stood upon the deck. A few dead and wounded pirates lay about us.

DeNortier, sword in hand, stood by the mast, two or three of his lieutenants around him. He gave us a dark look and said, "Gentlemen, you will accompany me to yonder ship."

I merely inclined my head in token of our assent.

The boats were gotten out, and crowded with the pirates, made their way to the stricken vessel. As we drew nearer, we saw that the slaughter was even worse than it had appeared from the deck of the ship.

Here lay the body of a fresh young girl; there that of a grizzled old sailor; here a soldier in his armor, musketoon in hand; there a young child, his chubby arm under his head, as if asleep and dreaming; there a negro, dark and scowling. It was a horrible sight.

We climbed on deck, and immediately DeNortier ordered a squad of sailors to throw the dead bodies overboard; another to divide the prisoners—the men into one group, the women and children into another.

Steele, who had been examining a culverin that stood near him, touched me on the sleeve. I turned and looked at the gun to which he pointed—it was spiked and useless. We looked at another—spiked too.

The culverins had all evidently been disabled by some trusty ally on the ship. This accounted for the fact that they were never fired. I turned sick at the thought of such treachery, which had cost so many human lives, and so much blood and carnage.

And now we noticed that the pirates had stood all the men, who were left alive, by the side of the rail, their hands bound behind them. DeNortier advanced in front of the silent line.

"My men," he cried in Spanish (most of the men were Spaniards), "who of you wish a merry life, plenty of wine, gold in abundance, and a good ship under you, to roam the wide blue seas? Any who prefer that to a watery grave, step forward."

There were about one hundred men left; some twenty stepped forward; the rest stood firm and unyielding. Some of their faces were pale; a few of them were wounded; some had wives and children in far-off Spain, who would watch for their coming in vain. The suns would wax and wane; the hair of the watchers would fade slowly into the white of the winter snows; their children would grow up, live their little day, and lie down in the arms of the great angel, "Death"—but still they would not come. Not for them was a grave beneath the sunny skies of Spain, with the mourners to weep about their lifeless clay—theirs was a watery grave, lonely and deep, beneath the ocean's brine.

"I will give you one more chance," the pirate said. "Step forward, and your lives are saved—if not, overboard you go."

I have never admired the Spaniard as a race; but at this moment I felt a thrill of admiration and respect for those men, most of them bronzed and battered veterans, who could look into the face of death and meet him unafraid and undismayed.

The captain raised his hand; but I could not see them go down without one effort to save them. I sprang forward, as did also Steele.

"Count," I cried, "thou canst not mean to throw them overboard?—thou dost not mean to do that?"

"Why not?" he said coolly. "They are of no use to me, if they will not join me. I cannot keep them as captives. What other course is open to me?"

"Unbind them," I said; "give them the ship and let them go. Better starvation upon the seas, than such a death as this."

"What? And let them bring down a swarm about my ears? Hardly!" he sneered. "I was not born yesterday, brave sir." Then raising his voice he shouted, "Herrick, seize them!"

The sturdy Herrick and a score of others rushed upon us. The struggle was brief; we were unarmed, and two against a score, for many others of the pirates had rushed to the assistance of their companions.

I felled some two or three of my assailants to the floor, and Steele did the like, but flesh and blood could do no more. We were seized, bound hand and foot, and deposited like two logs on the floor of the deck to await the destruction of the captives.

The prisoners, with their hands bound and tied together, could only dumbly watch the struggle, which was to decide their fate.

As the pirates, after securing us, turned to their captives to put the brutal sentence of their captain into execution, the prisoner who stood at the end of the line next us, and who wore a long white beard, which flowed down over his armor, turned to us and cried in English:

"We thank you, noble sirs, for your gallant struggle in our behalf. May the blessings of the Holy Virgin be with you forever! May you ever remember that you have stood up manfully for those who could not help themselves; and may the memory of this deed be as water to the thirsty traveler in the desert. Farewell! may the benediction of God be ever with you."

As he finished, the pirates rushed upon them. I had been a soldier in Ireland, and had looked unmoved on many a bloody field, but this slaughter of men, bound hand and foot, was more than I could see unmoved. A moment of brief struggle; I turned my head aside; there was a thud, as man after man struck the water—then silence. I looked again; they were gone; only the pirates, laughing and jeering among themselves, remained.

And now the burly Herrick appeared, leading by the sleeve a girl, dark, slender, petite, with a complexion like a wild rose, and great glorious black eyes. Truly she was a beautiful sight, though she shrank back in affright from the admiring eyes of DeNortier.

"By the Holy City! Here is a find!" he cried. "Herrick, thou shalt be made a bishop, and wear a miter; I swear it shall be so."

The rascal bowed, a leer upon his face.

"I thought that this would please thy Excellency," he said.

"I have long searched the broad blue seas for a bride—what need to go further? Here is a pearl from the Antilles, a very jewel of the West. Bid Father Francis stand forth, and make us one."

The girl stood as though frozen into stone, during this conversation, as if dazed by the terrible scene through which she had passed. But as DeNortier motioned a seaman to find the priest, whom he called Father Francis, the full horror of the situation seemed to burst upon her, and breaking away from the grasp of old Herrick, she threw herself at DeNortier's feet, in a torrent of tears.

"Señor! Señor!" she cried, "for the love of God, have mercy! Hast thou no soul? Hadst thou a mother? For her sake I implore! Kill me if thou wilt, but do not do this act; 'twill be a stone about thy neck, to drag thee down to the bottomless pit."

The Count smiled and touched her with his hand.

"Rise up, fair one," he said; "thou shalt be queen of the tropic isles, and share my throne. Thou shalt have slaves to answer thy beck and call; thy slightest wish shall be my law. Dry those tears; Father Francis shall tie the wedding knot—and then, ho! for the fragrant isle where we shall reign."

The girl sprang to her feet, her eyes flashing.

"Dog!" she cried, "rather would I die than be the wife of such as thou! Rather would I let the crows pick the flesh from my bones, than to submit to such an outrage! Knowest thou not that I am the Donna Maria DeCarnova, the daughter of the Duc DeCarnova? The blood of kings and princes runs in my veins. Kill me, if thou wilt, but do not compel me to be thy wife."

The Count laughed—such a laugh as the damned might have uttered, as they gloat in the regions of the Inferno over a soul that is lost.

"Donna," he said, "save thy pretty blandishments, until after the priest hath finished with us. Thou mightst as well try to climb into the clouds of Heaven as to move me, after my mind has been made up. My wife thou shalt be, whether thou dost desire it or not. Prepare thyself for the wedding."

I could stand this scene no longer; for, from where I lay, bound and tied, I could see and hear all that passed. The agony of the girl touched me to the heart. I have seen much of the evil side of life; but all the scenes of sin and sorrow have made me unable to turn a deaf ear to the cry of suffering, agonizing humanity.

Naught had I to live for, disowned and spurned by my own father; cut off by an impenetrable barrier from all I knew and loved, what did there remain for me? What mattered a few short days? I could not ask the Lady Margaret Carroll to share such a life as this—would not let her do so, even were she willing.

The Spanish girl was young, wealthy, beautiful; life held much, meant much to her; stretched out rich and wonderful before her eyes. I would let the maiden go. I was a soldier and a gentleman, and death's cold hand had been near me too often on the fields of Ireland to fear him now.

"Steele," I said, "I am past my youth; have seen the best in life; have drunk deep of the golden cup. The maiden is young and lovely. I will exchange myself for the girl. DeNortier may do what he wishes with me, if he will but let the maid go free. Good-by, old friend—God bless thee! We have been together but a small space as time goes, yet I have learned to love thee. When thou returnest to England in the days to come, thou wilt bear my devoirs to Lady Margaret Carroll, and tell her that I was ever unto death her loyal knight. That I died as became a soldier and a gentleman—my last thoughts were of her. Farewell!"

I could not see his face, for they had bound and thrown me with my back to him; but in a moment he spoke, his voice husky with emotion:

"Truly, my friend, thou art the bravest gentleman that it has ever been my good fortune to know. I would I could persuade thee from this deed."

"Thou canst not," I answered. "My mind is fixed and immovable."

"Then fare thee well!" he answered, "and God be with thee. If ever I come to England, I will search out the Lady Margaret Carroll, and deliver thy message, though I be compelled to walk through England barefoot to do so."

"So be it," I replied, and I called loudly for DeNortier.

The Count came forward to where I lay bound, his face dark with anger, his eyes flashing; plainly the Spanish girl had not left him in the best of moods.

"What wouldst thou have?" he cried. "Speak quickly, my time is short."

"Count," I answered, "thou art a soldier, and sometime a gentleman. Release the maid; swear to me that thou wilt furnish her a safe conduct to Spain; let my friend, Steele, go with her as escort, and thou mayst do what thou wilt with me."

"Art thou mad," he said, "that thou proposest such a thing? Art thou flesh and blood, that thou shouldst pass through such torture as I can devise? Granting that thy life should be of enough value to me that I should release the maid, of what benefit would that be to me? What is the maid to thee, that thou shouldst give thy life for her?"

As I lay there, a verse of Scripture passed through my mind, learned long years ago, at my mother's knee. I had not thought of it for twenty years, but it came clear and fresh to my mind, as if learned on yesterday. "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." Hardly knowing what I did, I repeated these few words, more to myself than to him. They were so short, and yet so full of meaning.

The loving face of my mother came back to me as of old, when kneeling at her feet, I would repeat my simple prayers. Much had I learned since then, more of sin and evil than of good; yet many things, that I had lisped long years ago, would come back to me at unexpected moments, like rich gold buried for a season, and but awaiting the spade of the miner to uncover the yellow ore. Dear patient one, thy toil was long and weary, but perhaps thou builded better than thou dreamed.

DeNortier burst into a peal of laughter at the words. "This is the best yet!" he shouted, stamping his feet with glee. "The devil turned priest! I had as soon expected old Herrick to don the cassock."

I answered him: "The maid is naught to me, yet I would not see her young life blighted. Swear to me on the crucifix that she shall go unharmed, with my friend as an escort; that thou wilt send them to some Spanish port, and I am content. Let it be said that thou didst one good deed in all thy career of blood and crime; perhaps it will avail thee much, at the last grim moment."

He still stood looking at me. "Thou art a strange and perverse man, that thou wouldst give thy life for an unknown maid, but the humor of the thing appeals to me. I, too, am strange, and have my whims and fancies. So be it; the maid shall go free with thy friend to see her safe. I have another vessel, which meets me in a day or two; they shall go on that, and thou canst take her place."

"One last word," I said, "thou canst take my life if thou wilt, but thou canst not make me stoop to play the knave. A gentleman I was born, and by God's help, a gentleman I will die."

A bitter smile played around his mouth for a moment. "So be it," he said, and turning, he called: "Francis! Francis! where art thou?"

"Here, thy Excellency," cried a voice; and from out of the group of pirates, there waddled towards us the large, stout figure of an Englishman, clad in the gown of a priest; a man on whose rubicund face the mellow juice of the grape had stamped its seal. The nose red and swollen, the cheeks puffed and bloated, the watery eye, all told the tale of his vice as plainly as if it had been spoken in words.

He came forward, a smile of triumph upon his face. "Ah! thy Excellency," he cried, as he came nearer, "did I not do my work well? Not one culverin to answer thee with, and all at the risk of my life. Was I not nearly discovered several times? I would not go through the like again for a mine of gold, freshly dug from the virgin soil."

"Thou shalt be well requited for thy pains," DeNortier replied. "In the meantime, hast thou a cross?"

"Most assuredly," he answered; "the servant hath ever the tools of his calling," and he plucked from under the folds of his cassock a little iron cross, and held it out to the Count.

"Swear upon it," I said, "that by the bones of thy ancestors, by the body of Jesus, by all the fears of perdition, thou wilt deliver the maiden, with Captain Steele, safe and unharmed, into the hands of her friends. If thou failest to do so, may a thousand curses weigh down thy soul."

"I swear it," he said sullenly, kissing the cross, and returning it to the priest.

"And thou foul imp of Satan," I cried to the priest, "the first time I get but a chance, I will run my sword through thy traitor heart; and this I swear."

"Bold words, brave sir," he answered. "Strange words from a dying man. I will heed them more, when thou art more able to perform thy threat," and with a leer at me, he hobbled after DeNortier, who had gone forward to acquaint the girl with the fact that she was free.

As he told her that she was at liberty, and would be placed in the hands of her friends in a few days, and that I had taken her place, she ran forward to where I lay, and threw herself at my feet.

"Oh, Señor!" she cried, "thou must be a blessed saint in disguise."

"No saint, maiden," I answered, "only a weak, erring man."

"But thou canst not mean that thou wilt stay among these dreadful men, and let me go back to my home? I cannot let thee do that; thy blood would be upon my hands."

"No," I answered, "I am in the hands of God; thou canst do no good by remaining here. I am in the power of these men already, and can be in no worse position. Perhaps," I said, speaking in a lower tone, "thou canst bring succor, and thus assist me."

"I will," she answered quickly, "though I be compelled to go to the King himself. Have no fear, I will send back as soon as I reach my friends, and rescue thee." And before I could prevent her, she had caught my hand, and pressed it to her lips.

Herrick and a party of his men came forward at this moment, and with his accustomed sneer, he bowed.

"I am sorry to interrupt this touching scene, but orders thou knowest must be obeyed," and with that two of his men picked me up and carried me forward. Passing the group of weeping women and children, huddled together near the companionway, they carried me in a small boat over to the other vessel and down below to my old prison. I was alone this time though; unbinding my hands, they left me.

Two days later DeNortier summoned me to come on deck. At some little distance there lay a small vessel; and on its deck, leaning upon the rail, stood two figures—one I knew for Steele, and the other was the Spanish maiden.

Even as I looked, the ship got under way; I waved my hand at them, and they replied. They still waved at me as far as I could see them. Smaller, smaller, smaller the vessel grew, until she dwindled to a mere speck upon the water; finally I could discern it no longer—the ship was gone. And thus I saw them no more.