ROMANCE

By Joseph Conrad

and

F. M. Hueffer

 COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES AT THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y. 

TO

ELSIE AND JESSIE

 "C'est toi qui dors dans Vombre, O sacré Souvenir. " If we could have remembrance now And see, as in the days to come We shall, what's venturous in these hours: The swift, intangible romance of fields at home, The gleams of sun, the showers, Our workaday contentments, or our powers To fare still forward through the uncharted haze Of present days. . . . For, looking back when years shall flow Upon this olden day that's now, We'll see, romantic in dimm'd hours, These memories of ours. 

CONTENTS

 PART FIRST The Quarry and the Beach

 PART SECOND The Girl with the Lizard

 PART THIRD Casa Riego

 PART FOURTH Blade and Guitar

 PART FIFTH The Lot of Man

PART FIRST -- THE QUARRY AND THE BEACH

ROMANCE

CHAPTER ONE

To yesterday and to to-day I say my polite "vaya usted con Dios. " Whatare these days to me? But that far-off day of my romance, when frombetween the blue and white bales in Don Ramon's darkened storeroom, atKingston, I saw the door open before the figure of an old man with thetired, long, white face, that day I am not likely to forget. I rememberthe chilly smell of the typical West Indian store, the indescribablesmell of damp gloom, of locos, of pimento, of olive oil, of new sugar, of new rum; the glassy double sheen of Ramon's great spectacles, thepiercing eyes in the mahogany face, while the tap, tap, tap of a caneon the flags went on behind the inner door; the click of the latch; thestream of light. The door, petulantly thrust inwards, struck againstsome barrels. I remember the rattling of the bolts on that door, and thetall figure that appeared there, snuffbox in hand. In that land of whiteclothes, that precise, ancient, Castilian in black was something toremember. The black cane that had made the tap, tap, tap dangled by asilken cord from the hand whose delicate blue-veined, wrinkled wrist ranback into a foam of lawn ruffles. The other hand paused in the act ofconveying a pinch of snuff to the nostrils of the hooked nose that had, on the skin stretched tight over the bridge, the polish of old ivory;the elbow pressing the black cocked-hat against the side; the legs, one bent, the other bowing a little back--this was the attitude ofSeraphina's father. 

Having imperiously thrust the door of the inner room open, he remainedimmovable, with no intention of entering, and called in a harsh, aged voice: "Señor Ramon! Señor Ramon!" and then twice:"Sera-phina--Seraphina!" turning his head back. 

Then for the first time I saw Seraphina, looking over her father'sshoulder. I remember her face on that day; her eyes were gray--the grayof black, not of blue. For a moment they looked me straight in the face, reflectively, unconcerned, and then travelled to the spectacles of oldRamon. 

This glance--remember I was young on that day--had been enough to setme wondering what they were thinking of me; what they could have seen ofme. 

"But there he is--your Señor Ramon, " she said to her father, as if shewere chiding him for a petulance in calling; "your sight is not verygood, my poor little father--there he is, your Ramon. "

The warm reflection of the light behind her, gilding the curve of herface from ear to chin, lost itself in the shadows of black lace fallingfrom dark hair that was not quite black. She spoke as if the words clungto her lips; as if she had to put them forth delicately for fear ofdamaging the frail things. She raised her long hand to a white flowerthat clung above her ear like the pen of a clerk, and disappeared. Ramonhurried with a stiffness of immense respect towards the ancient grandee. The door swung to. 

I remained alone. The blue bales and the white, and the great red oiljars loomed in the dim light filtering through the jalousies out of theblinding sunlight of Jamaica. A moment after, the door opened once moreand a young man came out to me; tall, slim, with very bright, very largeblack eyes aglow in an absolute pallor of face. That was Carlos Riego. 

Well, that is my yesterday of romance, for the many things that havepassed between those times and now have become dim or have gone outof my mind. And my day before yesterday was the day on which I, attwenty-two, stood looking at myself in the tall glass, the day on whichI left my home in Kent and went, as chance willed it, out to sea withCarlos Riego. 

That day my cousin Rooksby had become engaged to my sister Veronica, andI had a fit of jealous misery. I was rawboned, with fair hair, I had agood skin, tanned by the weather, good teeth, and brown eyes. I had nothad a very happy life, and I had lived shut in on myself, thinkingof the wide world beyond my reach, that seemed to hold out infinitepossibilities of romance, of adventure, of love, perhaps, and stores ofgold. In the family my mother counted; my father did not. She was thedaughter of a Scottish earl who had ruined himself again and again. Hehad been an inventor, a projector, and my mother had been a poor beauty, brought up on the farm we still lived on--the last rag of land that hadremained to her father. Then she had married a good man in his way; agood enough catch; moderately well off, very amiable, easily influenced, a dilettante, and a bit of a dreamer, too. He had taken her into theswim of the Regency, and his purse had not held out. So my mother, asserting herself, had insisted upon a return to our farm, which hadbeen her dowry. The alternative would have been a shabby, ignominiouslife at Calais, in the shadow of Brummel and such. 

My father used to sit all day by the fire, inscribing "ideas" every nowand then in a pocket-book. I think he was writing an epic poem, and Ithink he was happy in an ineffectual way. He had thin red hair, untidyfor want of a valet, a shining, delicate, hooked nose, narrow-liddedblue eyes, and a face with the colour and texture of a white-heartcherry. He used to spend his days in a hooded chair. My mother managedeverything, leading an out-of-door life which gave her face the colourof a wrinkled pippin. It was the face of a Roman mother, tight-lipped, brown-eyed, and fierce. You may understand the kind of woman shewas from the hands she employed on the farm. They were smugglers andnight-malefactors to a man--and she liked that. The decent, slow-witted, gently devious type of rustic could not live under her. The neighboursround declared that the Lady Mary Kemp's farm was a hotbed of disorder. I expect it was, too; three of our men were hung up at Canterbury on oneday--for horse-stealing and arson. .. . Anyhow, that was my mother. Asfor me, I was under her, and, since I had my aspirations, I had a ratherbitter childhood. And I had others to contrast myself with. Firstthere was Rooksby: a pleasant, well-spoken, amiable young squire of theimmediate neighbourhood; young Sir Ralph, a man popular with all sorts, and in love with my sister Veronica from early days. Veronica was verybeautiful, and very gentle, and very kind; tall, slim, with slopingwhite shoulders and long white arms, hair the colour of amber, andstartled blue eyes--a good mate for Rooksby. Rooksby had foreignrelations, too. The uncle from whom he inherited the Priory had marrieda Riego, a Castilian, during the Peninsular war. He had been a prisonerat the time--he had died in Spain, I think. When Ralph made the grandtour, he had made the acquaintance of his Spanish relations; he used totalk about them, the Riegos, and Veronica used to talk of what he saidof them until they came to stand for Romance, the romance of theouter world, to me. One day, a little before Ralph and Veronica becameengaged, these Spaniards descended out of the blue. It was Romancesuddenly dangled right before my eyes. It was Romance; you have no ideawhat it meant to me to talk to Carlos Riego. 

Rooksby was kind enough. He had me over to the Priory, where I madethe acquaintance of the two maiden ladies, his second cousins, who kepthouse for him. Yes, Ralph was kind; but I rather hated him for it, and was a little glad when he, too, had to suffer some of the pangs ofjealousy--jealousy of Carlos Riego. 

Carlos was dark, and of a grace to set Ralph as much in the shade asRalph himself set me; and Carlos had seen a deal more of the world thanRalph. He had a foreign sense of humour that made him forever ready tosacrifice his personal dignity. It made Veronica laugh, and even drewa grim smile from my mother; but it gave Ralph bad moments. How he cameinto these parts was a little of a mystery. When Ralph was displeasedwith this Spanish connection he used to swear that Carlos had cut athroat or taken a purse. At other times he used to say that it was apolitical matter. In fine, Carlos had the hospitality of the Priory, andthe title of Count when he chose to use it. He brought with him a short, pursy, bearded companion, half friend, half servant, who said he hadserved in Napoleon's Spanish contingent, and had a way of striking hisbreast with a wooden hand (his arm had suffered in a cavalry charge), and exclaiming, "I, Tomas Castro! . . . " He was an Andalusian. 

For myself, the first shock of his strangeness over-come, I adoredCarlos, and Veronica liked him, and laughed at him, till one day hesaid good-by and rode off along the London road, followed by his TomasCastro. I had an intense longing to go with him out into the great worldthat brooded all round our foothills. 

You are to remember that I knew nothing whatever of that great world. I had never been further away from our farm than just to Canterburyschool, to Hythe market, to Romney market. Our farm nestled down underthe steep, brown downs, just beside the Roman road to Canterbury; StoneStreet--the Street--we called it. Ralph's land was just on the otherside of the Street, and the shepherds on the downs used to see of nightsa dead-and-gone Rooksby, Sir Peter that was, ride upon it past thequarry with his head under his arm. I don't think I believed in him, butI believed in the smugglers who shared the highway with that horribleghost. It is impossible for any one nowadays-to conceive the effectthese smugglers had upon life thereabouts and then. They were the powerto which everything else deferred. They used to overrun the country ingreat bands, and brooked no interference with their business. Not longbefore they had defeated regular troops in a pitched battle on theMarsh, and on the very day I went away I remember we couldn't do ourcarting because the smugglers had given us notice they would need ourhorses in the evening. They were a power in the land where there wasviolence enough without them, God knows! Our position on that Street putus in the midst of it all. At dusk we shut our doors, pulled down ourblinds, sat round the fire, and knew pretty well what was going onoutside. There would be long whistles in the dark, and when we found menlurking in our barns we feigned not to see them--it was safer so. The smugglers--the Free Traders, they called themselves--were as wellorganized for helping malefactors out of the country as for runninggoods in; so it came about that we used to have comers and forgers, murderers and French spies--all sorts of malefactors--hiding in ourstraw throughout the day, wait-for the whistle to blow from the Streetat dusk. I, born with my century, was familiar with these things; butmy mother forbade my meddling with them. I expect she knew enoughherself--all the resident gentry did. But Ralph--though he was to someextent of the new school, and used to boast that, if applied to, he"would grant a warrant against any Free Trader"--never did, as a matterof fact, or not for many years. 

Carlos, then, Rooksby's Spanish kinsman, had come and gone, and Ienvied him his going, with his air of mystery, to some far-off lawlessadventures--perhaps over there in Spain, where there were war andrebellion. Shortly afterwards Rooksby proposed for the hand of Veronicaand was accepted--by my mother. Veronica went about looking happy. Thatupset me, too. It seemed unjust that she should go out into the greatworld--to Bath, to Brighton, should see the Prince Regent and the greatfights on Hounslow Heath--whilst I was to remain forever a farmer's boy. That afternoon I was upstairs, looking at the reflection of myself inthe tall glass, wondering miserably why I seemed to be such an oaf. 

The voice of Rooksby hailed me suddenly from downstairs. "Hey, John--John Kemp; come down, I say!"

I started away from the glass as if I had been taken in an act of folly. Rooksby was flicking his leg with his switch in the doorway, at thebottom of the narrow flight of stairs. 

He wanted to talk to me, he said, and I followed him out through theyard on to the soft road that climbs the hill to westward. The eveningwas falling slowly and mournfully; it was dark already in the folds ofthe sombre downs. 

We passed the corner of the orchard. "I know what you've got to tellme, " I said. "You're going to marry Veronica. Well, you've no need of myblessing. Some people have all the luck. Here am I . . . Look at me!"

Ralph walked with his head bent down. 

"Confound it, " I said, "I shall run away to sea! I tell you, I'mrotting, rotting! There! I say, Ralph, give me Carlos' direction. .. . " Icaught hold of his arm. "I'll go after him. He'd show me a little life. He said he would. "

Ralph remained lost in a kind of gloomy abstraction, while I went onworrying him for Carlos' address. 

"Carlos is the only soul I know outside five miles from here. Besides, he's friends in the Indies. That's where I want to go, and he could giveme a cast. You remember what Tomas Castro said. . . . "

Rooksby came to a sudden halt, and began furiously to switch his cordedlegs. 

"Curse Carlos, and his Castro, too. They'll have me in jail betwixtthem. They're both in my red barn, if you want their direction. . . . "

He hurried on suddenly up the hill, leaving me gazing upwards at him. When I caught him up he was swearing--as one did in those days--andstamping his foot in the middle of the road. 

"I tell you, " he said violently, "it's the most accursed business! ThatCastro, with his Cuba, is nothing but a blasted buccaneer. .. And Carlosis no better. They go to Liverpool for a passage to Jamaica, and seewhat comes of it!"

It seems that on Liverpool docks, in the owl-light, they fell in with anelderly hunks just returned from West Indies, who asks the time at thedoor of a shipping agent. Castro pulls out a watch, and the old fellowjumps on it, vows it's his own, taken from him years before by somepicaroons on his outward voyage. Out from the agent's comes another, andswears that Castro is one of the self-same crew. He himself purported tobe the master of the very ship. Afterwards--in the solitary dusk amongthe ropes and bales--there had evidently been some play with knives, andit ended with a flight to London, and then down to Rooksby's red barn, with the runners in full cry after them. 

"Think of it, " Rooksby said, "and me a justice, and. .. Oh, it drives mewild, this hole-and-corner work! There's a filthy muddle with the FreeTraders--a whistle to blow after dark at the quarry. To-night of allnights, and me a justice. .. And as good as a married man!"

I looked at him wonderingly in the dusk; his high coat collar almost hidhis face, and his hat was pressed down over his eyes. The thing seemedincredible to me. Here was an adventure, and I was shocked to see thatRooksby was in a pitiable state about it. 

"But, Ralph, " I said, "I would help Carlos. "

"Oh, you, " he said fretfully. "You want to run your head into a noose;that's what it comes to. Why, I may have to flee the country. There'sthe red-breasts poking their noses into every cottage on the Ashfordroad. " He strode on again. A wisp of mist came stealing down the hill. "I can't give my cousin up. He could be smuggled out, right enough. Butthen I should have to get across salt water, too, for at least a year. Why----"

He seemed ready to tear his hair, and then I put in my say. He needed alittle persuasion, though, in spite of Veronica. 

I should have to meet Carlos Riego and Castro in a little fir-wood abovethe quarry, in half an hour's time. All I had to do was to whistlethree bars of "Lillibulero, " as a signal. A connection had been alreadyarranged with the Free Traders on the road beside the quarry, and theywere coming down that night, as we knew well enough, both of us. Theywere coming in force from Canterbury way down to the Marsh. It hadcost Ralph a pretty penny; but, once in the hands of the smugglers, hiscousin and Castro would be safe enough from the runners; it would haveneeded a troop of horse to take them. The difficulty was that of latethe smugglers themselves had become demoralized. There were ugly rumoursof it; and there was a danger that Castro and Carlos, if not lookedafter, might end their days in some marsh-dyke. It was desirable thatsomeone well known in our parts should see them to the seashore. A boat, there, was to take them out into the bay, where an outward-bound WestIndiaman would pick them up. But for Ralph's fear for his neck, whichhad increased in value since its devotion to Veronica, he would havesquired his cousin. As it was, he fluttered round the idea of lettingme take his place. Finally he settled it; and I embarked on a longadventure. 

CHAPTER TWO

Between moonrise and sunset I was stumbling through the bracken of thelittle copse that was like a tuft of hair on the brow of the great whitequarry. It was quite dark, in among the trees. I made the circuit of thecopse, whistling softly my three bars of "Lillibulero. " Then I plungedinto it. The bracken underfoot rustled and rustled. I came to a halt. A little bar of light lay on the horizon in front of me, almostcolourless. It was crossed again and again by the small fir-trunks thatwere little more than wands. A woodpigeon rose with a sudden crash ofsound, flapping away against the branches. My pulse was dancing withdelight--my heart, too. It was like a game of hide-and-seek, and yet itwas life at last. Everything grew silent again and I began to think Ihad missed my time. Down below in the plain, a great way off, a dog wasbarking continuously. I moved forward a few paces and whistled. Theglow of adventure began to die away. There was nothing at all--a littlemystery of light on the tree-trunks. 

I moved forward again, getting back towards the road. Against theglimmer of dead light I thought I caught the outlines of a man's hatdown among the tossing lines of the bracken. I whispered loudly:

"Carlos! Carlos!"

There was a moment of hoarse whispering; a sudden gruff sound. A shaftof blazing yellow light darted from the level of the ground into mydazed eyes. A man sprang at me and thrust something cold and knobbyinto my neckcloth. The light continued to blaze into my eyes; it movedupwards and shone on a red waistcoat dashed with gilt buttons. Iwas being arrested. .. . "In the King's name. .. . " It was a most suddencatastrophe. A hand was clutching my windpipe. 

"Don't you so much as squeak, Mr. Castro, " a voice whispered in my ear. 

The lanthorn light suddenly died out, and I heard whispers. 

"Get him out on to the road. .. . I'll tackle the other . . . Darbies. . . . Mind his knife. "

I was like a confounded rabbit in their hands. One of them had his fiston my collar and jerked me out upon the hard road. We rolled down theembankment, but he was on the top. It seemed an abominable episode, apiece of bad faith on the part of fate. I ought to have been exempt fromthese sordid haps, but the man's hot leathery hand on my throat was likea foretaste of the other collar. And I was horribly afraid--horribly--ofthe sort of mysterious potency of the laws that these men represented, and I could think of nothing to do. 

We stood in a little slanting cutting in the shadow. A watery lightbefore the moon's rising slanted downwards from the hilltop along theopposite bank. We stood in utter silence. 

"If you stir a hair, " my captor said coolly, "I'll squeeze the blood outof your throat, like a rotten orange. "

He had the calmness of one dealing with an everyday incident; yet theincident was--it should have been--tremendous. We stood waiting silentlyfor an eternity, as one waits for a hare to break covert before thebeaters. From down the long hill came a small sound of horses' hoofs--asound like the beating of the heart, intermittent--a muffled thud onturf, and a faint clink of iron. It seemed to die away unheard by therunner beside me. Presently there was a crackling of the short pinebranches, a rustle, and a hoarse whisper said from above:

"Other's cleared, Thorns. Got that one safe?"

"All serene. "

The man from above dropped down into the road, a clumsy, cloaked figure. He turned his lanthorn upon me, in a painful yellow glare. 

"What! 'Tis the young 'un, " he grunted, after a moment. "Read thewarrant, Thorns. "

My captor began to fumble in his pocket, pulled out a paper, and bentdown into the light. Suddenly he paused and looked up at me. 

"This ain't------ Mr. Lilly white, I don't believe this ain't aJack Spaniard. "

The clinks of bits and stirrup-irons came down in a waft again. 

"That be hanged for a tale, Thorns, " the man with the lanthorn saidsharply. "If this here ain't Riego--or the other--I'll . . . "

I began to come out of my stupor. 

"My name's John Kemp, " I said. 

The other grunted. "Hurry up, Thorns. "

"But, Mr. Lillywhite, " Thorns reasoned, "he don't speak like a Dago. Split me if he do! And we ain't in a friendly country either, you knowthat. We can't afford to rile the gentry!"

I plucked up courage. 

"You'll get your heads broke, " I said, "if you wait much longer. Hark tothat!"

The approaching horses had turned off the turf on to the hard road; thesteps of first one and then another sounded out down the silent hill. I knew it was the Free Traders from that; for except between banks theykept to the soft roadsides as if it were an article of faith. The noiseof hoofs became that of an army. 

The runners began to consult. The shadow called Thorns was for boltingacross country; but Lilly white was not built for speed. Besides he didnot know the lie of the land, and believed the Free Traders were merebogeys. 

"They'll never touch us, " Lillywhite grumbled. "We've a warrant. .. King's name. .. . " He was flashing his lanthorn aimlessly up the hill. 

"Besides, " he began again, "we've got this gallus bird. If he's not aSpaniard, he knows all about them. I heard him. Kemp he may be, but hespoke Spanish up there. .. And we've got something for our trouble. He'llswing, I'll lay you a------"

From far above us came a shout, then a confused noise of voices. Themoon began to get up; above the cutting the clouds had a fringe ofsudden silver. A horseman, cloaked and muffled to the ears, trottedwarily towards us. 

"What's up?" he hailed from a matter of ten yards. "What are you showingthat glim for? Anything wrong below?"

The runners kept silence; we heard the click of a pistol lock. 

"In the King's name, " Lillywhite shouted, "get off that nag and lend ahand! We've a prisoner. "

The horseman gave an incredulous whistle, and then began to shout, hisvoice winding mournfully uphill, "Hallo! Hallo--o--o. " An echo stoleback, "Hallo! Hallo--o--o"; then a number of voices. The horse stood, drooping its head, and the man turned in his saddle. "Runners, " heshouted, "Bow Street runners! Come along, come along, boys! We'll roast'em. .. . Runners! Runners!"

The sound of heavy horses at a jolting trot came to our ears. 

"We're in for it, " Lillywhite grunted. "D------n this county of Kent. "

Thorns never loosed his hold of my collar. At the steep of the hill themen and horses came into sight against the white sky, a confused crowdof ominous things. 

"Turn that lanthorn off'n me, " the horseman said. "Don't you see youfrighten my horse? Now, boys, get round them. . . . "

The great horses formed an irregular half-circle round us; men descendedclumsily, like sacks of corn. The lanthorn was seized and flashed uponus; there was a confused hubbub. I caught my own name. 

"Yes, I'm Kemp. .. John Kemp, " I called. "I'm true blue. "

"Blue be hanged!" a voice shouted back. "What be you a-doing withrunners?"

The riot went on--forty or fifty voices. The runners were seized;several hands caught at me. It was impossible to make myself heard; afist struck me on the cheek. 

"Gibbet 'em, " somebody shrieked; "they hung my nephew! Gibbet 'em allthe three. Young Kemp's mother's a bad 'un. An informer he is. Up with'em!"

I was pulled down on my knees, then thrust forward, and then left tomyself while they rushed to bonnet Lillywhite. I stumbled against agreat, quiet farm horse. 

A continuous scuffling went on; an imperious voice cried: "Hold yourtongues, you fools! Hold your tongues!. .. " Someone else called: "Hear toJack Rangsley. Hear to him!"

There was a silence. I saw a hand light a torch at the lanthorn, and thecrowd of faces, the muddle of limbs, the horses' heads, and the quiettrees above, flickered into sight. 

"Don't let them hang me, Jack Rangsley, " I sobbed. "You know I'm no spy. Don't let 'em hang me, Jack. "

He rode his horse up to me, and caught me by the collar. 

"Hold your tongue, " he said roughly. He began to make a set speech, anathematizing runners. He moved to tie our feet, and hang us by ourfinger-nails over the quarry edge. 

A hubbub of assent and dissent went up; then the crowd became unanimous. Rangsley slipped from his horse. 

"Blindfold 'em, lads, " he cried, and turned me sharply round. 

"Don't struggle, " he whispered in my ear; his silk handkerchief camecool across my eyelids. I felt hands fumbling with a knot at the back ofmy head. "You're all right, " he said again. The hubbub of voices ceasedsuddenly. "Now, lads, bring 'em along. "

A voice I knew said their watchword, "Snuff and enough, " loudly, andthen, "What's agate?"

Someone else answered, "It's Rooksby, it's Sir Ralph. "

The voice interrupted sharply, "No names, now. I don't want hanging. "The hand left my arm; there was a pause in the motion of the procession. I caught a moment's sound of whispering. Then a new voice cried, "Stripthe runners to the shirt. Strip 'em. That's it. " I heard some groans anda cry, "You won't murder us. " Then a nasal drawl, "We will sure--_ly_. "Someone else, Rangsley, I think, called, "Bring 'em along--this waynow. "

After a period of turmoil we seemed to come out of the crowd upon a veryrough, descending path; Rangsley had called out, "Now, then, the restof you be off; we've got enough here"; and the hoofs of heavy horsessounded again. Then we came to a halt, and Rangsley called sharply ïromclose to me:

"Now, you runners--and you, John Kemp--here you be on the brink ofeternity, above the old quarry. There's a sheer drop of a hundred feet. We'll tie your legs and hang you by your fingers. If you hang longenough, you'll have time to say your prayers. Look alive, lads!"

The voice of one of the runners began to shout, "You'll swing forthis--you------"

As for me I was in a dream. "Jack, " I said, "Jack, you won't----"

"Oh, that's all right, " the voice said in a whisper. "Mum, now! It's all_right_. "

It withdrew itself a little from my ear and called, "'Now then, readywith them. When I say three. .. . "

I heard groans and curses, and began to shout for help. My voice cameback in an echo, despairingly. Suddenly I was dragged backward, and thebandage pulled from my eyes, "Come along, " Rangsley said, leading me gently enough to the road, whichwas five steps behind. "It's all a joke, " he snarled. "A pretty bad onefor those catchpolls. Hear 'em groan. The drop's not two feet. "

We made a few paces down the road; the pitiful voices of the runnerscrying for help came plainly to my ears. 

"You--they--aren't murdering them?" I asked. 

"No, no, " he answered. "Can't afford to. Wish we could; but they'd makeit too hot for us. "

We began to descend the hill. From the quarry a voice shrieked:

"Help--help--for the love of God--I can't. . . . "

There was a grunt and the sound of a fall; then a precisely similarsequence of sounds. 

"That'll teach 'em, " Rangsley said ferociously. "Come along--they'veonly rolled down a bank. They weren't over the quarry. It's all right. Iswear it is. "

And, as a matter of fact, that was the smugglers' ferocious idea ofhumour. They would hang any undesirable man, like these runners, whom itwould make too great a stir to murder outright, over the edge of a lowbank, and swear to him that he was clawing the brink of Shakespeare'sCliff or any other hundred-foot drop. The wretched creatures sufferedall the tortures of death before they let go, and, as a rule, they neverreturned to our parts. 

CHAPTER THREE

The spirit of the age has changed; everything has changed so utterlythat one can hardly believe in the existence of one's earlier self. ButI can still remember how, at that moment, I made the acquaintance ofmy heart--a thing that bounded and leapt within my chest, a littlesickeningly. The other details I forget. 

Jack Rangsley was a tall, big-boned, thin man, with something sinisterin the lines of his horseman's cloak, and something reckless in the wayhe set his spurred heel on the ground. He was the son of an old Marshsquire. Old Rangsley had been head of the last of the Owlers--thearistocracy of export smugglers--and Jack had sunk a little in becomingthe head of the Old Bourne Tap importers. But he was hard enough, tyrannical enough, and had nerve enough to keep Free-trading alive inour parts until long after it had become an anachronism. He ended hisdays on the gallows, of course, but that was long afterwards. 

"I'd give a dollar to know what's going on in those runners' heads, "Rangsley said, pointing back with his crop. He laughed gayly. The greatwhite face of the quarry rose up pale in the moonlight; the dusky redfires of the limekilns glowed at the base, sending up a blood-red dustof sullen smoke. "I'll swear they think they've dropped straight intohell. 

"You'll have to cut the country, John, " he added suddenly, "they'll havegot your name uncommon pat. I did my best for you. " He had had me tiedup like that before the runners' eyes in order to take their suspicionsoff me. He had made a pretence to murder me with the same idea. Buthe didn't believe they were taken in. "There'll be warrants out beforemorning, if they ain't too shaken. But what were you doing in thebusiness? The two Spaniards were lying in the fern looking on when youcome blundering your clumsy nose in. If it hadn't been for Rooksby youmight have------ Hullo, there!" he broke off. 

An answer came from the black shadow of a clump of roadside elms. Imade out the forms of three or four horses standing with their headstogether. 

"Come along, " Rangsley said; "up with you. We'll talk as we go. "

Someone helped me into a saddle; my legs trembled in the stirrups asif I had ridden a thousand miles on end already. I imagine I must havefallen into a stupor; for I have only a vague impression of somebody'sexculpating himself to me. As a matter of fact, Ralph, after havingegged me on, in the intention of staying at home, had had qualms ofconscience, and had come to the quarry. It was he who had criedthe watchword, "Snuff and enough, " and who had held the whisperedconsultation. Carlos and Castro had waited in their hiding-place, havingbeen spectators of the arrival of the runners and of my capture. Igathered this long afterwards. At that moment I was conscious only ofthe motion of the horse beneath me, of intense weariness, and of thevoice of Ralph, who was lamenting his own cowardice. 

"If it had come at any other time!" he kept on repeating. "But now, withVeronica to think of!------ You take me, Johnny, don't you?"

My companions rode silently. After we had passed the houses of a littlevillage a heavy mist fell upon us, white, damp, and clogging. Ralphreined his horse beside mine. 

"I'm sorry, " he began again, "I'm miserably sorry I got you into thisscrape. I swear I wouldn't have had it happen, not for a thousandpounds--not for ten. "

"It doesn't matter, " I said cheerfully. 

"Ah, but, " Rooksby said, "you'll have to leave the country for a time. Until I can arrange. I will. You can trust me. "

"Oh, he'll have to leave the country, for sure, " Rangsley said jovially, "if he wants to live it down. There's five-and-forty warrants outagainst me--but they dursent serve 'em. But he's not me. "

"It's a miserable business, " Ralph said. He had an air of theprofoundest dejection. In the misty light he looked like a man mortallywounded, riding from a battle-field. 

"Let him come with us, " the musical voice of Carlos came through themist in front of us. "He shall see the world a little. "

"For God's sake hold your tongue!" Ralph answered him. "There's mischiefenough. He shall go to France. "

"Oh, let the young blade rip about the world for a year or two, squire, "Rangsley's voice said from behind us. 

In the end Ralph let me go with Carlos--actually across the sea, and tothe West Indies. I begged and implored him; it seemed that now there wasa chance for me to find my world of romance. And Ralph, who, though oneof the most law-respecting of men, was not for the moment one of themost valorous, was wild to wash his hands of the whole business. He didhis best for me; he borrowed a goodly number of guineas from Rangsley, who travelled with a bag of them at his saddle-bow, ready to pay his mentheir seven shillings a head for the run. 

Ralph remembered, too--or I remembered for him--that he had estates andan agent in Jamaica, and he turned into the big inn at the junction ofthe London road to write a letter to his agent bidding him house me andemploy me as an improver. For fear of compromising him we waited in theshadow of trees a furlong or two down the road. He came at a trot, gaveme the letter, drew me aside, and began upbraiding himself again. Theothers rode onwards. 

"Oh, it's all right, " I said. "It's fine--it's fine. I'd have givenfifty guineas for this chance this morning--and, Ralph, I say, you maytell Veronica why I'm going, but keep a shut mouth to my mother. Let herthink I've run away--eh? Don't spoil your chance. "

He was in such a state of repentance and flutter that he could not letme take a decent farewell. The sound of the others' horses had long diedaway down the hill when he began to tell me what he ought to have done. 

"I knew it at once after I'd let you go. I ought to have kept you outof it. You came near being murdered. And to think of it--you, herbrother--to be------"

"Oh, it's all right, " I said gayly, "it's all right. You've to stand byVeronica. I've no one to my back. Good-night, good-by. "

I pulled my horse's head round and galloped down the hill. The main bodyhad halted before setting out over the shingle to the shore. Rangsleywas waiting to conduct us into the town, where we should find a man totake us three fugitives out to the expected ship. We rode clatteringaggressively through the silence of the long, narrow main street. Everynow and then Carlos Riego coughed lamentably, but Tomas Castro rode ingloomy silence. There was a light here and there in a window, but not asoul stirring abroad. On the blind of an inn the shadow of a bearded manheld the shadow of a rummer to its mouth. 

"That'll be my uncle, " Rangsley said. "He'll be the man to do yourerrand. " He called to one of the men behind. "Here, Joe Pilcher, do yougo into the White Hart and drag my Uncle Tom out. Bring 'un up to me--tothe nest. "

Three doors further on we came to a halt, and got down from our horses. 

Rangsley knocked on a shutter-panel, two hard knocks with the crop andthree with the naked fist. Then a lock clicked, heavy bars rumbled, anda chain rattled. Rangsley pushed me through the doorway. A side dooropened, and I saw into a lighted room filled with wreaths of smoke. Apaunchy man in a bob wig, with a blue coat and Windsor buttons, holdinga churchwarden pipe in his right hand and a pewter quart in his left, came towards us. 

"Hullo, captain, " he said, "you'll be too late with the lights, won'tyou?" He had a deprecatory air. 

"Your watch is fast, Mr. Mayor, " Rangsley answered surlily; "the tidewon't serve for half an hour yet. "

"Cht, cht, " the other wheezed. "No offence. We respect you. But still, when one has a stake, one likes to know. "

"My stake's all I have, and my neck, " Rangsley said impatiently; "what'syours? A matter of fifty pun ten?. .. Why don't you make them bring theylanthorns?"

A couple of dark lanthorns were passed to Rangsley, who half-uncoveredone, and lit the way up steep wooden stairs. We climbed up to a tinycock-loft, of which the side towards the sea was all glazed. 

"Now you sit there, on the floor, " Rangsley commanded; "can't leaveyou below; the runners will be coming to the mayor for new warrantsto-morrow, and he'd not like to have spent the night in your company. "

He threw a casement open. The moon was hidden from us by clouds, but, a long way off, over the distant sea, there was an irregular patch ofsilver light, against which the chimneys of the opposite houses weresilhouetted. The church clock began muffledly to chime the quartersbehind us; then the hour struck--ten strokes. 

Rangsley set one of his lanthorns on the window and twisted the top. Hesent beams of yellow light shooting out to seawards. His hands quivered, and he was mumbling to himself under the influence of ungovernableexcitement. His stakes were very large, and all depended on the flickerof those lanthorns out towards the men on the luggers that were hiddenin the black expanse of the sea. Then he waited, and against the lightof the window I could see him mopping his forehead with the sleeveof his coat; my heart began to beat softly and insistently--out ofsympathy. 

Suddenly, from the deep shadow of the cloud above the sea, a yellowlight flashed silently cut--very small, very distant, very short-lived. Rangsley heaved a deep sigh and slapped me heavily on the shoulder. 

"All serene, my buck, " he said; "now let's see after you. I've half anhour. What's the ship?"

I was at a loss, but Carlos said out of the darkness, "The ship the_Thames_. My friend Señor Ortiz, of the Minories, said you would know. "

"Oh, I know, I know, " Rangsley said softly; and, indeed, he did knowall that was to be known about smuggling out of the southern counties ofpeople who could no longer inhabit them. The trade was a survival of thedays of Jacobite plots. "And it's a hanging job, too. But it's no affairof mine. " He stopped and reflected for an instant. 

I could feel Carlos' eyes upon us, looking out of the thick darkness. Aslight rustling came from the corner that hid Castro. 

"She passes down channel to-night, then?" Rangsley said. "With this windyou'll want to be well out in the Bay at a quarter after eleven. "

An abnormal scuffling, intermingled with snatches of jovialremonstrance, made itself heard from the bottom of the ladder. A voicecalled up through the hatch, "Here's your uncle, Squahre Jack, " and ahusky murmur corroborated. 

"Be you drunk again, you old sinner?" Rangsley asked. "Listen to me. .. . Here's three men to be set aboard the _Thames_ at a quarter aftereleven. "

A grunt came in reply. 

Rangsley repeated slowly. 

The grunt answered again. 

"Here's three men to be set aboard the _Thames_ at a quarter aftereleven. . . . " Rangsley said again. 

"Here's. .. A-cop. .. Three men to be set aboard _Thames_ at quarter aftereleven, " a voice hiccoughed back to us. 

"Well, see you do it, " Rangsley said. "He's as drunk as a king, "he commented to us; "but when you've said a thing three times, heremembers--hark to him. "

The drunken voice from below kept up a constant babble of, "Three men tobe set aboard _Thames_. .. Three men to be set . . . "

"He'll not stop saying that till he has you safe aboard, " Rangsleysaid. He showed a glimmer of light down the ladder--Carlos and Castrodescended. I caught sight below me of the silver head and the deepred ears of the drunken uncle of Rangsley. He had been one of the mostredoubtable of the family, a man of immense strength and cunning, but aconfirmed habit of consuming a pint and a half of gin a night had madehim disinclined for the more arduous tasks of the trade. He limited hisenergies to working the underground passage, to the success of which hisfox-like cunning, and intimate knowledge of the passing shipping, wereindispensable. I was preparing to follow the others down the ladder whenRangsley touched my arm. 

"I don't like your company, " he said close behind my ear. "I know whothey are. There were bills out for them this morning. I'd blow them, and take the reward, but for you and Squahre Rooksby. They're handy withtheir knives, too, I fancy. You mind me, and look to yourself with them. There's something unnatural. "

His words had a certain effect upon me, and his manner perhaps more. Athing that was "unnatural" to Jack Rangsley--the man of darkness, wholived forever as if in the shadow of the gallows--was a thing to beavoided. He was for me nearly as romantic a figure as Carlos himself, but for his forbidding darkness, and he was a person of immense power. The silent flittings of lights that I had just seen, the answeringsignals from the luggers far out to sea, the enforced sleep of thetowns and countryside whilst his plans were working out at night, hadimpressed me with a sense of awe. And his words sank into my spirit, andmade me afraid for my future. 

We followed the others downwards into a ground-floor room that wasfitted up as a barber's shop. A rushlight was burning on a table. Rangsley took hold of a piece of wainscotting, part of the frame ofa panel; he pulled it towards him, and, at the same moment, a glazedshow-case full of razors and brushes swung noiselessly forward with aneffect of the supernatural. A small opening, just big enough to takea man's body, revealed itself. We passed through it and up a sort oftunnel. The door at the other end, which was formed of panels, had amanger and straw crib attached to it on the outside, and let us into ahorse's stall. We found ourselves in the stable of the inn. 

"We don't use this passage for ourselves, " Rangsley said. "Only the mostlooked up to need to--the justices and such like. But gallus birds likeyou and your company, it's best for us not to be seen in company with. Follow my uncle now. Good-night. "

We went into the yard, under the pillars of the town hall, acrossthe silent street, through a narrow passage, and down to the sea. OldRangsley reeled ahead of us swiftly, muttering, "Three men to beset aboard the _Thames_. .. Quarter past eleven. Three men to be setaboard. .. " and in a few minutes we stood upon the shingle beside theidle sea, that was nearly at the full. 

CHAPTER FOUR

It was, I suppose, what I demanded of Fate--to be gently wafted into theposition of a hero of romance, without rough hands at my throat. Itis what we all ask, I suppose; and we get it sometimes in ten-minutesnatches. I didn't know where I was going. It was enough for me to sailin and out of the patches of shadow that fell from the moon right aboveour heads. 

We embarked, and, as we drew further out, the land turned to a shadow, spotted here and there with little lights. Behind us a cock crowed. Theshingle crashed at intervals beneath the feet of a large body of men. Iremembered the smugglers; but it was as if I had remembered them onlyto forget them forever. Old Rangsley, who steered with the sheet in hishand, kept up an unintelligible babble. Carlos and Castro talked undertheir breaths. Along the gunwale there was a constant ripple and gurgle. Suddenly old Rangsley began to sing; his voice was hoarse and drunken. 

 "When Harol' war in va--a--ded, An' fallin', lost his crownd, An' Normun Willium wa--a--ded. "

The water murmured without a pause, as if it had a million tiny facts tocommunicate in very little time. And then old Rangsley hove to, to waitfor the ship, and sat half asleep, lurching over the tiller. He wasa very, unreliable scoundrel. The boat leaked like a sieve. The windfreshened, and we three began to ask ourselves how it was going to end. There were no lights upon the sea. 

At last, well out, a blue gleam caught our eyes; but by this time oldRangsley was helpless, and it fell to me to manage the boat. Carlos wasof no use--he knew it, and, without saying a word, busied himself inbailing the water out. But Castro, I was surprised to notice, knew morethan I did about a boat, and, maimed as he was, made himself useful. 

"To me it looks as if we should drown, " Carlos said at one point, veryquietly. "I am sorry for you, Juan. "

"And for yourself, too, " I answered, feeling very hopeless, and with adogged grimness. 

"Just now, my young cousin, I feel as if I should not mind dying underthe water, " he remarked with a sigh, but without ceasing to bail for amoment. 

"Ah, you are sorry to be leaving home, and your friends, and Spain, andyour fine adventures, " I answered. 

The blue flare showed a very little nearer. There was nothing to be donebut talk and wait. 

"No; England, " he answered in a tone full of meaning--"things inEngland--people there. One person at least. "

To me his words and his smile seemed to imply a bitter irony; but theywere said very earnestly. 

Castro had hauled the helpless form of old Rangsley forward. I caughthim muttering savagely:

"I could kill that old man!"

He did not want to be drowned; neither assuredly did I. But it was notfear so much as a feeling of dreariness and disappointment that had comeover me, the sudden feeling that I was going not to adventure, but todeath; that here was not romance, but an end--a disenchanted surprisethat it should soon be all over. 

We kept a grim silence. Further out in the bay, we were caught in aheavy squall. Sitting by the tiller, I got as much out of her as I knewhow. We would go as far as we could before the run was over. Carlosbailed unceasingly, and without a word of complaint, sticking to hisself-appointed task as if in very truth he were careless of life. A feeling came over me that this, indeed, was the elevated and theromantic. Perhaps he was tired of his life; perhaps he really regrettedwhat he left behind him in England, or somewhere else--some association, some woman. But he, at least, if we went down together, wouldgo gallantly, and without complaint, at the end of a life withassociations, movements, having lived and regretted. I should disappearin-gloriously on the very threshold. 

Castro, standing up unsteadily, growled, "We may do it yet! See, señor!"

The blue gleam was much larger--it flared smokily up towards the sky. Imade out ghastly parallelograms of a ship's sails high above us, and atlast many faces peering unseeingly over the rail in our direction. Weall shouted together. 

I may say that it was thanks to me that we reached the ship. Our boatwent down under us whilst I was tying a rope under Carlos' arms. Hewas standing up with the baler still in his hand. On board, the womenpassengers were screaming, and as I clung desperately to the rope thatwas thrown me, it struck me oddly that I had never before heard so manywomen's voices at the same time. Afterwards, when I stood on the deck, they began laughing at old Rangsley, who held forth in a thunderousvoice, punctuated by hiccoughs:

"They carried I aboard--a cop--theer lugger and sinks I in the cold, co--old sea. "

It mortified me excessively that I should be tacked to his tail andexhibited to a number of people, and I had a sudden conviction of mysmall importance. I had expected something altogether different--anaudience sympathetically interested in my desire for a passage to theWest Indies; instead of which people laughed while I spoke in pantingjerks, and the water dripped out of my clothes. After I had made itclear that I wanted to go with Carlos, and could pay for my passage, I was handed down into the steerage, where a tallow candle burnt ina thick, blue atmosphere. I was stripped and filled with some fieryliquid, and fell asleep. Old Rangsley was sent ashore with the pilot. 

It was a new and strange life to me, opening there suddenly enough. The_Thames_ was one of the usual West Indiamen; but to me even the veryropes and spars, the sea, and the unbroken dome of the sky, had a richstrangeness. Time passed lazily and gliding. I made more fully theacquaintance of my companions, but seemed to know them no better. Ilived with Carlos in the cabin--Castro in the half-deck; but we were allthree pretty constantly together, and they being the only Spaniards onboard, we were more or less isolated from the other passengers. 

Looking at my companions at times, I had vague misgivings. It was asif these two had fascinated me to the verge of some danger. SometimesCastro, looking up, uttered vague ejaculations. Carlos pushed his hatback and sighed. They had preoccupations, cares, interests in which theylet me have no part. 

Castro struck me as absolutely ruffianly. His head was knotted in a red, white-spotted handkerchief; his grizzled beard was tangled; he worea black and rusty cloak, ragged at the edges, and his feet were oftenbare; at his side would lie his wooden right hand. As a rule, the placeof his forearm was taken by a long, thin, steel blade, that he wasforever sharpening. 

Carlos talked with me, telling me about his former life and hisadventures. The other passengers he discountenanced by a certaincoldness of manner that made me ashamed of talking to them. I respectedhim so; he was so wonderful to me then. Castro I detested; but Iaccepted their relationship without in the least understanding howCarlos, with his fine grain, his high soul--I gave him credit for ahigh soul--could put up with the squalid ferocity with which I creditedCastro. It seemed to hang in the air round the grotesque ragged-ness ofthe saturnine brown man. 

Carlos had made Spain too hot to hold him in those tortuous intrigues ofthe Army of the Faith and Bourbon troops and Italian legions. From whatI could understand, he must have played fast and loose in an insolentmanner. And there was some woman offended. There was a gayness andgallantry in that part of it. He had known the very spirit of romance, and now he was sailing gallantly out to take up his inheritance froman uncle who was a great noble, owning the greater part of one of theIntendencias of Cuba. 

"He is a very old man, I hear, " Carlos said--"a little doting, andhaving need of me. "

There were all the elements of romance about Carlos' story--except theactual discomforts of the ship in which we were sailing. He himself hadnever been in Cuba or seen his uncle; but he had, as I have indicated, ruined himself in one way or another in Spain, and it had come as aGod-send to him when his uncle had sent Tomas Castro to bring him toCuba, to the town of Rio Medio. 

"The town belongs to my uncle. He is very rich; a Grand d'Espagne . . . Everything; but he is now very old, and has left Havana to die in hispalace in his own town. He has an only daughter, a Dona Seraphina, and Isuppose that if I find favour in his eyes I shall marry her, and inheritmy uncle's great riches; I am the only one that is left of the family toinherit. " He waved his hand and smiled a little. "_Vaya_; a little ofthat great wealth would be welcome. If I had had a few pence more therewould have been none of this worry, and I should not have been onthis dirty ship in these rags. " He looked down good-humouredly at hisclothes. 

"But, " I said, "how do you come to be in a scrape at all?"

He laughed a little proudly. 

"In a scrape?" he said. "I. .. I am in none. It is Tomas Castro there. "He laughed affectionately. "He is as faithful as he is ugly, " he said;"but I fear he has been a villain, too. .. . What do I know? Over there inmy uncle's town, there are some villains--you know what I mean, one mustnot speak too loudly on this ship. There is a man called O'Brien, whomismanages my uncle's affairs. What do I know? The good Tomas has beenin some villainy that is no affair of mine. He is a good friend anda faithful dependent of my family's. He certainly had that man'swatch--the man we met by evil chance at Liverpool, a man who came fromJamaica. He had bought it--of a bad man, perhaps, I do not ask. It wasCastro your police wished to take. But I, _bon Dieu_, do you think Iwould take watches?"

I certainly did not think he had taken a watch; but I did not relinquishthe idea that he, in a glamorous, romantic way, had been a pirate. Rooksby had certainly hinted as much in his irritation. 

He lost none of his romantic charm in my eyes. The fact that he wassailing in uncomfortable circumstances detracted little; nor did hisclothes, which, at the worst, were better than any I had ever had. Andhe wore them with an air and a grace. He had probably been in worsecircumstances when campaigning with the Army of the Faith in Spain. And there was certainly the uncle with the romantic title and the greatinheritance, and the cousin--the Miss Seraphina, whom he would probablymarry. I imagined him an aristocratic scapegrace, a corsair--it was theByronic period then--sailing out to marry a sort of shimmering princesswith hair like Veronica's, bright golden, and a face like that of acertain keeper's daughter. Carlos, however, knew nothing about hiscousin; he cared little more, as far as I could tell. "What can shebe to me since I have seen your. .. ?" he said once, and then stopped, looking at me with a certain tender irony. He insisted, though, that hisaged uncle was in need of him. As for Castro--he and his rags came outof a life of sturt and strife, and I hoped he might die by treachery. He had undoubtedly been sent by the uncle across the seas to findCarlos and bring him out of Europe; there was-something romantic inthat mission. He was now a dependent of the Riego family, but there wereunfathomable depths in that tubby little man's past. That he had gone toRussia at the tail of the Grande Armée, one could not help believing. Hehad been most likely in the grand army of sutlers and camp-followers. He could talk convincingly of the cold, and of the snows and his escape. And from his allusions one could get glimpses of what he had beenbefore and afterwards--apparently everything that was questionable in asecularly disturbed Europe; no doubt somewhat of a bandit; a guerrilleroin the sixes and sevens; with the Army of the Faith near the Frenchborder, later on. 

There had been room and to spare for that sort of pike, in the muddywaters, during the first years of the century. But the waters wereclearing, and now the good Castro had been dodging the gallows in theAntilles or in Mexico. In his heroic moods he would swear that hisarm had been cut off at Somo Sierra; swear it with a great deal ofasseveration, making one see the Polish lancers charging the gunners, being cut down, and his own sword arm falling suddenly. 

Carlos, however, used to declare with affectionate cynicism that thearm had been broken by the cudgel of a Polish peasant while Castro wastrying to filch a pig from a stable. .. . "I cut his throat out, though, "Castro would grumble darkly; "so, like that, and it matters verylittle--it is even an improvement. See, I put on my blade. See, Itransfix you that fly there. .. . See how astonished he was. He did neverexpect that. " He had actually impaled a crawling cockroach. He spenthis days cooking extraordinary messes, crouching for hours over a littlecharcoal brazier that he lit surreptitiously in the back of his bunk, making substitutes for eternal _gaspachos_. 

All these things, if they deepened the romance of Carlos' career, enhanced, also, the mystery. I asked him one day, "But why do you go toJamaica at all if you are bound for Cuba?"

He looked at me, smiling a little mournfully. 

"Ah, Juan mio, " he said, "Spain is not like your England, unchanging andstable. The party who reign to-day do not love me, and they are mastersin Cuba as in Spain. But in his province my uncle rules alone. There Ishall be safe. " He was condescending to roll some cigarettes for Tomas, whose wooden hand incommoded him, and he tossed a fragment of tobacco tothe wind with a laugh. "In Jamaica there is a merchant, a Señor Ramon; Ihave letters to him, and he shall find me a conveyance to Rio Medio, myuncle's town. He is an _quliado_. "

He laughed again. "It is not easy to enter that place, Juanino. "

There was certainly some mystery about that town of his uncle's. Onenight I overheard him say to Castro:

"Tell me, O my Tomas, would it be safe to take this _caballero_, mycousin, to Rio Medio?"

Castro paused, and then murmured gruffly:

"Señor, unless that Irishman is consulted beforehand, or the Englishlord would undertake to join with the picaroons, it is very assuredlynot safe. "

Carlos made a little exclamation of mild astonishment. 

"_Pero?_ Is it so bad as that in my uncle's own town?"

Tomas muttered something that I did not catch, and then:

"If the English _caballero_ committed indiscretions, or quarrelled--andall these people quarrel, why, God knows--that Irish devil could hangmany persons, even myself, or take vengeance on your worship. "

Carlos was silent as if in a reverie. At last he said:

"But if affairs are like this, it would be well to have one more withus. The _caballero_, my cousin, is very strong and of great courage. "

Castro grunted, "Oh, of a courage! But as the proverb says, 'If you setan Englishman by a hornets' nest they shall not remain long within. ":

After that I avoided any allusion to Cuba, because the thing, think asI would about it, would not grow clear. It was plain that somethingillegal was going on there, or how could "that Irish devil, " whoeverhe was, have power to hang Tomas and be revenged on Carlos? It did notaffect my love for Carlos, though, in the weariness of this mystery, thepassage seemed to drag a little. And it was obvious enough that Carloswas unwilling or unable to tell anything about what pre-, occupied him. 

I had noticed an intimacy spring up between the ship's second mate andTomas, who was, it seemed to me, forever engaged in long confabulationsin the man's cabin, and, as much to make talk as for any other reason, I asked Carlos if he had noticed his dependent's familiarity. It wasnoticeable because Castro held aloof from every other soul on board. Carlos answered me with one of his nervous and angry smiles. 

"Ah, Juan mine, do not ask too many questions! I wish you could comewith me all the way, but I cannot tell you all I know. I do not evenmyself know all. It seems that the man is going to leave the ship inJamaica, and has letters for that Señor Ramon, the merchant, even as Ihave. _Vaya_; more I cannot tell you. "

This struck me as curious, and a little of the whole mystery seemed fromthat time to attach to the second mate, who before had been no more tome than a long, sallow Nova Scotian, with a disagreeable intonation andrather offensive manners. I began to watch him, desultorily, and wasrather startled by something more than a suspicion that he himself waswatching me. On one occasion in particular I seemed to observe this. Thesecond mate was lankily stalking the deck, his hands in his pockets. Ashe paused in his walk to spit into the sea beside me, Carlos said:

"And you, my Juan, what will you do in this Jamaica?"

The sense that we were approaching land was already all over the ship. The second mate leered at me enigmatically, and moved slowly away. I said that I was going to the Horton Estates, Rooksby's, to learnplanting under a Mr. Macdonald, the agent. Carlos shrugged hisshoulders. I suppose I had spoken with some animation. 

"Ah, " he said, with his air of great wisdom and varied experience, of disillusionment, "it will be much the same as it has been at yourhome--after the first days. Hard work and a great sameness. " He began tocough violently. 

I said bitterly enough, "Yes. It will be always the same with me. Ishall never see life. You've seen all that there is to see, so I supposeyou do not mind settling down with an old uncle in a palace. "

He answered suddenly, with a certain darkness of manner, "That is as Godwills. Who knows? Perhaps life, even in my uncle's palace, will not beso safe. "

The second mate was bearing down on us again. 

I said jocularly, "Why, when I get very tired of life at Horton Pen, Ishall come to see you in your uncle's town. "

Carlos had another of his fits of coughing. 

"After all, we are kinsmen. I dare say you would give me a bed, " I wenton. 

The second mate was quite close to us then. 

Carlos looked at me with an expression of affection that a little shamedmy lightness of tone:

"I love you much more than a kinsman, Juan, " he said. "I wish you couldcome with me. I try to arrange it. Later, perhaps, I may be dead. I amvery ill. "

He was undoubtedly ill. Campaigning in Spain, exposure in England in arainy time, and then the ducking when we came on board, had done him nogood. He looked moodily at the sea. 

"I wish you could come. I will try------"

The mate had paused, and was listening quite unaffectedly, behindCarlos' back. 

A moment after Carlos half turned and regarded him with a haughty stare. 

He whistled and walked away. 

Carlos muttered something that I did not catch about "spies of thatpestilent Irishman. " Then:

"I will not selfishly take you into any more dangers, " he said. "Butlife on a sugar plantation is not fit for you. "

I felt glad and flattered that a personage so romantic should deem me afit companion for himself. He went forward as if with some purpose. 

Some days afterwards the second mate sent for me to his cabin. He hadbeen on the sick list, and he was lying in his bunk, stripped to thewaist, one arm and one leg touching the floor. He raised himself slowlywhen I came in, and spat. He had in a pronounced degree the Nova Scotianpeculiarities and accent, and after he had shaved, his face shone likepolished leather. 

"Hallo!" he said. "See heeyur, young Kemp, does your neck just _itch_ tobe stretched?"

I looked at him with mouth and eyes agape. 

He spat again, and waved a claw towards the forward bulkhead. 

"They'll do it for yeh, " he said. "You're such a green goose, it makesme sick a bit. You hevn't reckoned out the chances, not quite. It's akind of dead reckoning yeh hevn't had call to make. Eh?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, bewildered. 

He looked at me, grinning, half naked, with amused contempt, for quite along time, and at last offered sardonically to open my eyes for me. 

I said nothing. 

"Do you know what will happen to you, " he asked, "ef yeh don't get quitof that Carlos of yours?"

I was surprised into muttering that I didn't know. 

"I can tell yeh, " he continued. "Yeh will get hanged. "

By that time I was too amazed to get angry. I simply suspected the BlueNose of being drunk. But he glared at me so soberly that next moment Ifelt frightened. 

"Hanged by the neck, " he repeated; and then added, "Young fellow, youscoot. Take a fool's advice, and _scoot_. That Castro is a blame fool, anyhow. Yeh want men for that job. Men, I tell you. " He slapped his bonybreast. 

I had no idea that he could look so ferocious. His eyes fascinated me, and he opened his cavernous mouth as if to swallow me. His lantern jawssnapped without a sound. He seemed to change his mind. 

"I am done with yeh, " he said, with a sort of sinister restraint. Herose to his feet, and, turning his back to me, began to shave, squintinginto a broken looking-glass. 

I had not the slightest inkling of his meaning. I only knew that goingout of his berth was like escaping from the dark lair of a beast intoa sunlit world. There is no denying that his words, and still more hismanner, had awakened in me a sense of insecurity that had no preciseobject, for it was manifestly absurd and impossible to suspect my friendCarlos. Moreover, hanging was a danger so recondite, and an eventualityso extravagant, as to make the whole thing ridiculous. And yet Iremembered how unhappy I felt, how inexplicably unhappy. Presently thereason was made clear. I was homesick. I gave no further thought to thesecond mate. I looked at the harbour we were entering, and thought ofthe home I had left so eagerly. After all, I was no more than a boy, andeven younger in mind than in body. 

Queer-looking boats crawled between the shores like tiny water beetles. One headed out towards us, then another. I did not want them to reachus. It was as if I did not wish my solitude to be disturbed, and I wasnot pleased with the idea of going ashore. A great ship, floating highon the water, black and girt with the two broad yellow streaks of herdouble tier of guns, glided out slowly from beyond a cluster of shippingin the bay. She passed without a hail, going out under her topsails witha flag at the fore. Her lofty spars overtopped our masts immensely, andI saw the men in her rigging looking down on our decks. The only soundsthat came out of her were the piping of boatswain's calls and thetramping of feet. Imagining her to be going home, I felt a great desireto be on board. Ultimately, as it turned out, I went home in that veryship, but then it was too late. I was another man by that time, withmuch queer knowledge and other desires. Whilst I was looking and longingI heard Carlos' voice behind me asking one of our sailors what ship itwas. 

"Don't you know a flagship when you see it?" a voice grumbled surlily. "Admiral Rowley's, " it continued. Then it rumbled out some remarks about"pirates, vermin, coast of Cuba. "

Carlos came to the side, and looked after the man-of-war in thedistance. 

"_You_ could help us, " I heard him mutter. 

CHAPTER FIVE

There was a lad called Barnes, a steerage passenger of about my own age, a raw, red-headed Northumbrian yokel, going out as a recruit to one ofthe West Indian regiments. He was a serious, strenuous youth, and I hadtalked a little with him at odd moments. In my great loneliness I wentto say good-by to him after I had definitely parted with Carlos. 

I had been in our cabin. A great bustle of shore-going, of leave-takinghad sprung up all over the ship. Carlos and Castro had entered with atall, immobile, gold-spectacled Spaniard, dressed all in white, and witha certain air of noticing and attentive deference, bowing a little ashe entered the cabin in earnest conference with Tomas Castro. Carlos hadpreceded them with a certain nonchalance, and the Spaniard--it wasthe Señor Ramon, the merchant I had heard of--regarded him as if withinterested curiosity. With Tomas he seemed already familiar. He stood inthe doorway, against the strong light, bowing a little. 

With a certain courtesy, touched with indifference, Carlos made himacquainted with me. Ramon turned his searching, quietly analytic gazeupon me. 

"But is the _caballero_ going over, too?" he asked. 

Carlos said, "No. I think not, now. "

And at that moment the second mate, shouldering his way through awhite-clothed crowd of shore people, made up behind Señor Ramon. He helda letter in his hand. 

"I am going over, " he said, in his high nasal voice, and with a certainferocity. 

Ramon looked round apprehensively. 

Carlos said, "The señor, my cousin, wishes for a Mr. Macdonald. You knowhim, senor?"

Ramon made a dry gesture of perfect acquaintance. "I think I have seenhim just now, " he said. "I will make inquiries. "

All three of them had followed him, and became lost in the crowd. Itwas then, not knowing whether I should ever see Carlos again, and witha desperate, unhappy feeling of loneliness, that I had sought out Barnesin the dim immensity of the steerage. 

In the square of wan light that came down the scuttle he was cording hishair-trunk--unemotional and very matter-of-fact. He began to talk in aneveryday voice about his plans. An uncle was going to meet him, and tohouse him for a day or two before he went to the barracks. 

"Mebbe we'll meet again, " he said. "I'll be here many years, I think. "

He shouldered his trunk and climbed unromantically up the ladder. Hesaid he would look for Macdonald for me. 

It was absurd to suppose that the strange ravings of the second mate hadhad an effect on me. "Hanged! Pirates!" Was Carlos really a pirate, orCastro, his humble friend? It was vile of me to suspect Carlos. A coupleof men, meeting by the scuttle, began to talk loudly, every word comingplainly to my ears in the stillness of my misery, and the large desertedsteerage. One of them, new from home, was asking questions. Anotheranswered:

"Oh, I lost half a seroon the last voyage--the old thing. "

"Haven't they routed out the scoundrels yet?" the other asked. 

The first man lowered his voice. I caught only that "the admiral was anold fool--no good for this job. He's found out the name of the place thepirates come from--Rio Medio. That's the place, only he can't get in atit with his three-deckers. You saw his flagship?"

Rio Medio was the name of the town to which Carlos was going--which hisuncle owned. They moved away from above. 

What was I to believe? What could this mean? But the second mate's, "Scoot, young man, " seemed to come to my ears like the blast of atrumpet. I became suddenly intensely anxious to find Macdonald--to seeno more of Carlos. 

From above came suddenly a gruff voice in Spanish. "Señor, it would be agreat folly. "

Tomas Castro was descending the ladder gingerly. He was coming to fetchhis bundle. I went hastily into the distance of the vast, dim cavern ofspare room that served for the steerage. 

"I want him very much, " Carlos said. "I like him. He would be of help tous. "

"It's as your worship wills, " Castro said gruffly. They were both atthe bottom of the ladder. "But an Englishman there would work greatmischief. And this youth----"

"I will take him, Tomas, " Carlos said, laying a hand on his arm. 

"Those others will think he is a spy. I know them, " Castro muttered. "They will hang him, or work some devil's mischief. You do not know thatIrish judge--the _canaille_, the friend of priests. "

"He is very brave. He will not fear, " Carlos said. 

I came suddenly forward. "I will not go with you, " Ï said, before I hadreached them even. 

Castro started back as if he had been stung, and caught at the woodenhand that sheathed his steel blade. 

"Ah, it is you, Señor, " he said, with an air of relief and dislike. Carlos, softly and very affectionately, began inviting me to go to hisuncle's town. His uncle, he was sure, would welcome me. Jamaica and aplanter's life were not fit for me. 

I had not then spoken very loudly, or had not made my meaning veryclear. I felt a great desire to find Macdonald, and a simple life that Icould understand. 

"I am not going with you, " I said, very loudly this time. 

He stopped at once. Through the scuttle of the half-deck we heard ahubbub of voices, of people exchanging greetings, of Christian namescalled out joyously. A tumultuous shuffling of feet went on continuouslyover our heads. The ship was crowded with people from the shore. PerhapsMacdonald was amongst them, even looking for me. 

"Ah, _amigo mio_, but you _must_ now, " said Carlos gently--"youmust------" And, looking me straight in the face with a still, penetrating glance of his big, romantic eyes, "It is a good life, " hewhispered seductively, "and I like you, John Kemp. You are young-veryyoung yet. But I love you very much for your own sake, and for the sakeof one I shall never see again. "

He fascinated me. He was all eyes in the dusk, standing in a languidpose just clear of the shaft of light that fell through the scuttle in asquare patch. 

I lowered my voice, too. "What life?" I asked. 

"Life in my uncle's palace, " he said, so sweetly and persuasively thatthe suggestiveness of it caused a thrill in me. 

His uncle could nominate me to posts of honour fit for a _caballero_. 

I seemed to wake up. "Your uncle the pirate!" I cried, and was amazed atmy own words. 

Tomas Castro sprang up, and placed his rough, hot hand over my lips. 

"Be quiet, John Kemp, you fool!" he hissed with sudden energy. 

He had spruced himself, but I seemed to see the rags still nutter abouthim. He had combed out his beard, but I could not forget the knots thathad been in it. 

"I told your worship how foolish and wrong-headed these English are, " hesaid sardonically to Carlos. And then to me, "If the senor speaks loudlyagain, I shall kill him. "

He was evidently very frightened of something. 

Carlos, silent as an apparition at the foot of the ladder, put a fingerto his lips and glanced upwards. 

Castro writhed his whole body, and I stepped backwards. "I know what RioMedio is, " I said, not very loudly. "It is a nest of pirates. "

Castro crept towards me again on the points of his toes. "Señor Don JuanKemp, child of the devil, " he hissed, looking very much frightened, "youmust die!"

I smiled. He was trembling all over. I could hear the talking andlaughing that went on under the break of the poop. Two women werekissing, with little cries, near the hatchway. I could hear themdistinctly. 

Tomas Castro dropped his ragged cloak with a grandiose gesture. 

"By my hand!" he added with difficulty. 

He was really very much alarmed. Carlos was gazing up the hatch. I wasready to laugh at the idea of dying by Tomas Castro's hand while, withinfive feet of me, people were laughing and kissing. I should have laughedhad I not suddenly felt his hand on my throat. I kicked his shins hard, and fell backwards over a chest. He went back a step or two, flourishedhis arm, beat his chest, and turned furiously upon Carlos. 

"He will get us murdered, " he said. "Do you think we are safe here? Ifthese people here heard that name they wouldn't wait to ask whoyour worship is. They would tear us to pieces in an instant. I tellyou--_moi_, Tomas Castro--he will ruin us, this white fool-------"

Carlos began to cough, shaken speechless as if by an invisible devil. Castro's eyes ran furtively all round him, then he looked at me. He madean extraordinary swift motion with his right hand, and I saw that he wasfacing me with a long steel blade displayed. Carlos continued to cough. The thing seemed odd, laughable still. Castro began to parade roundme: it was as if he were a cock performing its saltatory rites beforeattacking. There was the same tenseness of muscle. He stepped withextraordinary care on the points of his toes, and came to a stop aboutfour feet from me. I began to wonder what Rooksby would have thought ofthis sort of thing, to wonder why Castro himself found it necessary tocrouch for such a long time. Up above, the hum of many people, stilllaughing, still talking, faded a little out of mind. I understood, horribly, how possible it would be to die within those few feet of them. Castro's eyes were dusky yellow, the pupils a great deal inflated, the lines of his mouth very hard and drawn immensely tight. It seemedextraordinary that he should put so much emotion into such a very easykilling. I had my back against the bulkhead, it felt very hard againstmy shoulder-blades. I had no dread, only a sort of shrinking from theactual contact of the point, as one shrinks from being tickled. I openedmy mouth. I was going to shriek a last, despairing call, to the lightand laughter of meetings above when Carlos, still shaken, with one whitehand pressed very hard upon his chest, started forward and gripped hishand round Castro's steel. He began to whisper in the other's hairy ear. I caught:

"You are a fool. He will not make us to be molested, he is my kinsman. "

Castro made a reluctant gesture towards Barnes' chest that lay betweenus. 

"We could cram him into that, " he said. 

"Oh, bloodthirsty fool, " Carlos answered, recovering his breath; "isit always necessary to wash your hands in blood? Are we not in enoughdanger? Up--up! Go see if the boat is yet there. We must go quickly;up--up-------" He waved his hand towards the scuttle. 

"But still, " Castro said. He was reluctantly fitting his wooden handupon the blue steel. He sent a baleful yellow glare into my eyes, andstooped to pick up his ragged cloak. 

"Up--mount!" Carlos commanded. 

Castro muttered, "_Vamos_, " and began clumsily to climb the ladder, likea bale of rags being hauled from above. Carlos placed his foot on thesteps, preparing to follow him. He turned his head round towards me, hishand extended, a smile upon his lips. 

"Juan, " he said, "let us not quarrel. You are very young; you cannotunderstand these things; you cannot weigh them; you have a foolish ideain your head. I wished you to come with us because I love you, Juan. Doyou think I wish you evil? You are true and brave, and our families areunited. " He sighed suddenly. 

"I do not want to quarrel!" I said. "I don't. "

I did not want to quarrel; I wanted more to cry. I was very lonely, andhe was going away. Romance was going out of my life. 

He added musically, "You even do not understand. There is someone elsewho speaks for you to me, always--someone else. But one day you will. Ishall come back for you--one day. " He looked at me and smiled. Itstirred unknown depths of emotion in me. I would have gone with him, then, had he asked me. "One day, " he repeated, with an extraordinarycadence of tone. 

His hand was grasping mine; it thrilled me like a woman's; he stoodshaking it very gently. 

"One day, " he said, "I shall repay what I owe you. I wished you with me, because I go into some danger. I wanted you. Good-by. _Hasta mas ver_. "

He leaned over and kissed me lightly on the cheek, then climbed away. Ifelt that the light of Romance was going out of my life. As we reachedthe top of the ladder, somebody began to call harshly, startlingly. Iheard my own name and the words, "mahn ye were speerin' after. "

The light was obscured, the voice began clamouring insistently. 

"John Kemp, Johnnie Kemp, noo. Here's the mahn ye were speerin' after. Here's Macdonald. "

It was the voice of Barnes, and the voice of the every day. I discoveredthat I had been tremendously upset. The pulses in my temples werethrobbing, and I wanted to shut my eyes--to sleep! I was tired; Romancehad departed. Barnes and the Macdonald he had found for me representedall the laborious insects of the world; all the ants who are foreverhauling immensely heavy and immenlsely unimportant burdens up wearyhillocks, down steep places, getting nowhere and doing nothing. 

Nevertheless I hurried up, stumbling at the hatchway against a man whowas looking down. He said nothing at all, and I was dazed by the light. Barnes remarked hurriedly, "This 'll be your Mr. Macdonald"; and, turning his back on me, forgot my existence. I felt more alone thanever. The man in front of me held his head low, as if he wished to buttme. 

I began breathlessly to tell him I had a letter from"my--my--Rooksby--brother-in-law--Ralph Rooks-by"--I was panting as if Ihad run a long way. He said nothing at all. I fumbled for the letter inan inner pocket of my waistcoat, and felt very shy. Macdonald maintaineda portentous silence; his enormous body was enveloped rather thanclothed in a great volume of ill-fitting white stuff; he held in hishand a great umbrella with a vivid green lining. His face was very pale, and had the leaden transparency of a boiled artichoke; it was fringedby a red beard streaked with gray, as brown flood-water is with foam. I noticed at last that the reason for his presenting his forehead tome was an incredible squint--a squint that gave the idea that he wasperforming some tortuous and defiant feat with the muscles of his neck. 

He maintained an air of distrustful inscrutability. The hand which tookmy letter was very large, very white, and looked as if it would feelhorribly flabby. With the other he put on his nose a pair of enormousmother-of-pearl-framed spectacles--things exactly like those of acobra's--and began to read. He had said precisely nothing at all. It wasfor him and what he represented that I had thrown over Carlos andwhat _he_ represented. I felt that I deserved to be received withacclamation. I was not. He read the letter very deliberately, swaying, umbrella and all, with the slow movement of a dozing elephant. Once hecrossed his eyes at me, meditatively, above the mother-of-pearl rims. Hewas so slow, so deliberate, that I own I began to wonder whether Carlosand Castro were still on board. It seemed to be at least half anhour before Macdonald cleared his throat, with a sound resembling thecoughing of a defective pump, and a mere trickle of a voice asked:

"Hwhat evidence have ye of identitee?"

I hadn't any at all, and began to finger my buttonholes as shamefacedas a pauper before a Board. The certitude dawned upon me suddenly thatCarlos, even if he would consent to swear to me, would prejudice mychances. 

I cannot help thinking that I came very near to being cast adrift uponthe streets of Kingston. To my asseverations Macdonald returnednothing but a series of minute "humphs. " I don't know what overcame hisscruples; he had shown no signs of yielding, but suddenly turning on hisheel made a motion with one of his flabby white hands. I understood itto mean that I was to follow him aft. 

The decks were covered with a jabbering turmoil of negroes with musculararms and brawny shoulders. All their shining black faces seem to bemomentarily gashed open to show rows of white teeth, and were spottedwith inlaid eyeballs. The sounds coming from them were a bewilderingnoise. They were hauling baggage about aimlessly. A large soft bundleof bedding nearly took me off my legs. There wasn't room for emotion. Macdonald laid about him with the handle of the umbrella a few inchesfrom the deck; but the passage that he made for himself closed behindhim. 

Suddenly, in the pushing and hurrying, I came upon a little clear spacebeside a pile of boxes. Stooping over them was the angular figure ofNichols, the second mate. He looked up at me, screwing his yellow eyestogether. 

"Going ashore, " he asked, "'long of that Puffing Billy?"

"What business is it of yours'" I mumbled sulkily. 

Sudden and intense threatening came into his yellow eyes:

"Don't you ever come to you know where, " he said; "I don't want no spieson what I do. There's a man there'll crack your little backbone if hecatches you. Don't yeh come now. Never. "

PART SECOND -- THE GIRL WITH THE LIZARD

CHAPTER ONE

"Rio Medio?" Señor Ramon said to me nearly two years afterwards. "The_caballero_ is pleased to give me credit for a very great knowledge. What should I know of that town? There are doubtless good men there andvery wicked, as in other towns. Who knows? Your worship must ask theboats' crews that the admiral has sent to burn the town. They will beback very soon now. "

He looked at me, inscrutably and attentively, through his goldspectacles. 

It was on the arcade before his store in Spanish Town. Long sunblindsflapped slightly. Before the next door a large sign proclaimed"Office of the _Buchatoro Journal_" It was, as I have said, after twoyears--years which, as Carlos had predicted, I had found to be of hardwork, and long, hot sameness. I had come down from Horton Pen to SpanishTown, expecting a letter from Veronica, and, the stage not being in, had dropped in to chat with Ramon over a consignment of Yankee notions, which he was prepared to sell at an extravagantly cheap price. It wasjust at the time when Admiral Rowley was understood to be going to makean energetic attempt upon the pirates who still infested the Gulf ofMexico and nearly ruined the Jamaica trade of those days. Naturallyenough, we had talked of the mysterious town in which the pirates weresupposed to have their headquarters. 

"I know no more than others, " Ramon said, "save, senor, that I losemuch more because my dealings are much greater. But I do not even knowwhether those who take my goods are pirates, as you English say, orMexican privateers, as the Havana authorities say. I do not very muchcare. _Basta_, what I know is that every week some ship with a letterof marque steals one of my consignments, and I lose many hundreds ofdollars. "

Ramon was, indeed, one of the most frequented merchants in Jamaica; hehad stores in both Kingston and Spanish Town; his cargoes came from allthe seas. All the planters and all the official class in the island haddealings with him. 

"It was most natural that the hidalgo, your respected cousin, shouldconsult me if he wished to go to any town in Cuba. Whom else shouldhe go to? You yourself, señor, or the excellent Mr. Topnambo, if youdesired to know what ships in a month's time are likely to be sailingfor Havana, for New Orleans, or any Gulf port, you would ask me. Whatmore natural? It is my business, my trade, to know these things. In thatway I make my bread. But as for Rio Medio, I do not know the place. " Hehad a touch of irony in his composed voice. "But it is very certain, "he went on, "that if your Government had not recognized the belligerentrights of the rebellious colony of Mexico, there would be now no lettersof marque, no accursed Mexican privateers, and I and everyone else inthe island should not now be losing thousands of dollars every year. "

That was the eternal grievance of every Spaniard in the island--and ofnot a few of the English and Scotch planters. Spain was still inthe throes of losing the Mexican colonies when Great Britain hadacknowledged the existence of a state of war and a Mexican Government. Mexican letters of marque had immediately filled the Gulf. No kind ofshipping was safe from them, and Spain was quite honestly powerless toprevent their swarming on the coast of Cuba--the Ever Faithful Island, itself. 

"What can Spain do, " said Ramon bitterly, "when even your AdmiralRowley, with his great ships, cannot rid the sea of them?" He loweredhis voice. "I tell you, young señor, that England will lose this Islandof Jamaica over this business. You yourself are a Separationist, areyou not?. .. No? You live with Separationists. How could I tell? Manypeople say you are. "

His words gave me a distinctly disagreeable sensation. I hadn't any ideaof being a Separationist; I was loyal enough. But I understood suddenly, and for the first time, how very much like one I might look. 

"I myself am nothing, " Ramon went on impassively; "I am content that theisland should remain English. It will never again be Spanish, nor do Iwish that it should. But our little, waspish friend there"--he liftedone thin, brown hand to the sign of the _Buckatoro Journal_--"his paperis doing much mischief. I think the admiral or the governor will commithim to jail. He is going to run away and take his paper to Kingston; Imyself have bought his office furniture. "

I looked at him and wondered, for all his impassivity, what heknew--what, in the depths of his inscrutable Spanish brain, his darkeyes concealed. 

He bowed to me a little. "There will come a very great trouble, " hesaid. 

Jamaica was in those days--and remained for many years after--in thethroes of a question. The question was, of course, that of the abolitionof slavery. The planters as a rule were immensely rich and overbearing. They said, "If the Home Government tries to abolish our slavery system, we will abolish the Home Government, and go to the United States forprotection. " That was treason, of course; but there was so much of itthat the governor, the Duke of Manchester, had to close his ears andpretend not to hear. The planters had another grievance--the pirates inthe Gulf of Mexico. There was one in particular, a certain El Demonioor Diableto, who practically sealed the Florida passage; it was hardlypossible to get a cargo underwritten, and the planters' pockets feltit a good deal. Practically, El Demonio had, during the last twoyears, gutted a ship once a week, as if he wanted to help the KingstonSeparationist papers. The planters said, "If the Home Government wishesto meddle with our internal affairs, our slaves, let it first clear ourseas. .. . Let it hang El Demonio. . . . "

The Government had sent out one of Nelson's old captains, AdmiralRowley, a good fighting man; but when it came to clearing the Gulf ofMexico, he was about as useless as a prize-fighter trying to clear astable of rats. I don't suppose El Demonio really did more than a titheof the mischief attributed to him, but in the peculiar circumstances hefound himself elevated to the rank of an important factor in colonialpolitics. The Ministerialist papers used to kill him once a month; theSeparationists made him capture one of old Rowley's sloops five times ayear. They both lied, of course. But obviously Rowley and his frigatesweren't much use against a pirate whom they could not catch at sea, andwho lived at the bottom of a bottle-necked creek with tooth rocks allover the entrance--that was the sort of place Rio Medio was reported tobe. . . . 

I didn't much care about either party--I was looking out forromance--but I inclined a little to the Separationists, becauseMacdonald, with whom I lived for two years at Horton Pen, was himself aSeparationist, in a cool Scotch sort of way. He was an Argyleshire man, who had come out to the island as a lad in 1786, and had worked his wayup to the position of agent to the Rooksby estate at Horton Pen. He hada little estate of his own, too, at the mouth of the River Minho, wherehe grew rice very profitably. He had been the first man to plant it onthe island. 

Horton Pen nestled down at the foot of the tall white scars that end theVale of St. Thomas and are not much unlike Dover Cliffs, hanging overa sea of squares of the green cane, alternating with masses of pimentofoliage. Macdonald's wife was an immensely stout, raven-haired, sloe-eyed, talkative body, the most motherly woman I have ever known--Isuppose because she was childless. 

What was anomalous in my position had passed away with the next outwardmail. Veronica wrote to me; Ralph to his attorney and the Macdonalds. But by that time Mrs. Mac. Had darned my socks ten times. 

The surrounding gentry, the large resident landowners, of whom thereremained a sprinkling in the Vale, were at first inclined to make muchof me. There was Mrs. Topnambo, a withered, very dried-up personage, whoaffected pink trimmings; she gave the _ton_ to the countryside as far aston could be given to a society that rioted with hospitality. Shemade efforts to draw me out of the Macdonald environment, to make medifferentiate myself, because I was the grandson of an earl. But theTopnambos were the great Loyalists of the place, and the Macdonalds theprincipal Separationists, and I stuck to the Macdonalds. I was searchingfor romance, you see, and could find none in Mrs. Topnambo's whitefigure, with its dryish, gray skin, and pink patches round the neck, that lay forever in dark or darkened rooms, and talked querulously of"Your uncle, the earl, " whom I had never seen. I didn't get on with themen any better. They were either very dried up and querulous, too, orelse very liquorish or boisterous in an incomprehensible way. Theirevenings seemed to be a constant succession of shouts of laughter, merging into undignified staggers of white trousers through bluenights--round the corners of ragged huts. I never understood the hiddensources of their humour, and I had not money enough to mix well withtheir lavishness. I was too proud to be indebted to them, too. They didn't even acknowledge me on the road at last; they calledme poor-spirited, a thin-blooded nobleman's cub--a Separationisttraitor--and left me to superintend niggers and save money. Mrs. Mac, good Separationist though she was, as became the wife of her husband, had the word "home" forever on her lips. She had once visited theRooksbys at Horton; she had treasured up a host of tiny things, partsof my forgotten boyhood, and she talked of them and talked of them untilthat past seemed a wholly desirable time, and the present a dull thing!

Journeying in search of romance--and that, after all, is our business inthis world--is much like trying to eaten the horizon. It lies a littledistance before us, and a little _distance behind--about as far as theeye can carry. _ One, discovers that one has passed through it just asone passed what is to-day our horizon--One looks back and says. "Whythere it is. " One looks forward and says the same. It lies either inthe old days when we used to, or in _the new days when we shall_. I lookback upon those days of mine, and little things remain, come back to me, assume an atmosphere, take significance, go to the making of a _tempsjadis_. Probably, when I look back upon what is the dull, arid waste ofto-day, it will be much the same. 

I could almost wish to take again one of the long, uninteresting nightrides from the Vale to Spanish Town, or to listen once more to one ofold Macdonald's interminable harangues on the folly of Mr. Canning'spolicy, or the virtues of Scotch thrift. "Jack, lad, " he used to bellowin his curious squeak of a voice, "a gentleman you may be of guid Scotsblood. But ye're a puir body's son for a' that. " He was set on my makingmoney and turning honest pennies. I think he really liked me. 

It was with that idea that he introduced me to Ramon, "an esteemedSpanish merchant of Kingston and Spanish Town. " Ramon had seemedmysterious when I had seen him in company with Carlos and Castro butre-introduced in the homely atmosphere of the Macdonalds, he had becomemerely a saturnine, tall, dusky-featured, gold-spectacled Spaniard, andvery good company. I learnt nearly all my Spanish from him. The onlymystery about him was the extravagantly cheap rate at which he soldhis things under the flagstaff in front of Admiral Rowley's house, theKing's House, as it was called. The admiral himself was said to haveextensive dealings with Ramon; he had at least the reputation ofdesiring to turn an honest penny, like myself. At any rate, everyone, from the proudest planters to the editor of the _Buckatoro Journal_next door, was glad of a chat with Ramon, whose knowledge of an immensevariety of things was as deep as a draw-well--and as placid. 

I used to buy island produce through him, ship it to New Orleans, haveit sold, and re-import parcels of "notions, " making a double profit. Hewas always ready to help me, and as ready to talk, saying that he had animmense respect for my relations, the Riegos. 

That was how, at the end of my second year in the island, I had come totalking to him. The stage should have brought a letter from Veronica, who was to have presented Rooksby with a son and heir, but it wasunaccountably late. I had been twice to the coach office, and was makingmy way desultorily back to Ramon's. He was talking to the editor of the_Buckatoro Journal_--the man from next door--and to another who had, whilst I walked lazily across the blazing square, ridden furiously upto the steps of the arcade. The rider was talking to both of them withexaggerated gestures of his arms. He had ridden off, spurring, and theeditor, a little, gleaming-eyed hunchback, had remained in the sunshine, talking excitedly to Ramon. 

I knew him well, an amusing, queer, warped, Satanic member of society, who was a sort of nephew to the Macdonalds, and hand in glove withall the Scotch Separationists of the island. He had started anextraordinary, scandalous paper that, to avoid sequestration, changedits name and offices every few issues, and was said by Loyalists, likethe Topnambos, to have an extremely bad influence. 

He subsisted a good deal on the charity of people like the Macdonalds, and I used sometimes to catch sight of him at evenfall listening to Mrs. Macdonald; he would be sitting beside her hammock on the veranda, hishead very much down on his breast, very much on one side, and his greathump portending over his little white face, and ruffling up his raggedblack hair. Mrs. Macdonald clacked all the scandal of the Vale, and the_Buckatoro Journal_ got the benefit of it all, with adornments. 

For the last month or so the Journal had been more than usuallyeffective, and it was only because Rowley was preparing to confound histraducers by the boat attack on Rio Medio, that a warrant had not comeagainst David. When I saw him talking to Ramon, I imagined that therider must have brought news of a warrant, and that David was preparingfor flight. He hopped nimbly from Ramon's steps into the obscurity ofhis own door. Ramon turned his spectacles softly upon me. 

"There you have it, " he said. "The folly; the folly! To send only littleboats to attack such a nest of villains. It is inconceivable. "

The horseman had brought news that the boats of Rowley's squadron hadbeen beaten off with great loss, in their attack on Rio Medio. 

Ramon went on with an air of immense superiority, "And all the while wemerchants are losing thousands. "

His dark eyes searched my face, and it came disagreeably into my headthat he was playing some part; that his talk was delusive, his angerfeigned; that, perhaps, he still suspected me of being a Separationist. He went on talking about the failure of the boat attack. All Jamaica hadbeen talking of it, speculating about it, congratulating itself on it. British valour was going to tell; four boats' crews would do the trick. And now the boats had been beaten off, the crews captured, half the menkilled! Already there was panic on the island. I could see men comingtogether in little knots, talking eagerly. I didn't like to listento Ramon, to a Spaniard talking in that way about the defeat of mycountrymen by his. I walked across the King's Square, and the stagedriving up just then, I went to the office, and got my correspondence. 

Veronica's letter came like a faint echo, like the sound of very distantsurf, heard at night; it seemed impossible that any one could be asinterested as she in the things that were happening over there. She hadhad a son; one of Ralph's aunts was its godmother. She and Ralph hadbeen to Bath last spring; the country wanted water very badly. Ralph hadused his influence, had explained matters to a very great personage, had spent a little money on the injured runners. In the meanwhile I hadnearly forgotten the whole matter; it seemed to be extraordinary thatthey should still be interested in it. 

I was to come back; as soon as it was safe I was to come back; that wasthe main tenor of the letter. 

I read it in a little house of call, in a whitewashed room thatcontained a cardboard cat labelled "The Best, " for sole ornament. Fourswarthy fellows, Mexican patriots, were talking noisily about their Warof Independence, and the exploits of a General Trapelascis, who hadbeen defeating the Spanish troops over there. It was almost impossibleto connect them with a world that included Veronica's delicatehandwriting with the pencil lines erased at the base of each line ofink. They seemed to be infinitely more real. Even Veronica's interestin me seemed a little strange; her desire for my return irritated me. Itwas as if she had asked me to return to a state of bondage, after havingfound myself. Thinking of it made me suddenly aware that I had become aman, with a man's aims, and a disillusionized view of life. It suddenlyappeared very wonderful that I could sit calmly there, surveying, forinstance, those four sinister fellows with daggers, as if they werenothing at all. When I had been at home the matter would have causedme extraordinary emotions, as many as if I had seen an elephant in atravelling show. As for going back to my old life, it didn't seem to bepossible. 

CHAPTER TWO

One night I was riding alone towards Horton Pen. A large moon hungitself up above me like an enormous white plate. Finally the slopingroof of the Ferry Inn, with one dishevelled palm tree drooping over it, rose into the disk. The window lights were reflected like shaken torchesin the river. A mass of objects, picked out with white globes, loomedin the high shadow of the inn, standing motionless. They resolvedthemselves into a barouche, with four horses steaming a great deal, andan army of negresses with bandboxes on their heads. A great lady wason the road; her querulous voice was calling to someone within the opendoor that let down a soft yellow light from the top of the precipitoussteps. A nondescript object, with apparently two horns and a wheel, rested inert at the foot of the sign-post; two negroes were wiping theirforeheads beside it. That resolved itself into a man slumbering in awheelbarrow, his white face turned up to the moon. A sort of buzz ofvoices came from above; then a man in European clothes was silhouettedagainst the light in the doorway. He held a full glass very carefullyand started to descend. Suddenly he stopped emotionally. Then he turnedhalf-right and called back, "Sir Charles! Sir Charles! Here's the veryman! I protest, the very man!" There was an interrogative roar fromwithin. It was like being outside a lion's cage. 

People appeared and disappeared in front of the lighted door; windowsstood open, with heads craning out all along the inn face. I washurrying off the back of my horse when the admiral came out on to thesteps. Someone lit a torch, and the admiral became a dark, solid figure, with the flash of the gold lace on his coat. He stood very high in theleg; had small white whiskers, and a large nose that threw a vast shadowon to his forehead in the upward light; his high collar was open, and amass of white appeared under his chin; his head was uncovered. A thirdmale face, very white, bobbed up and down beside his shining leftshoulder. He kept on saying:

"What? what? what? Hey, what?. .. That man?" He appeared to be halfwaybetween supreme content and violent anger. At last he delivered himself. "Let's duck him. .. Hey?. .. Let's duck him!" He spoke with a sort ofbenevolent chuckle, then raised his voice and called, "Tinsley! Tinsley!Where the deuce is Tinsley?"

A high nasal sound came from the carriage window. "Sir Charles! SirCharles! Let there be no scene in my presence, I beg. "

I suddenly saw, halfway up, laboriously ascending the steps, a blackfigure, indistinguishable at first on account of deformities. It wasDavid Macdonald. Since his last, really terrible comments on the failureof the boat-attack, he had been lying hidden somewhere. It came upon mein a flash that he was making his way from one hiding place to another. In making his escape from Spanish Town, either to Kingston or theVale, he had run against the admiral and his party returning from theTopnambos' ball. It was hardly a coincidence: everyone on the road metat the Ferry Inn. But that hardly made the thing more pleasant. 

Sir Charles continued to clamour for Tinsley, his flag lieutenant, who, as a matter of fact, was the man drunk in the wheelbarrow. When this wasexplained by the shouts of the negroes, he grunted, "Umph!" turned onthe man at his side, and said, "Here, Oldham; you lend a hand to duckthe little toad. " It was the sort of thing that the thirsty climateof Jamaica rendered frequent enough. Oldham dropped his glass andprotested. Macdonald continued silently and enigmatically to climbthe steps; now he was in for it he showed plenty of pluck. No doubthe recognized that, if the admiral made a fool of himself, he would beafraid to issue warrants in soberness. I could not stand by and seethem bully the wretched little creature. At the same time I didn't, mostdecidedly, want to identify myself with him. 

I called out impulsively, "Sir Charles, surely you would not useviolence to a cripple. "

Then, very suddenly, they all got to action, David Macdonald reachingthe top of the steps. Shrieks came from the interior of the carriage, and from the waiting négresses. I saw three men were falling upon alittle thing like a damaged cat. I couldn't stand that, come what mightof it. 

I ran hastily up the steps, hoping to be able to make them recover theirsenses, a force of purely conventional emotion impelling me. It wasno business of mine; I didn't want to interfere, and I felt like aman hastening to separate half a dozen fighting dogs too large to bepleasant. 

When I reached the top, there was a sort of undignified scuffle, andin the end I found myself standing above a ghastly white gentleman who, from a sitting posture, was gasping out, "I'll commit you!. .. I swearI'll commit you!. .. " I helped him to his feet rather apologetically, while the admiral behind me was asking insistently who the deuce I was. The man I had picked up retreated a little, and then turned back to lookat me. The light was shining on my face, and he began to call out, "Iknow him. I know him perfectly well. He's John Kemp. I'll commit him atonce. The papers are in the barouche. " After that he seemed to take itinto his head that I was going to assault him again. He bolted outof sight, and I was left facing the admiral. He stared at mecontemptuously. I was streaming with perspiration and upbraiding him forassaulting a cripple. 

The admiral said, "Oh, that's what you think? I will settle withyou presently. This is rank mutiny. " I looked at Oldham, who was theadmiral's secretary. He was extremely dishevelled about his neck, muchas if a monkey had been clawing him thereabouts. Half of his roll collarflapped on his heaving chest; his stock hung down behind like a cue. I had seen him kneeling on the ground with his head pinned down by thehunchback. I said loftily:

"What did you set him on a little beggar like that for? You were threeto one. What did you expect?"

The admiral swore. Oldham began to mop with a lace handkerchief at adamaged upper lip from which a stream of blood was running; he evenseemed to be weeping a little. Finally, he vanished in at the door, verymuch bent together. The undaunted David hopped in after him coolly. 

The admiral said, "I know your kind. You're a treasonous dog, sir. Thisis mutiny. You shall be made an example of. "

All the same he must have been ashamed of himself, for presently he andthe two others went down the steps without even looking at me, and theircarriage rolled away. 

Inside the inn I found a couple of merchant captains, one asleep withhis head on the table and little rings shining in his great red ears;the other very spick and span--of what they called the new school then. His name was Williams--Captain Williams of the _Lion_, which he partowned; a man of some note for the dinners he gave on board his ship. Hiseyes sparkled blue and very round in a round rosy face, and he clawedeffusively at my arm. 

"Well done!" he bubbled over. "You gave it them; strike me, you did! Itdid me good to see and hear. I wasn't going to poke my nose in, not I. But I admire you, my boy. "

He was a quite guileless man with a strong dislike for the admiral'sblundering--a dislike that all the seamen shared--and for people of theTopnambo kidney who affected to be above his dinners. He assured me thatI had burst upon those gentry roaring. .. "like the Bull of Bashan. Youshould have seen!" and he drank my health in a glass of punch. 

David Macdonald joined us, looming through wreaths of tobacco smoke. Hewas always very nice in his dress, and had washed himself into a stateof enviable coolness. 

"They won't touch me now, " he said. "I wanted that assault andbattery. .. . " He suddenly turned vivid, sarcastic black eyes upon me. "But you, " he said--"my dear Kemp! You're in a devil of a scrape!They'll have a warrant out against you under the Black Act. I know thegentry. "

"Oh, he won't mind, " Williams struck in, "I know him; he's a trump. Afraid of nothing. "

David Macdonald made a movement of his head that did duty for an ominousshake:

"It's a devil of a mess, " he said. "But I'll touch them up. Why did youhit Topnambo? He's the spitefullest beast in the island. They'll make itout high treason. They are capable of sending you home on this charge. "

"Oh, never say die. " Williams turned to me, "Come and dine with me onboard at Kingston to-morrow night. If there's any fuss I'll see what Ican do. Or you can take a trip with me to Havana till it blows over. Myold woman's on board. " His face fell. "But there, you'll get round her. I'll see you through. "

They drank some sangaree and became noisy. I wasn't very happy;there was much truth in what David Macdonald had said. Topnambo wouldcertainly do his best to have me in jail--to make an example of me asa Separationist to please the admiral and the Duke of Manchester. Underthe spell of his liquor Williams became more and more pressing with hisoffers of help. 

"It's the devil that my missus should be on board, just this trip. Buthang it! come and dine with me. I'll get some of the Kingston men--theregular hot men--to stand up for you. They will when they hear thetale. "

There was a certain amount of sense in what he said. If warrants wereout against me, he or some of the Kingston merchants whom he knew, andwho had no cause to love the admiral, might help me a good deal. 

Accordingly, I did go down to Kingston. It happened to be the day whenthe seven pirates were hanged at Port Royal Point. I had never seen ahanging, and a man who hadn't was rare in those days. I wanted to keepout of the way, but it was impossible to get a boatman to row me off tothe _Lion_. They were all dying to see the show, and, half curious, halfreluctant, I let myself drift with the crowd. 

The gallows themselves stood high enough to be seen--a long very stoutbeam supported by posts at each end. There was a blazing sun, and thecrowd pushed and shouted and craned its thousands of heads every timeone heard the cry of "Here they come, " for an hour or so. There was avery limpid sky, a very limpid sea, a scattering of shipping gliding upand down, and the very silent hills a long way away. There was a largeflavour of Spaniards among the crowd. I got into the middle of a knot ofthem, jammed against the wheels of one of the carriages, standing, handsdown, on tiptoe, staring at the long scaffold. There were a great manyfalse alarms, sudden outcries, hushing again rather slowly. In betweenI could hear someone behind me talk Spanish to the occupants of thecarriage. I thought the voice was Ramon's, but I could not turn, and thepeople in the carriage answered in French, I thought. A man was shouting"Cool Drinks" on the other side of them. 

Finally, there was a roar, an irresistible swaying, a rattle of musketramrods, a rhythm of marching feet, and the grating of heavy iron-boundwheels. Seven men appeared in sight above the heads, clinging to eachother for support, and being drawn slowly along. The little worstedballs on the infantry shakos bobbed all round their feet. They werea sorry-looking group, those pirates; very wild-eyed, very ragged, dust-stained, weather-beaten, begrimed till they had the colour ofunpolished mahogany. Clinging still to each other as they stood beneaththe dangling ropes of the long beam, they had the appearance of agroup of statuary to forlorn misery. Festoons of chains completed the"composition. "

One was a very old man with long yellow-white hair, one a negrowhose skin had no lustre at all. The rest were very dark-skinned, peak-bearded, and had long hair falling round their necks. A soldierwith a hammer and a small anvil climbed into the cart, and bent down outof sight. There was a ring of iron on iron, and the man next the veryold man raised his arms and began to speak very slowly, very distinctly, and very mournfully. It was quite easy to understand him; he declaredhis perfect innocence. No one listened to him; his name was Pedro Nones. He ceased speaking, and someone on a horse, the High Sheriff, I think, galloped impatiently past the cart and shouted. Two men got into thecart, one pulled the rope, the other caught the pirate by the elbows. He jerked himself loose, and began to cry out; he seemed to be lost inamazement, and shrieked:

"_Adonde está el padre?. .. Adonde está el padre?_" No one answered; therewasn't a priest of any denomination; I don't know whether the omissionwas purposed. The man's face grew convulsed with agony, his eyeballsstared out very white and vivid, as he struggled with the two men. Hebegan to curse us epileptically for compassing his damnation. A hoarsepatter of Spanish imprecations came from the crowd immediately round me. The man with the voice like Ramon's groaned in a lamentable way; someoneelse said, "What infamy . . . What infamy!"

An aged voice said tremulously in the carriage, "This shall be a matterof official remonstrance. " Another said, "Ah, these English heretics!"

There was a forward rush of the crowd, which carried me away. Someonein front began to shout orders, and the crowd swayed back again. Theinfantry muskets rattled. The commotion lasted some time. When itceased, I saw that the man about to die had been kissing the very oldman; tears were streaming down the gray, parchment-coloured cheeks. Pedro Nones had the rope round his neck; it curved upwards looselytowards the beam, growing taut as the cart jolted away. He shouted:

"_Adiôs, viejo, para siempre adi------_"

My whole body seemed to go dead all over. I happened to look downwardsat my hands; they were extraordinarily white, with the veins standingout all over them. They felt as if they had been sodden in water, andit was quite a long time before they recovered their natural colour. The rest of the men were hung after that, the cart jolting a little waybackwards and forwards and growing less crowded after every journey. One man, who was very large framed and stout, had to go through it twicebecause the rope broke. He made a good deal of fuss. My head ached, andafter the involuntary straining and craning to miss no details was over, I felt sick and dazed. The people talked a great deal as they streamedback, loosening over the broader stretch of pebbles; they seemed to wishto remind each other of details. I have an idea that one or two, inthe sheer largeness of heart that seizes one after occasions of popularemotions, asked me in exulting voices if I had seen the nigger's tonguesticking out. 

Others thought that there wasn't very much to be exultant over. Wehad not really captured the pirates; they had been handed over tothe admiral by the Havana authorities--as an international courtesy Isuppose, or else because they were pirates of no account and short infunds, or because the admiral had been making a fuss in front of theMorro. It was even asserted by the anti-admiral faction that the sevenweren't pirates at all, but merely Cuban _mauvais sujets_, hawkers ofderogatory _coplas_, and known freethinkers. In any case, excited peoplecheered the High Sheriff and the returning infantry, because it waspleasant to hang any kind of Spaniard. I got nearly knocked down by thekettle-drummers, who came through the scattering crowd at a swingingquick-step. As I cannoned off the drums, a hand caught at my arm, andsomeone else began to speak to me. It was old Ramon, who was tellingme that he had a special kind of Manchester goods at his store. Heexplained that they had arrived very lately, and that he had come fromSpanish Town solely on their account. One made the eighth of a penny ayard more on them than on any other kind. If I would deign to have someof it offered to my inspection, he had his little curricle just off theroad. He was drawing me gently towards it all the time, and I had notany idea of resisting. He had been behind in the crowd, he said, besidethe carriage of the commissioner and the judge of the Marine Court sentby the Havana authorities to deliver the pirates. 

It was after that, that in Ramon's dusky store, I had my first sightof Seraphina and of her father, and then came my meeting with Carlos. Icould hardly believe my eyes when I saw him come out with extended hand. It was an extraordinary sensation, that of talking to Carlos again. Heseemed to have worn badly. His face had lost its moist bloom, its hardlydistinguishable subcutaneous flush. It had grown very, very pale. Darkblue circles took away from the blackness and sparkle of his eyes. Andhe coughed, and coughed. 

He put his arm affectionately round my shoulders and said, "How splendidto see you again, my Juan. " His eyes had affection in them, there was nodoubt about that, but I felt vaguely suspicious of him. I remembered howwe had parted on board the _Thames_. "We can talk here, " he added; "itis very pleasant. You shall see my uncle, that great man, the star ofCuban law, and my cousin Seraphina, your kinsfolk. They love you; I havespoken well of you. " He smiled gayly, and went on, "This is not a placebefitting his greatness, nor my cousin's, nor, indeed, my own. " Hesmiled again. "But I shall be very soon dead, and to me it matterslittle. " He frowned a little, and then laughed. "But you should haveseen the faces of your officers when my uncle refused to go to theirgovernor's palace; there was to have been a _fiesta_, a 'reception'; isit not the word? It will cause a great scandal. "

He smiled with a good deal of fine malice, and looked as if he expectedme to be pleased. I said that I did not quite understand what hadoffended his uncle. 

"Oh, it was because there was no priest, " Carlos answered, "when thosepoor devils were hung. They were _canaille_. Yes; but one gives thatmuch even to such. And my uncle was there in his official capacity as aa plenipotentiary. He was very much distressed: we were all. You heard, my uncle himself had advised their being surrendered to your English. And when there was no priest he repented very bitterly. Why, after all, it was an infamy. "

He paused again, and leant back against the counter. When his eyeswere upon the ground and his face not animated by talking, there becamelamentably insistent his pallor, the deep shadows under his eyes, andinfinite sadness in the droop of his features, as if he were preoccupiedby an all-pervading and hopeless grief. When he looked at me, he smiled, however. 

"Well, at worst it is over, and my uncle is here in this dirty placeinstead of at your palace. We sail back to Cuba this very evening. " Helooked round him at Ramon's calicos and sugar tubs in the dim light, asif he accepted almost incredulously the fact that they could be insuch a place, and the manner of his voice indicated that he thoughtour governor's palace would have been hardly less barbarous. "But Iam sorry, " he said suddenly, "because I wanted you--you and all yourcountrymen--to make a good impression on him. You must do it yourselfalone. And you will. You are not like these others. You are our kinsman, and I have praised you very much. You saved my life. "

I began to say that I had done nothing at all, but he waved his handwith a little smile. 

"You are very brave, " he said, as if to silence me. "I am notungrateful. "

He began again to ask for news from home--from my home. I told him thatVeronica had a baby, and he sighed. 

"She married the excellent Rooksby?" he asked. "Ah, what a waste. " Herelapsed into silence again. "There was no woman in your land like her. She might have------- And to marry that--that excellent personage, mygood cousin. It is a tragedy. "

"It was a very good match, " I answered. 

He sighed again. "My uncle is asleep in there, now, " he said, after apause, pointing at the inner door. "We must not wake him; he is a veryold man. You do not mind talking to me? You will wait to see them? DonaSeraphina is here, too. "

"You have not married your cousin?" I asked. 

I wanted very much to see the young girl who had looked at me for amoment, and I certainly should have been distressed if Carlos had saidshe was married. 

He answered, "What would you have?" and shrugged his shoulders gently. Asmile came into his face. "She is very willful. I did not please her, Ido not know why. Perhaps she has seen too many men like me. "

He told me that, when he reached Cuba, after parting with me on the_Thames_, his uncle, "in spite of certain influences, " had receivedhim quite naturally as his heir, and the future head of the family. ButSeraphina, whom by the laws of convenience he ought to have married, hadquite calmly refused him. 

"I did not impress her; she is romantic. She wanted a very bold man, aCid, something that it is not easy to have. "

He paused again, and looked at me with some sort of challenge in hiseyes. 

"She could have met no one better than you, " I said. 

He waved his hand a little. "Oh, for that-------" he said deprecatingly. "Besides, I am dying. I have never been well since I went into your coldsea, over there, after we left your sister. You remember how I coughedon board that miserable ship. "

I did remember it very well. 

He went to the inner door, looked in, and then came back to me. 

"Seraphina needs a guide--a controller--someone very strong and gentle, and kind and brave. My uncle will never ask her to marry against herwish; he is too old and has too little will. And for any man who wouldmarry her--except one--there would be great dangers, for her and forhim. It would need a cool man, and a brave man, and a good one, too, tohazard, perhaps even life, for her sake. She will be very rich. Allour lands, all our towns, all our gold. " There was a suggestion offabulousness in his dreamy voice. "They shall never be mine, " he added. "_Vaya_. "

He looked at me with his piercing eyes set to an expression thatmight have been gentle mockery. At any rate, it also contained intensescrutiny, and, perhaps, a little of appeal. I sighed myself. 

"There is a man called O'Brien in there, " he said. "He does us thehonour to pretend to my cousin's hand. "

I felt singularly angry. "Well, he's not a Spaniard, " I said. 

Carlos answered mockingly, "Oh, for Spaniard, no. He is a descendant ofthe Irish kings. "

"He's an adventurer, " I said. "You ought to be on your guard. You don'tknow these bog-trotting fortune-hunters. They're the laughter of Europe, kings and all. "

Carlos smiled again. "He's a very dangerous man for all that, " he said. "I should not advise any one to come to Rio Medio, my uncle's town, without making a friend of the Señor O'Brien. "

He went once more to the inner door, and, after a moment's whisperingwith someone within, returned to me. 

"My uncle still sleeps, " he said. "I must keep you a little longer. Ah, yes, the Señor O'Brien. He shall marry my cousin, I think, when I amdead. "

"You don't know these fellows, " I said. 

"Oh, I know them very well, " Carlos smiled, "there are many of them atHavana. They came there after what they call the '98, when there wasgreat rebellion in Ireland, and many good Catholics were killed andruined. "

"Then he's a rebel, and ought to be hung, " I said. 

Carlos laughed as of old. "It may be, but, my good Juan, we Christiansdo not see eye to eye with you. This man rebelled against yourgovernment, but, also, he suffered for the true faith. He is a goodCatholic; he has suffered for it; and in the Ever Faithful Island, thatis a passport. He has climbed very high; he is a judge of the MarineCourt at Havana. That is why he is here to-day, attending my uncle inthis affair of delivering up the pirates. My uncle loves him very much. O'Brien was at first my uncle's clerk, and my uncle made him a _juez_, and he is also the intendant of my uncle's estates, and he has a greatinfluence in my uncle's town of Rio Medio. I tell you, if you come tovisit us, it will be as well to be on good terms with the Señor JuezO'Brien. My uncle is a very old man, and if I die before him, thisO'Brien, I think, will end by marrying my cousin, because my poor uncleis very much in his hands. There are other pretenders, but they havelittle chance, because it is so very dangerous to come to my uncle'stown of Rio Medio, on account of this man's intrigues and of his powerwith the populace. "

I looked at Carlos intently. The name of the town had seemed to befamiliar to me. Now I suddenly remembered that it was where Nicolasel Demonio, the pirate who was so famous as to be almost mythical, hadbeaten off Admiral Rowley's boats. 

"Come, you had better see this Irish hidalgo who wants to do us so muchhonour, "--he gave an inscrutable glance at me, --"but do not talk loudlytill my uncle wakes. "

He threw the door open. I followed him into the room, where the visionof the ancient Don and the charming apparition of the young girl hadretreated only a few moments before. 

CHAPTER THREE

The room was very lofty and coldly dim; there were great bars in frontof the begrimed windows. It was very bare, containing only a long blacktable, some packing cases, and half a dozen rocking chairs. Of these, five were very new and one very old, black and heavy, with a greenleather seat and a coat of arms worked on its back cushions. Therewere little heaps of mahogany sawdust here and there on the dirty tiledfloor, and a pile of sacking in one corner. Beneath a window the flapof an open trap-door half hid a large green damp-stain; a deep recessin the wall yawned like a cavern, and had two or three tubs in theright corner; a man with a blond head, slightly bald as if he had beentonsured, was rocking gently in one of the new chairs. 

Opposite him, with his aged face towards us, sat the old Don asleep inthe high chair. His delicate white hands lay along the arms, one of themholding a gold vinaigrette; his black, silver-headed cane was betweenhis silk-stockinged legs. The diamond buckles of his shoes shot outlittle vivid rays, even in that gloomy place. The young girl was sittingwith her hands to her temples and her elbows on the long table, minutelyexamining the motionlessness of a baby lizard, a tiny thing with goldeneyes, whom fear seemed to have turned into stone. 

We entered quietly, and after a moment she looked up candidly into myeyes, and placed her finger on her lips, motioning her head towards herfather. She placed her hand in mine, and whispered very clearly:

"Be welcome, my English cousin, " and then dropped her eyes again to thelizard. 

She knew all about me from Carlos. The man of whom I had seen only thetop of his head, turned his chair suddenly and glinted at me with littleblue eyes. He was rather small and round, with very firm flesh, and verywhite, plump hands. He was dressed in the black clothes of a Spanishjudge. On his round face there was always a smile like that whichhangs around the jaws of a pike--only more humorous. He bowed a littleexaggeratedly to me and said:

"Ah, ye are that famous Mr. Kemp. "

I said that I imagined him the more famous Señor Juez O'Brien. 

"It's little use saying ye arren't famous, " he said. His voice had thefaint, infinitely sweet twang of certain Irishry; a thing as delicateand intangible as the scent of lime flowers. "Our noble friend"--heindicated Carlos with a little flutter of one white hand--"has told mewhat make of a dare-devil gallant ye are; breaking the skulls of halfthe Bow Street runners for the sake of a friend in distress. Well, I honour ye for it; I've done as much myself. " He added, "In the olddays, " and sighed. 

"You mean in the '98, " I said, a little insolently. 

O'Brien's eyes twinkled. He had, as a matter of fact, nearly lost hisneck in the Irish fiasco, either in Clonmel or Sligo, bolting violentlyfrom the English dragoons, in the mist, to a French man-of-war's boatsin the bay. To him, even though he was now a judge in Cuba, it was anepisode of heroism of youth--of romance, in fact. So that, probably, hedid not resent my mention of it. I certainly wanted to resent somethingthat was slighting in his voice, and patronizing in his manner. 

The old Don slumbered placidly, his face turned up to the distantbegrimed ceiling. 

"Now, I'll make you a fair offer, " O'Brien said suddenly, after anintent study of the insolent glance that I gave him. I disliked himbecause I knew nothing about the sort of man he was. He was, as a matterof fact, more alien to me than Carlos. And he gave me the impressionthat, if perhaps he were not absolutely the better man, he could stillmake a fool of me, or at least make me look like a fool. 

"I'm told you are a Separationist, " he said. "Well, it's like me. I aman Irishman; there has been a price on my head in another island. Andthere are warrants out against you here for assaulting the admiral. Wecan work together, and there's nothing low in what I have in mind foryou. "

He had heard frequently from Carlos that I was a desperate andaristocratically lawless young man, who had lived in a district entirelygiven up to desperate and murderous smugglers. But this was the first Ihad heard definitely of warrants against me in Jamaica. That, nodoubt, he had heard from Ramon, who knew everything. In all this littlesardonic Irishman said to me, it seemed the only thing worth attention. It stuck in my mind while, in persuasive tones, and with airy fluency, he discoursed of the profits that could be made, nowadays, in armingprivateers under the Mexican flag. He told me I needn't be surprisedat their being fitted out in a Spanish colony. "There's more than oneaspect to disloyalty like this, " said he dispassionately, but with aquick wink contrasting with his tone. 

Spain resented our recognition of their rebellious colonies. And withthe same cool persuasiveness, relieved by humorous smiles, he explainedthat the loyal Spaniards of the Ever Faithful Island thought there wasno sin in doing harm to the English, even under the Mexican flag, whoselegal existence they did not recognize. 

"Mind ye, it's an organized thing, I have something to say in it. Ithurts Mr. Canning's Government at home, the curse of Cromwell on him andthem. They will be dropping some of their own colonies directly. And asyou are a Separationist, small blame to you, and I am an Irishman, weshan't cry our eyes out over it. Come, Mr. Kemp, 'tis all for the goodof the Cause. .. . And there's nothing _low_. You are a gentleman, and Iwouldn't propose anything that was. The very best people in Havana areinterested in the matter. Our schooners lie in Rio Medio, but I can't bethere all the time myself. "

Surprise deprived me of speech. I glanced at Carlos. He was watching usinscrutably. The young girl touched the lizard gently, but it was toofrightened to move. O'Brien, with shrewd glances, rocked his chair. .. . What did I want? he inquired. To see life? What he proposed was thelife for a fine young fellow like me. Moreover, I was half Scotch. Had Iforgotten the wrongs of my own country? Had I forgotten the '45?

"You'll have heard tell of a Scotch Chief Justice whose son spentin Amsterdam the money his father earned on the justice seat inEdinb'ro'--money paid for rum and run silks . . . "

Of course I had heard of it; everybody had; but it had been some yearsbefore. 

"We're backwards hereabouts, " O'Brien jeered. "But over there theywinked and chuckled at the judge, and they do the same in Havana at us. "

Suddenly from behind us the voice of the young girl said, "Of what doyou discourse, my English cousin?"

O'Brien interposed deferentially. "Señorita, I ask him to come to Rio, "he said. 

She turned her large dark eyes scrutinizingly upon me, then dropped themagain. She was arranging some melon seeds in a rayed circle round thelizard that looked motionlessly at her. 

"Do not speak very loudly, lest you awaken my father, " she warned us. 

The old Don's face was still turned to the ceiling. Carlos, standingbehind his chair, opened his mouth a little in a half smile. I wasreally angry with O'Brien by that time, with his air of omniscience, superiority, and self-content, as if he were talking to a child orsomeone very credulous and weak-minded. 

"What right have you to speak for me, Señor Juez?" I said in the bestSpanish I could. 

The young girl looked at me once more, and then again looked down. 

"Oh, I can speak for you, " he answered in English, "because I know. Yourposition's this. " He sat down in his rocking chair, crossed his legs, and looked at me as if he expected me to show signs of astonishment athis knowing so much. "You're in a hole. You must leave this island ofJamaica--surely it's as distressful as my own dear land--and you can'tgo home, because the runners would be after you. You're 'wanted' here aswell as there, and you've nowhere to go. "

I looked at him, quite startled by this view of my case. He extended oneplump hand towards me, and still further lowered his voice. 

"Now, I offer you a good berth, a snug berth. And 'tis a pretty spot. "He got a sort of languorous honey into his voice, and drawled out, "The--the Señorita's. " He took an air of businesslike candour. "You canhelp us, and we you; we could do without you better than you without us. Our undertaking--there's big names in it, just as in the Free Tradingyou know so well, don't be saying you don't--is worked from Havana. Whatwe need is a man we can trust. We had one--Nichols. You remember themate of the ship you came over in. He was Nicola el Demonio; he won't beany longer--I can't tell you why, it's too long a story. "

I did remember very vividly that cadaverous Nova Scotian mate of the_Thames_, who had warned me with truculent menaces against showingmy face in Rio Medio. I remembered his sallow, shiny cheeks, and theexaggerated gestures of his claw-like hands. 

O'Brien smiled. "Nichols is alive right enough, but no more good than ifhe were dead. And that's the truth. He pretends his nerve's gone; he wasa devil among tailors for a time, but he's taken to crying now. It waswhen your blundering old admiral's boats had to be beaten off thathis zeal cooled. He thinks the British Government will rise in itsstrength. " There was a bitter contempt in his voice, but he regainedhis calm business tone. "It will do nothing of the sort. I've given themthose seven poor devils that had to die to-day without absolution. SoNichols is done for, as far as we are concerned. I've got him put awayto keep him from blabbing. You can have his place--and better than hisplace. He was only a sailor, which you are not. However, you know enoughof ships, and what we want is a man with courage, of course, but also aman we can trust. Any of the Creoles would bolt into the bush the momentthey'd five dollars in hand. We'll pay you well; a large share of allyou take. "

I laughed outright. "You're quite mistaken in your man, " I said. "Youare, really. "

He shook his head gently, and brushed an invisible speck from his plumpblack knees. 

"You _must_ go somewhere, " he said. "Why not go with us?"

I looked at him, puzzled by his tenacity and assurance. 

"Ramon here has told us you battered the admiral last night; and there'sa warrant out already against you for attempted murder. You're hand andglove with the best of the Separationists in this island, I know, butthey won't save you from being committed--for rebellion, perhaps. Youknow it as well as I do. You were down here to take a passage to-day, weren't you, now?"

I remembered that the Island Loyalists said that the pirates andSeparationists worked together to bother the admiral and raisediscontent. Living in the centre of Separationist discontent with theMacdonalds, I knew it was not true. But nothing was too bad to sayagainst the planters who clamoured for union with the United States. 

O'Brien leaned forward. His voice had a note of disdain, and then tookone of deeper earnestness; it sank into his chest. He extended his hand;his eyebrows twitched. He looked--he was--a conspirator. 

"I tell you I do it for the sake of Ireland, " he said passionately. "Every ship we take, every clamour they raise here, is a stroke and isdisgrace for them over there that have murdered us and ruined my owndear land. " His face worked convulsively; I was in the presence of oneof the primeval passions. But he grew calm immediately after. "_You_want Separation for reasons of your own. I don't ask what they are. Nodoubt you and your crony Macdonald and the rest of them will featheryour own nests; I don't ask. But help me to be a thorn in theirsides--just a little--just a little longer. What do I put in your way?Just what you want. Have your Jamaica joined to the United States. You'll be able to come back with your pockets full, and I'll bejoyful--for the sake of my own dear land. "

I said suddenly and recklessly--if I had to face one race-passion, hehad to look at another; we were cat and dog--Celt and Saxon, as it wasin the beginning: "I am not a traitor to my country. " Then I realizedwith sudden concern that I had probably awakened the old Don. He stirreduneasily in his chair, and lifted one hand. 

"The moment I go out from here I'll denounce you, " I said very low; "Iswear I will. You're here; you can't get away; you'll swing. "

O'Brien started. His eyes blazed at me. Then he frowned. "I've beenmisled, " he muttered, with a dark glance at Carlos. And recovering hisjocular serenity, "Ye mean it?" he asked; "it's not British heroics?"

The old Don stirred again and sighed. The young girl glided swiftly tohis side. "Señor O'Brien, " she said, "you have so irritated my Englishcousin that he has awakened my father. "

O'Brien grinned gently. "'Tis ever the way, " he said sardonically. "TheEnglish fools do the harm and the Irish fool gets the kicking. " He roseto his feet, quite collected, a spick-and-span little man. "I supposeI've said too much. Well, well! You are going to denounce the seniorjudge of the Marine Court of Havana as a pirate. I wonder who willbelieve you!" He went behind the old Don's chair with the gliding motionof a Spanish lawyer, and slipped down the open trap-hatch near thewindow. 

It was the disappearance of a shadow. I heard some guttural mutteringscome up through the hatch, a rustling, then silence. If he was afraidof me at all he carried it off very well. I apologized to the young girlfor having awakened her father. Her colour was very high, and her eyessparkled. If she had not been so very beautiful I should have gone awayat once. She said angrily:

"He is odious to me, the Señor Juez. Too long my father has suffered hisinsolence. " She was very small, but she had an extraordinary dignity ofcommand. "I could see, Señor, that he was annoying you. Why should youconsider such a creature?" Her head drooped. "But my father is veryold. "

I turned upon Carlos, who stood all black in the light of the window. 

"Why did you make me meet him? He may be a judge of your Marine Court, but he's nothing but a scoundrelly bog-trotter. "

Carlos said a little haughtily, "You must not denounce him. You shouldnot leave this place if I feared you would try thus to bring dishonouron this gray head, and involve this young girl in a public scandal. " Hismanner became soft. "For the honour of the house you shall say nothing. And you shall come with us. I need you. "

I was full of mistrust now. If he did countenance this unlawfulenterprise, whose headquarters were in Rio Medio, he was not the manfor me. Though it was big enough to be made, by the papers at home, of political importance, it was, after all, neither more nor lessthan piracy. The idea of my turning a sort of Irish traitor was soextravagantly outrageous that now I could smile at the imbecility ofthat fellow O'Brien. As to turning into a sea-thief for lucre--my bloodboiled. 

No. There was something else there. Something deep; something dangerous;some intrigue, that I could not conceive even the first notion of. Butthat Carlos wanted anxiously to make use of me for some purpose wasclear. I was mystified to the point of forgetting how heavily I wascompromised even in Jamaica, though it was worth remembering, becauseat that time an indictment for rebellion--under the Black Act--was nojoking matter. I might be sent home under arrest; and even then, therewas my affair with the runners. 

"It is coming to pay a visit, " he was saying persuasively, "while youraffair here blows over, my Juan--and--and--making my last hours easy, perhaps. "

I looked at him; he was worn to a shadow--a shadow with dark wistfuleyes. "I don't understand you, " I faltered. 

The old man stirred, opened his lids, and put a gold vinaigrette to hisnostrils. 

"Of course I shall not denounce O'Brien, " I said. "I, too, respect thehonour of your house. "

"You are even better than I thought you. And if I entreat you, for thelove of your mother--of your sister? Juan, it is not for myself, itis------"

The young girl was pouring some drops from a green phial into a silvergoblet; she passed close to us, and handed it to her father, who hadleant a little forward in his chair. Every movement of hers affected mewith an intimate joy; it was as if I had been waiting to see just thatcarriage of the neck, just that proud glance from the eyes, just thatdroop of eyelashes upon the cheeks, for years and years. 

"No, I shall hold my tongue, and that's enough, " I said. 

At that moment the old Don sat up and cleared his throat. Carlossprang towards him with an infinite grace of tender obsequiousness. Hementioned my name and the relationship, then rehearsed the innumerabletitles of his uncle, ending "and patron of the Bishopric of Pinar delRio. "

I stood stiffly in front of the old man. He bowed his head at intervals, holding the silver cup carefully whilst his chair rocked a little. WhenCarlos' mellow voice had finished the rehearsing of the sonorous styles, I mumbled something about "transcendent honour. "

He stopped me with a little, deferentially peremptory gesture of onehand, and began to speak, smiling with a contraction of the lips and atrembling of the head. His voice was very low, and quavered slightly, but every syllable was enunciated with the same beauty of clearness thatthere was in his features, in his hands, in his ancient gestures. 

"The honour is to me, " he said, "and the pleasure. I behold my kinsman, who, with great heroism, I am told, rescued my dearly loved nephew fromgreat dangers; it is an honour to me to be able to give him thanks. Mybeloved and lamented sister contracted a union with an English hidalgo, through whose house your own very honourable family is allied to my own;it is a pleasure to me to meet after many years with one who has seenthe places where her later life was passed. "

He paused, and breathed with some difficulty, as if the speech hadexhausted him. Afterwards he began to ask me questions about Rooksby'saunt--the lamented sister of his speech. He had loved her greatly, hesaid. I knew next to nothing about her, and his fine smile and courtly, aged, deferential manners made me very nervous. I felt as if I had beentaken to pay a ceremonial visit to a supreme pontiff in his dotage. Hespoke about Horton Priory with some animation for a little while, andthen faltered, and forgot what he was speaking of. Suddenly he said:

"But where is O'Brien? Did he write to the Governor here? I should likeyou to know the Señor O'Brien. He is a spiritual man. "

I forbore to say that I had already seen O'Brien, and the old man sankinto complete silence. It was beginning to grow dark, and the noise ofsuppressed voices came from the open trap-door. Nobody said anything. 

I felt a sort of uneasiness; I could by no means understand theconnection between the old Don and what had gone before, and I did not, in a purely conventional sense, know how long I ought to stop. The skythrough the barred windows had grown pallid. 

The old Don said suddenly, "You must visit my poor town of Rio Medio, "but he gave no specific invitation and said nothing more. 

Afterwards he asked, rather querulously, "But where is O'Brien? He mustwrite those letters for me. "

The young girl said, "He has preceded us to the ship; he will writethere. "

She had gone back to her seat. Don Balthasar shrugged his shoulders tohis ears, and moved his hands from his knees. 

"Without doubt, he knows best, " he said, "but he should ask me. "

It grew darker still; the old Don seemed to have fallen asleep again. Save for the gleam of the silver buckle of his hat, he had disappearedinto the gloom of the place. I remembered my engagement to dine withWilliams on board the _Lion_, and I rose to my feet. There did not seemto be any chance of my talking to the young girl. She was once moreleaning nonchalantly over the lizard, and her hair drooped right acrossher face like clusters of grapes. There was a gleam on a little pieceof white forehead, and all around and about her there were shadowsdeepening. Carlos came concernedly towards me as I looked at the door. 

"But you must not go yet, " he said a little suavely; "I have many thingsto say. Tell me----"

His manner heightened my uneasiness to a fear. The expression of hiseyes changed, and they became fixed over my shoulder, while on his lipsthe words "You must come, you must come, " trembled, hardly audible. Icould only shake my head. At once he stepped back as if resigning. He was giving me up--and it occurred to me that if the danger of hisseduction was over, there remained the danger of arrest just outside thedoor. 

Some one behind me said peremptorily, "It is time, " and there was aflickering diminution of the light. I had a faint instantaneous view ofthe old Don dozing, with his head back--of the tall windows, cut up intosquares by the black bars. Something hairily coarse ran harshly downmy face; I grew blind; my mouth, my eyes, my nostrils were filled withdust; my breath shut in upon me became a flood of warm air. I had notime to resist. I kicked my legs convulsively; my elbows were drawntight against my sides. Someone grunted under my weight; then I wascarried--down, along, up, down again; my feet were knocking along awall, and the top of my head rubbed occasionally against what must havebeen the roof of a low stone passage, issuing from under the back roomof Ramon's store. Finally, I was dropped upon something that felt likea heap of wood-shavings. My surprise, rage, and horror had been so greatthat, after the first stifled cry, I had made no sound. I heard thefootsteps of several men going away. 

CHAPTER FOUR

I remained lying there, bound hand and foot, for a long time; for quitelong enough to allow me to collect my senses and see that I had been afool to threaten O'Brien. I had been nobly indignant, and behold! Ihad a sack thrown over my head for my pains, and was put away safelysomewhere or other. It seemed to be a cellar. 

I was in search of romance, and here were all the elements; Spaniards, a conspirator, and a kidnapping; but I couldn't feel a fool andromantic as well. True romance, I suppose, needs a whirl of emotions toextinguish all the senses except that of sight, which it dims. Exceptfor sight, which I hadn't at all, I had the use of them all, and allreported unpleasant things. 

I ached and smarted with my head in a sack, with my mouth full offlour that had gone mouldy and offended my nostrils; I had a sense ofignominy, and I was extremely angry; I could see that the old Don was inhis dotage--but Carlos I was bitter against. 

I was not really afraid; I could not suppose that the Riegos would allowme to be murdered or seriously maltreated. But I was incensed againstFate or Chance or whatever it is--on account of the ignominious details, the coarse sack, the mouldy flour, the stones of the tunnel thathad barked my shins, the tightness of the ropes that bound my anklestogether, and seemed to cut into my wrists behind my back. 

I waited, and my fury grew in a dead silence. How would it end--withwhat outrage? I would show my contempt and preserve my dignity bysubmitting without a struggle--I despised this odious plot. At lastthere were voices, footsteps; I found it very hard to carry out myresolution and refrain from stifled cries and kicks. I was lifted up andcarried, like a corpse, with many stumbles, by men who sometimes growledas they hastened along. From time to time somebody murmured, "Takecare. " Then I was deposited into a boat. The world seemed to be swaying, splashing, jarring--and it became obvious to me that I was being takento some ship. The Spanish ship, of course. Suddenly I broke into coldperspiration at the thought that, after all, their purpose might beto drop me quickly overboard. "Carlos!" I cried. I felt the point of aknife on my breast. "Silence, Señor!" said a gruff voice. 

This fear vanished when we came alongside a ship evidently already underway; but I was handled so roughly and clumsily that I was thoroughlyexhausted and out of breath, by the time I was got on board. All wasstill around me; I was left alone on a settee in the main cabin, as Iimagined. For a long time I made no movement; then a door opened andshut. There was a murmured conversation between two voices. This wenton in animated whispers for a time. At last I felt as if someone weretrying, rather ineffectually, to remove the sack itself. Finally, thatactually did rub its way over my head, and something soft and silkenbegan to wipe my eyes with a surprising care, and even tenderness. "Thiswas stupidly done, " came a discontented remark; "you do not handle a_caballero_ like this. "

"And how else was it to be done, to that kind of _caballero?_" was thecurt retort. 

By that time I had blinked my eyes into a condition for remaining openfor minute stretches. Two men were bending over me--Carlos and O'Brienhimself. The latter said:

"Believe me, your mistake made this necessary. This young gentleman wasabout to become singularly inconvenient, and he is in no way harmed. "

He spoke in a velvety voice, and walked away gently through thedarkness. Carlos followed with the lanthorn dangling at arm's length;strangely enough he had not even looked at me. I suppose he was ashamed, and I was too proud to speak to him, with my hands and feet tied fast. The door closed, and I remained sitting in the darkness. Long smallwindows grew into light at one end of the place, curved into an outlinethat suggested a deep recess. The figure of a crowned woman, that movedrigidly up and down, was silhouetted over my body. Groaning creaks ofwood and the faint swish of water made themselves heard continuously. 

I turned my head to a click, I saw a door open a little way, and thesmall blue flame of a taper floated into the room. Then the door closedwith a definite sound of shutting in. The light shone redly throughprotecting fingers, and upwards on to a small face. It came to a halt, and I made out the figure of a girl leaning across a table and lookingupwards. There was a click of glass, and then a great blaze of lightcreated a host of shining things; a glitter of gilded carvings, redvelvet couches, a shining table, a low ceiling, painted white, on carvedrafters. A large silver lamp she had lighted kept on swinging to thegentle motion of the ship. 

She stood just in front of me; the girl that I had seen through thedoor; the girl I had seen play with the melon seeds. She was breathingfast--it agitated me to be alone with her--and she had a little shiningdagger in her hand. 

She cut the rope round my ankles, and motioned me imperiously to turnround. "Your hands--your hands!"

I turned my back awkwardly to her, and felt the grip of small, cool, very firm fingers upon my wrists. My arms fell apart, numb and perfectlyuseless; I was half aware of pain in them, but it passed unnoticed amonga cloud of other emotions. I didn't feel my finger-tips because I hadthe agitation, the flutter, the tantalization of looking at her. 

I was all the while conscious of the--say, the irregularity of myposition, but I felt very little fear. There were the old Don, anineffectual, silver-haired old gentleman, who obviously was not apirate; the sleek O'Brien, and Carlos, who seemed to cough on the edgeof a grave--and this young girl. There was not any future that I couldconceive, and the past seemed to be cut off from me by a narrow, verydark tunnel through which I could see nothing at all. 

The young girl was, for the moment, what counted most on the whole, the only thing the eye could rest on. She affected me as an apparitionfamiliar, yet absolutely new in her charm. I had seen her gray eyes; Ihad seen her red lips; her dark hair, her lithe gestures; the carriageof her head; her throat, her hands. I knew her; I seemed to have knownher for years. A rush of strange, sweet feeling made me dumb. She waslooking at me, her lips set, her eyes wide and still; and suddenly shesaid:

"Ask nothing. The land is not far yet. You can escape, Carlosthought. .. . But no! You would only perish for nothing. Go with God. " Shepointed imperiously towards the square stern-ports of the cabin. 

Following the direction of her hand, my eyes fell upon the image of aMadonna; rather large--perhaps a third life-size; with a gilt crown, a pink serious face bent a little forward over a pink naked child thatperched on her left arm and raised one hand. It stood on a bracket, against the rudder casing, with fat cherubs' heads carved on thesupports. The young girl crossed herself with a swift motion of thehand. The stern-ports, glazed in small panes, were black, and gleamingin a white frame-work. 

"Go--go--go with God, " the girl whispered urgently. "There is aboat-------"

I made a motion to rise; I wanted to go. The idea of having my liberty, of its being again a possibility, made her seem of less importance;other things began to have their share. But I could not stand, thoughthe blood was returning, warm and tingling, in my legs and hands. Shelooked at me with a sharp frown puckering her brows a little; beat ahasty tattoo with one of her feet, and cast a startled glance towardsthe forward door that led on deck. Then she walked to the other side ofthe table, and sat looking at me in the glow of the lamp. 

"Your life hangs on a thread, " she murmured. 

I answered, "You have given it to me. Shall I never-------?" I wasacutely conscious of the imperfection of my language. 

She looked at me sharply; then lowered her lids. Afterwards she raisedthem again. "Think of yourself. Every moment is-------"

"I will be as quick as I can, " I said. 

I was chafing my ankles and looking up at her. I wanted, very badly, tothank her for taking an interest in me, only I found it very difficultto speak to her. Suddenly she sprang to her feet:

"That man thinks he can destroy you. I hate him--I detest him! You haveseen how he treats my father. "

It struck me, like a blow, that she was merely avenging O'Brien'sinsolence to her father. I had been kidnapped against Don BalthasarRiego's will. It gave me very well the measure of the old man'spowerlessness in face of his intendant--who was obviously confident ofafterwards soothing the resentment. 

I was glad I had not thanked her for taking an interest in me. I wasdistressed, too, because once more I had missed Romance by an inch. 

Someone kicked at the locked door. A voice cried--I could not helpthinking--warningly, "Seraphina, Seraphina, " and another voice said withexcessive softness, "_Senorita! Voyons! quelle folie_. "

She sprang at me. Her hand hurt my wrist as she dragged me aft. Iscrambled clumsily into the recess of the counter, and put my head out. The night air was very chilly and full of brine; a little boat towingby a long painter was sheering about in the phosphorescent wake of theship. The sea itself was pallid in the light of the moon, invisible tome. A little astern of us, on our port quarter, a vessel under a pressof canvas seemed to stand still; looming up like an immense pale ghost. She might have been coming up with us, or else we had just passed her--Icouldn't tell. I had no time to find out, and I didn't care. The greatthing was to get hold of the painter. The whispers of the girl urged me, but the thing was not easy; the rope, fastened higher up, streamedaway out of reach of my hand. At last, by watching the moment when itslacked, and throwing myself half out of the stern window, I managed tohook it with my finger-tips. Next moment it was nearly jerked away fromme, but I didn't lose it, and the boat taking a run just then under thecounter, I got a good hold. The sound of another kick at the door mademe swing myself out, head first, without reflection. I got soused to thewaist before I had reached the bows of the boat. With a frantic effortI clambered up and rolled in. When I got on my legs, the jerky motionof tossing had ceased, the boat was floating still, and the light ofthe stern windows was far away already. The girl had managed to cut thepainter. 

The other vessel was heading straight for me, rather high on the water, broad-beamed, squat, and making her way quietly, like a shadow. Theland might have been four or five miles away--I had no means of knowingexactly. It looked like a high black cloud, and purple-gray mists hereand there among the peaks hung like scarves. 

I got an oar over the stern to scull, but I was not fit for muchexertion. I stared at the ship I had left. Her stern windows glimmeredwith a slight up-and-down motion; her sails seemed to fall into blackconfusion against the blaze of the moon; faint cries came to me out ofher, and by the alteration of her shape I understood that she was beingbrought to, preparatory to lowering a boat. She might have been half amile distant when the gleam of her stern windows swung slowly round andwent out. I had no mind to be recaptured, and began to scull franticallytowards the other vessel. By that time she was quite near--nearenough for me to hear the lazy sound of the water at her bows, and theoccasional flutter of a sail. The land breeze was dying away, and in thewake of the moon I perceived the boat of my pursuers coming over, blackand distinct; but the other vessel was nearly upon me. I sheered underher starboard bow and yelled, "Ship ahoy! Ship ahoy!"

There was a lot of noise on board, and no one seemed to hear my shouts. Several voices yelled. "That cursed Spanish ship ahead is heaving-toathwart our hawse. " The crew and the officers seemed all to be forwardshouting abuse at the "lubberly Dago, " and it looked as though I wereabandoned to my fate. The ship forged ahead in the light air; I failedin my grab at her fore chains, and my boat slipped astern, bumpingagainst the side. I missed the main chain, too, and yelled all the timewith desperation, "For God's sake! Ship ahoy! For God's sake throw me arope, some-, body, before it's too late!"

I was giving up all hope when a heavy coil--of a brace, I suppose--fellupon my head, nearly knocking me over. Half stunned as I was, desperation lent me strength to scramble up her side hand over hand, while the boat floated away from under my feet. I was done up when I goton the poop. A yell came from forward, "Hard aport. " Then the same voiceaddressed itself to abusing the Spanish ship very close to us now. "Whatdo you mean by coming-to right across my bows like this?" it yelled in afury. 

I stood still in the shadows on the poop. We were drawing slowly pastthe stern of the Spaniard, and O'Brien's voice answered in English:

"We are picking up a boat of ours that's gone adrift with a man. Haveyou seen anything of her?" "No--confound you and your boat. " Of coursethose forward knew nothing of my being on board. The man who had thrownme the rope--a passenger, a certain Major Cowper, going home with hiswife and child--had walked away proudly, without deigning as much as tolook at me twice, as if to see a man clamber on board a ship ten milesfrom the land was the most usual occurrence. He was, I found afterwards, an absurd, pompous person, as stiff as a ramrod, and so full of hisown importance that he imagined he had almost demeaned himself by hiscondescension in throwing down the rope in answer to my despairingcries. On the other hand, the helmsman, the only other person aft, wasso astounded as to become quite speechless. I could see, in the light ofthe binnacle thrown upon his face, his staring eyes and his open mouth. 

The voice forward had subsided by then, and as the stern of the Spanishship came abreast of the poop, I stepped out of the shadow of the sails, and going close to the rail I said, not very loud--there was no need toshout--but very distinctly:

"I am out of your clutches, Mr. O'Brien, after all. I promise you thatyou shall hear of me yet. "

Meanwhile, another man had come up from forward on the poop, growlinglike a bear, a short, rotund little man, the captain of the ship. TheSpanish vessel was dropping astern, silent, with her sails all black, hiding the low moon. Suddenly a hurried hail came out of her. 

"What ship is this?"

"What's that to you, blank your eyes? The _Breeze_, if you want to know. What are you going to do about it?" the little skipper shouted fiercely. In the light wind the ships were separating slowly. 

"Where are you bound to?" hailed O'Brien's voice again. 

The little skipper laughed with exasperation. "Dash your blankedimpudence. To Havana, and be hanged to you. Anything more you want toknow? And my name's Lumsden, and I am sixty years old, and if I had youhere, I would put a head on you for getting in my way, you------"

He stopped, out of breath. Then, addressing himself to his passenger:

"That's the Spanish chartered ship that brought these sanguinarypirates that were hanged this morning, major. She's taking the Spanishcommissioner back. I suppose they had no man-of-war handy for theservice in Cuba. Did you ever------"

He had caught sight of me for the first time, and positively jumped afoot high with astonishment. 

"Who on earth's that there?"

His astonishment was comprehensible. The major, Without deigning toenlighten him, walked proudly away. He was too dignified a person toexplain. 

It was left to me. Frequenting, as I had been doing, Ramon's store, which was a great gossiping centre of the maritime world in Kingston, Iknew the faces and the names of most of the merchant captains who usedto gather there to drink and swap yarns. I was not myself quite unknownto little Lumsden. I told him all my story, and all the time he kepton scratching his bald head, full of incredulous perplexity. Old SeñorRamon! Such a respectable man. And I had been kidnapped? From his store!

"If I didn't see you here in my cuddy before my eyes, I wouldn't believea word you say, " he declared absurdly. 

But he was ready enough to take me to Havana. However, he insisted uponcalling down his mate, a gingery fellow, short, too, but wizened, and asstupid as himself. 

"Here's that Kemp, you know. The young fellow that Macdonald of theHorton Pen picked up somewhere two years ago. The Spaniards in thatship kidnapped him--so he says. He says they are pirates. But that's agovernment chartered ship, and all the pirates that have ever been inher were hanged this morning in Kingston. But here he is, anyhow. Andhe says that at home he had throttled a Bow Street runner before he wentoff with the smugglers. Did you ever hear the likes of it, Mercer? Ishouldn't think he was telling us a parcel of lies; hey, Mercer?"

And the two grotesque little chaps stood nodding their heads at mesagaciously. 

"He's a desperate character, then, " said Mercer at last, cautiously. "This morning, the very last thing I heard ashore, as I went to fetchthe fresh beef off, is that he had been assaulting a justice of thepeace on the highroad, and had been trying to knock down the admiral, who was coming down to town in a chaise with Mr. Topnambo. There's awarrant out against him under the Black Act, sir. "

Then he brightened up considerably. "So he must have been kidnapped orsomething after all, sir, or he would be in chokey now. "

It was true, after all. Romance reserved me for another fate, foranother sort of captivity, for more than one sort. And my imaginationhad been captured, enslaved already by the image of that young girl whohad called me her English cousin, the girl with the lizard, the girlwith the dagger! And with every word she uttered romance itself, if Ihad only known it, the romance of persecuted lovers, spoke to me throughher lips. 

That night the Spanish ship had the advantage of us in a fresheningwind, and overtook the _Breeze_. Before morning dawned she passed us, and before the close of the next day she was gone out of sight ahead, steering, apparently, the same course with ourselves. 

Her superior sailing had an enormous influence upon my fortunes; and Iwas more adrift in the world than ever before, more in the dark as towhat awaited me than when I was lugged along with my head in a sack. I gave her but little thought. A sort of numbness had come over me. Icould think of the girl who had cut me free, and for all my resentmentat the indignity of my treatment, I had hardly a thought to spare forthe man who had me bound. I was pleased to remember that she hated him;that she had said so herself. For the rest, I had a vague notion ofgoing to the English Consul in Havana. After all, I was not a completenobody. I was John Kemp, a gentleman, well connected; I could proveit. The Bow Street runner had not been dead as I had thought. Thelast letter from Veronica informed me that the man had given upthief-catching, and was keeping, now, a little inn in the neighbourhood. Ralph, my brother-in-law, had helped him to it, no doubt. I could comehome safely now. 

And I had discovered I was no longer anxious to return home. 

CHAPTER FIVE

There wasn't any weirdness about the ship when I woke in the sunlight. She was old and slow and rather small. She carried Lumsden (master), Mercer (mate), a crew that seemed no better and no worse than any othercrew, and the old gentleman who had thrown me the rope the night before, and who seemed to think that he had derogated from his dignity in doingit. He was a Major Cowper, retiring from a West Indian regiment, and hadwith him his wife and a disagreeable little girl, with a yellow pigtailand a bony little chest and arms. 

On the whole, they weren't the sort of people that one would have chosenfor companions on a pleasure-trip. Major Cowper's wife lay all day in adeck chair, alternately drawing to her and repulsing the whining littlegirl. The major talked to me about the scandals with which the world wasfilled, and kept a suspicious eye upon his wife. He spent the morningin shaving what part of his face his white whiskers did not cover, theafternoon in enumerating to me the subjects on which he intended towrite to the Horse Guards. He had grown entirely amiable, perhaps forthe reason that his wife ignored my existence. 

Meantime I let the days slip by idly, only wondering how I could manageto remain in Havana and breathe the air of the same island with the girlwho had delivered me. Perhaps some day we might meet--who knows? I wasnot afraid of that Irishman. 

It never occurred to me to bother about the course we were taking, till one day we sighted the Cuban coast, and I heard Lumsden and Mercerpronounce the name of Rio Medio. The two ridiculous old chaps talkedof Mexican privateers, which seemed to rendezvous off that place. They pointed out to me the headland near the bay. There was no sign ofprivateer or pirate, as far as the eye could reach. In the course ofbeating up to windward we closed in with the coast, and then the windfell. 

I remained motionless against the rail for half the night, looking atthe land. Not a single light was visible. A wistful, dreamy longing, aquiet longing pervaded me, as though I had been drugged. I dreamed, asyoung men dream, of a girl's face. She was sleeping there within thisdim vision of land. Perhaps this was as near as I should ever be able toapproach her. I felt a sorrow without much suffering. A great stillnessreigned around the ship, over the whole earth. At last I went below andfell asleep. 

I was awakened by the idea that I had heard an extraordinaryrow--shouting and stamping. But there was a dead silence, to which Iwas listening with all my ears. Suddenly there was a little pop, as ifsomeone had spat rather vigorously; then a succession of shouts, thenanother little pop, and more shouts, and the stamping overhead. A womanbegan to shriek on the other side of the bulkhead, then another womansomewhere else, then the little girl. I hurried on deck, but it was someminutes before I could make things fit together. I saw Major Cowper onthe poop; he was brandishing a little pistol and apostrophizing Lumsden, who was waving ineffectual arms towards the sky; and there was agreat deal of shouting, forward and overhead. Cowper rushed at me, andexplained that something was an abominable scandal, and that there werewomen on board. He waved his pistol towards the side; I noticed that thebutt was inlaid with mother-of-pearl Lumsden rushed at him and clawed athis clothes, imploring him not to be rash. 

We were so close in with the coast that the surf along the shore gleamedand sparkled in full view. 

Someone shouted aloft, "Look out! They are firing again. "

Then only I noticed, a quarter of a mile astern and between the land andus, a little schooner, rather low in the water, curtseying under a cloudof white canvas--a wonderful thing to look at. It was as if I had neverseen anything so instinct with life and the joy of it. A snowy streakspattered away from her bows at each plunge. She came at a great speed, and a row of faces looking our way became plain, like a beady decorationabove her bulwarks. She swerved a little out of her course, and a sortof mushroom of smoke grew out of her side; there was a little gleam ofsmouldering light hidden in its heart. The spitting bang followed again, and something skipped along the wave-tops beside us, raising littlepillars of spray that drifted away on the wind. The schooner came backon her course, heading straight for us; a shout like groaned applausewent up from on board us. Lumsden hid his face in his hands. 

I could hear little Mercer shrieking out orders forwards. We wereshortening sail. The schooner, luffing a little, ranged abreast. A haillike a metal blare came out of her. 

"If you donn'd heef-to we seenk you! We seenk you! By God!"

Major Cowper was using abominable language beside me. Suddenly he beganto call out to someone:

"Go down. .. Go down, I say. "

A woman's face disappeared into the hood of the companion like arabbit's tail into its burrow. There was a great volley of cracks fromthe loose sails, and the ship came to. At the same time the schooner, now on our beam and stripped of her light kites, put in stays andremained on the other tack, with her foresheet to windward. 

Major Cowper said it was a scandal. The country was going to thedogs because merchantmen were not compelled by law to carry guns. Hespluttered into my ears that there wasn't so much as a twopenny signalmortar on board, and no more powder than enough to load one of hisduelling pistols. He was going to write to the Horse Guards. 

A blue-and-white ensign fluttered up to the main gaff of the schooner; aboat dropped into the water. It all went breathlessly--I hadn't time tothink. I saw old Cowper run to the side and aim his pistol overboard;there was an ineffectual click; he made a gesture of disgust, and tossedit on deck. His head hung dejectedly down upon his chest. 

Lumsden said, "Thank God, oh, thank God!" and the old man turned on himlike a snarling dog. 

"You infernal coward, " he said. "Haven't you got a spark of courage?"

A moment after, our decks were invaded by men, brown and ragged, leapingdown from the bulwarks one after the other. 

They had come out at break of day (we must have been observed theevening before), a big schooner--full of as ill-favoured, ragged rascalsas the most vivid imagination could conceive. Of course, there had beenno resistance on our part. We were outsailed, and at the first ferocioushail the halyards had been let go by the run, and all our crew hadbolted aloft. A few bronzed bandits posted abreast of each mast keptthem there by the menace of bell-mouthed blunderbusses pointed upwards. Lumsden and Mercer had been each tied flat down to a spare spar. Theypresented an appearance too ridiculous to awaken genuine compassion. Major Cowper was made to sit on a hen-coop, and a bearded pirate, witha red handkerchief tied round his head and a cutlass in his hand, stoodguard over him. The major looked angry and crestfallen. The rest of thatinfamous crew, without losing a moment, rushed into the cuddy to lootthe cabins for wearing apparel, jewellery, and money. They squabbledamongst themselves, throwing the things on deck into a great heap ofbooty. 

The schooner flying the Mexican flag remained hove to abeam. But in theman in command of the boarding party I recognized Tomas Castro!

He _was_ a pirate. My surmises were correct. He looked the part to thelife, in a plumed hat, cloaked to the chin, and standing apart in asaturnine dignity. 

"Are you going to have us all murdered, Castro?" I asked, withindignation. To my surprise he did not seem to recognize me; indeed, hepretended not to see me at all. I might have been thin air for any signhe gave of being aware of my presence; but, turning his back on me, headdressed himself to the ignobly captive Lumsden, telling him that he, Castro, was the commander of that Mexican schooner, and menacing himwith dreadful threats of vengeance for what he called the resistance wehad offered to a privateer of the Republic. I suppose he was pleased toqualify with the name of armed resistance the miserable little pop ofthe major's pocket pistol. To punish that audacity he announced that noprivate property would be respected. 

"You shall have to give up all the money on board, " he yelled at thewretched man lying there like a sheep ready for slaughter. The othercould only gasp and blink. Castro's ferocity was so remarkable that fora moment it struck me as put on. There was no necessity for it. We weremeek and silent enough, only poor Major Cowper muttered:

"My wife and child. . . . "

The ragged brown men were pouring on deck from below; their arms fullof bundles. Half a dozen of them started to pull off the main hatchtarpaulin. Up aloft the crew looked down with scared eyes. I began tosay excitedly, in my indignation, almost into his very ear:

"I know you, Tomas Castro--I know you--Tomas Castro. "

Even then he seemed not to hear; but at last he looked into my facebalefully, as if he wished to convey the plague to me. 

"Hold your tongue, " he said very quickly in Spanish. "This is folly!"His little hawk's beak of a nose nestled in his moustache. He waved hisarm and declared forcibly, "I don't know you. I am Nicola el Demonio, the Mexican. "

Poor old Cowper groaned. The reputation of Nicola el Demonio, if rumourswere to be trusted, was a horrible thing for a man with women dependingon him. 

Five or six of these bandits were standing about Lumsden, the major, and myself, fingering the locks of their guns. Poor old Cowper, breakingaway from his guard, was raging up and down the poop; and the big piratekept him off the companion truculently. The major wanted to get below;the little girl was screaming in the cuddy, and we could hear her veryplainly. It was rather horrible. Castro had gone forward into the crowdof scoundrels round the hatchway. It was only then that I realized thatMajor Cowper was in a state of delirious apprehension and fury; I seemedto remember at last that for a long time he had been groaning somewherenear me. He kept on saying:

"Oh, for God's sake--for God's sake--my poor wife. "

I understood that he must have been asking me to do something. 

It came as a shock to me. I had a vague sensation of his fears. Up tillthen I hadn't realized that any one could be much interested in Mrs. Cowper. 

He caught hold of my arm, as if he wanted support, and stuttered:

"Couldn't you--couldn't you speak to------" He nodded in the directionof Tomas Castro, who was bent and shouting down the hatch. "Tryto-------" the old man gasped. "Didn't you hear the child scream?" Hisface was pallid and wrinkled, like a piece of crumpled paper; his mouthwas drawn on one side, and his lips quivered one against the other. 

I went to Castro and caught him by the arm. He spun round and smileddiscreetly. 

"We shall be using force upon you directly. Pray resist, Señor; but nottoo much. What? His wife? Tell that stupid Inglez with whispers that sheis safe. " He whispered with an air of profound intelligence, "We shallbe ready to go as soon as these foul swine have finished their stealing. I cannot stop them, " he added. 

I could not pause to think what he might mean. The child's shrieksresounding louder and louder, I ran below. There were a couple of menin the cabin with the women. Mrs. Cowper was lying back upon a sofa, her face very white and drawn, her eyes wide open. Her useless handstwitched at her dress; otherwise she was absolutely motionless, like afrozen woman. The black nurse was panting convulsively in a corner--apalpitating bundle of orange and purple and white clothes. The child wasrushing round and round, shrieking. The two men did nothing at all. Oneof them kept saying in Spanish:

"But--we only want your rings. But--we only want your rings. "

The other made feeble efforts to catch the child as it rushed past him. He wanted its earrings--they were contraband of war, I suppose. 

Mrs. Cowper was petrified with terror. Explaining the desires of the twomen was like shouting things into the ear of a very deaf woman. She kepton saying:

"Will they go away then? Will they go away then?" All the while she wasdrawing the rings off her thin fingers, and handing them to me. I gavethem to the ruffians whose presence seemed to terrify her out of hersenses. I had no option. I could do nothing else. Then I asked herwhether she wished me to remain with her and the child. She said:

"Yes. No. Go away. Yes. No--let me think. "

Finally it came into my head that in the captain's cabin she would beable to talk to her husband through the deck ventilator, and, after atime, the idea filtered through to her brain. She could hardly walk atall. The child and the nurse ran in front of us, and, practically, Icarried her there in my arms. Once in the stateroom she struggled loosefrom me, and, rushing in, slammed the door violently in my face. Sheseemed to hate me. 

CHAPTER SIX

I went on deck again. On the poop about twenty men had surrounded MajorCowper; his white head was being jerked backwards and forwards abovetheir bending backs; they had got his old uniform coat off, and werefighting for the buttons. I had just time to shout to him, "Your wife'sdown there, she's all right!" when very suddenly I became aware thatTomas Castro was swearing horribly at these thieves. He drove them away, and we were left quite alone on the poop, I holding the major's coatover my arm. Major Çowper stooped down to call through the skylight. Icould hear faint answers coming up to him. 

Meantime, some of the rascals left on board the schooner had filled onher in a light wind, and, sailing round our stern, had brought theirvessel alongside. Ropes were thrown on board and we lay close together, but the schooner with her dirty decks looked to me, now, very sinisterand very sordid. 

Then I remembered Castro's extraordinary words; they suggested infinitepossibilities of a disastrous nature, I could not tell just what. Theexplanation seemed to be struggling to bring itself to light, like aname that one has had for hours on the tip of a tongue without beingable to formulate it. Major Cowper rose stiffly, and limped to my side. He looked at me askance, then shifted his eyes away. Afterwards, he tookhis coat from my arm. I tried to help him, but he refused my aid, andjerked himself painfully into it. It was too tight for him. Suddenly, hesaid:

"You seem to be deuced intimate with that man--deuced intimate. "

His tone caused me more misgiving than I should have thought possible. He took a turn on the deserted deck; went to the skylight; called down, "All well, still?" waited, listening with his head on one side, and thencame back to me. 

"You drop into the ship, " he said, "out of the clouds. Out of theclouds, I say. You tell us some sort of cock-and-bull story. I say itlooks deuced suspicious. " He took another turn and came back. "My wifesays that you took her rings and--and--gave them to------"

He had an ashamed air. It came into my head that that hateful woman hadbeen egging him on to this through the skylight, instead of saying herprayers. 

"Your wife!" I said. "Why, she might have been murdered--if I hadn'tmade her give them up. I believe I saved her life. "

He said suddenly, "Tut, tut!" and shrugged his shoulders. He hung hishead for a minute, then he added, "Mind, I don't say--I don't say thatit mayn't be as you say. You're a very nice young fellow. .. . But whatI say is--I am a public man--you ought to clear yourself. " He wasbeginning to recover his military bearing. 

"Oh! don't be absurd, " I said. 

One of the Spaniards came up to me and whispered, "You must come now. We are going to cast off. " At the same time Tomas Castro prowled to theother side of the ship, within five yards of us. I called out, "TomasCastro! Tomas Castro! I will not go with you. " The man beside me said, "Come, señor! _Vamos!_"

Suddenly Castro, stretching his arm out at me, cried, "Come, _hombres_. This is the _caballero_; seize him. " And to me in his broken English heshouted, "You may resist, if you like. "

This was what I meant to do with all my might. The ragged crowdsurrounded me; they chattered like monkeys. One man irritated me beyondconception. He looked like an inn-keeper in knee-breeches, had a brokennose that pointed to the left, and a double chin. More of them camerunning up every minute. I made a sort of blind rush at the fellow withthe broken nose; my elbow caught him on the soft folds of flesh and heskipped backwards; the rest scattered in all directions, and then stoodat a distance, chattering and waving their hands. And beyond them I sawold Cowper gesticulating approval. The man with the double chin drew aknife from his sleeve, crouched instantly, and sprang at me. I hadn'tfought anybody since I had been at school; raising my fists was liketrying a dubious experiment in an emergency. I caught him rather hard onthe end of his broken nose; I felt the contact on my right, and a smallpain in my left hand. His arms went up to the sky; his face, too. ButI had started forward to meet him, and half a dozen of them flung theirarms round me from behind. 

I seemed to have an exaggerated clearness of vision; I saw each browndirty paw reach out to clutch some part of me. I was not angry any more;it wasn't any good being angry, but I made a fight for it. There weredozens of them; they clutched my wrists, my elbows, and in between mywrists and my elbows, and my shoulders. One pair of arms was round myneck, another round my waist, and they kept on trying to catch my legswith ropes. We seemed to stagger all over the deck; I expect they got ineach other's way; they would have made a better job of it if they hadn'tbeen such a multitude. I must then have got a crack on the head, foreverything grew dark; the night seemed to fall on us, as we fought. 

Afterwards I found myself lying gasping on my back on the deck of theschooner; four or five men were holding me down. Castro was putting apistol into his belt. He stamped his foot violently, and then went andshouted in Spanish:

"Come you all on board. You have done mischief enough, fools of_Lugarenos_. Now we go. "

I saw, as in a dream of stress and violence, some men making ready tocast off the schooner, and then, in a supreme effort, an effort of lustyyouth and strength, which I remember to this day, I scattered men likechaff, and stood free. 

For the fraction of a second I stood, ready to fall myself, and lookingat prostrate men. It was a flash of vision, and then I made a bolt forthe rail. I clambered furiously; I saw the deck of the old barque; I hadjust one exulting sight of it, and then Major Cowper uprose beforemy eyes and knocked me back on board the schooner, tumbling after mehimself. 

Twenty men flung themselves upon my body. I made no movement. Theend had come. I hadn't the strength to shake off a fly, my heart wasbursting my ribs. I lay on my back and managed to say, "Give me air. " Ithought I should die. 

Castro, draped in his cloak, stood over me, but Major Cowper fell on hisknees near my head, almost sobbing: "My papers! My papers! I tell youI shall starve. Make them give me back my papers. They ain't any use tothem--my pension--mortgages--not worth a penny piece to you. "

He crouched over my face, and the Spaniards stood around, wondering. He begged me to intercede, to save him those papers of the greatestimportance. 

Castro preserved his attitude of a conspirator. I was touched by themajor's distress, and at last I condescended to address Castro on hisbehalf, though it cost me an effort, for I was angry, indignant, andhumiliated. 

"Whart--whart? What do I know of his papers? Let him find them. " Hewaved his hand loftily. 

The deck was hillocked with heaps of clothing, of bedding, casks of rum, old hats, and tarpaulins. Cowper ran in and out among the plunder, likea pointer in a turnip field. He was groaning. 

Beside one of the pumps was a small pile of shiny cases; ship'sinstruments, a chronometer in its case, a medicine chest. 

Cowper tottered at a black dispatch-box. "There, there!" he said; "Itell you I shall starve if I don't have it. Ask him--ask him-------" Hewas clutching me like a drowning man. 

Castro raised the inevitable arm towards heaven, letting his round blackcloak fall into folds like those of an umbrella. Cowper gathered thathe might take his japanned dispatch-box; he seized the brass handles andrushed towards the side, but at the last moment he had the good impulseto return to me, holding out his hand, and spluttering distractedly, "God bless you, God bless you. " After a time he remembered that I hadrescued his wife and child, and he asked God to bless me for that too. "If it is ever necessary, " he said, "on my honour, if you escape, I willcome a thousand miles to testify. On my honour--remember. " He said hewas going to live in Clapham. That is as much as I remember. I was heldpinned down to the deck, and he disappeared from my sight. Before theships had separated, I was carried below in the cabin of the schooner. 

They left me alone there, and I sat with my head on my arms for a longtime, I did not think of anything at all; I was too utterly done up withmy struggles, and there was nothing to be thought about. I had grown toaccept the meanness of things as if I had aged a great deal. I hadseen men scratch each other's faces over coat buttons, old shoes--overMercer's trousers. My own future did not interest me at this stage. Isat up and looked round me. 

I was in a small, bare cabin, roughly wainscotted and exceedinglyfilthy. There were the grease-marks from the backs of heads all along abulkhead above a wooden bench; the rough table, on which my arms rested, was covered with layers of tallow spots. Bright light shone through aporthole. Two or three ill-assorted muskets slanted about round the footof the mast--a long old piece, of the time of Pizarro, all red velvetand silver' chasing, on a swivelled stand, three English fowling-pieces, and a coachman's blunderbuss. A man was rising from a mattress stretchedon the floor; he placed a mandolin, decorated with red favours, onthe greasy table. He was shockingly thin, and so tall that his headdisturbed the candle-soot on the ceiling. He said: "Ah, I was waitingfor the cavalier to awake. "

He stalked round the end of the table, slid between it and the side, and grasped my arm with wrapt earnestness as he settled himself slowlybeside me. He wore a red shirt that had become rather black where hislong brown ringlets fell on his shoulders; it had tarnished gilt buttonsciphered "G. R. , " stolen, I suppose, from some English ship. 

"I beg the Señor Caballero to listen to what I have to record, " he said, with intense gravity. "I cannot bear this much longer--no, I cannot bearmy sufferings much longer. "

His face was of a large, classical type; a close-featured, rather longface, with an immense nose that from the front resembled the section ofa bell; eyebrows like horseshoes, and very large-pupilled eyes thathad the purplish-brown lustre of a horse's. His air was mournful inthe extreme, and he began to speak resonantly as if his chest werea sounding-board. He used immensely long sentences, of which I onlyunderstood one-half. 

"What, then, is the difference between me, Manuel-del-Popolo Isturiz, and this Tomas Castro? The Señor Caballero can tell at once. Look at me. I am the finer man. I would have you ask the ladies of Rio Medio, andleave the verdict to them. This Castro is an Andalou--a foreigner. Andwe, the braves of Rio Medio, will suffer no foreigner to make headwaywith our ladies. Yet this Andalusian is preferred because he is a humblefriend of the great Don, and because he is for a few days given thecommand. I ask you, Señor, what is the radical difference between me, the sailing captain of this vessel, and him, the fighting captain for afew days? Is it not I that am, as it were, the brains of it, and he onlyits knife? I ask the Señor Caballero. "

I didn't in the least know what to answer. His great eyes wistfullyexplored my face. I expect I looked bewildered. 

"I lay my case at your feet, " he continued. "You are to be ourchief leader, and, on account of your illustrious birth and renownedintelligence, will occupy a superior position in the council of thenotables. Is it not so? Has not the Señor Juez O'Brien so ordained? Youwill give ear to me, you will alleviate my indignant sufferings?" Heimplored me with his eyes for a long time. 

Manuel-del-Popolo, as he called himself, pushed the hair back from hisforehead. I had noticed that the love-locks were plaited with blackbraid, and that he wore large dirty silk ruffles. 

"The _caballero_" he continued, marking his words with a long, whitefinger a-tap on the table, "will represent my views to the notables. My position at present, as I have had the honour to observe, is becomeunbearable. Consider, too, how your worship and I would work together. What lightness for you and me. You will find this Castro unbearablygross. But I--I assure you I am a man of taste--an _improvisador_--anartist. My songs are celebrated. And yet!. .. "

He folded his arms again, and waited; then he said, employing his mostimpressive voice:

"I have influence with the men of Rio. I could raise a riot. We Cubansare a jealous people; we do not love that foreigners should take ourbest from us. We do not love it; we will not suffer it. Let this Castrobethink himself and go in peace, leaving us and our ladies. As theproverb says, 'It is well to build a bridge for a departing enemy. '"

He began to peer at me more wistfully, and his eyes grew more luminousthan ever. This man, in spite of his grotesqueness, was quite inearnest, there was no doubting that. 

"I have a gentle spirit, " he began again, "a gentle spirit. I amsubmissive to the legitimate authorities. What the Señor Juez O'Brienasks me to do, I do. I would put a knife into any one who inconveniencedthe Señor Juez O'Brien, who is a good Catholic; we would all do that, as is right and fitting. But this Castro--this Andalou, who is nearly asbad as a heretic! When my day comes, I will have his arms flayed and thesoles of his feet, and I will rub red pepper into them; and all the menof Rio who do not love foreigners will applaud. And I will stick littlethorns under his tongue, and I will cut off his eyelids with littlescissors, and set him facing the sun. _Caballero_, you would love me; Ihave a gentle spirit. I am a pleasant companion. " He rose and squeezedround the table. "Listen"--his eyes lit up with rapture--"you shall hearme. It is divine--ah, it is very pleasant, you will say. "

He seized his mandolin, slung it round his neck, and leant against thebulkhead. The bright light from the port-hole gilded the outlines of hisbody, as he swayed about and moved his long fingers across the strings;they tinkled metallically. He sang in a nasal voice:

 "'Listen!' the young girls say as they hasten to the barred window. 'Listen! Ah, surely that is the guitar of Man--u--el--del-Popolo, As he glides along the wall in the twilight. '"

It was a very long song. He gesticulated freely with his hand in betweenthe scratching of the strings, which seemed to be a matter of luck. His eyes gazed distantly at the wall above my head. The performancebewildered and impressed me; I wondered if this was what they hadcarried me off for. It was like being mad. He made a decrescendotinkling, and his lofty features lapsed into their normal mournfulness. 

At that moment Castro put his face round the door, then enteredaltogether. He sighed in a satisfied manner, and had an air of havingfinished a laborious undertaking. 

"We have arranged the confusion up above, " he said to Manuel-del-Popolo;"you may go and see to the sailing. . . . Hurry; it is growing late. "

Manuel blazed silently, and stalked out of the door as if he had anelectric cloud round his head. Tomas Castro turned towards me. 

"You are better?" he asked benevolently. "You exerted yourself too much. . . . But still, if you liked------" He picked up the mandolin, andbegan negligently scratching the strings. I noticed an alteration inhim; he had grown softer in the flesh in the past years; there werelittle threads of gray in the knotted curls of his beard. It was asif he had lived well, on the whole. He bent his head over the strings, plucked one, tightened a peg, plucked it again, then set the instrumenton the table, and dropped on to the mattress. "Will you have some rum?"he said. "You have grown broad and strong, like a bull. .. . You madethose men fly, _sacré nom d'une pipe_. .. . One would have thought youwere in earnest. .. . Ah, well!" He stretched himself at length on themattress, and closed his eyes. 

I looked at him to discover traces of irony. There weren't any. He wastalking quietly; he even reproved me for having carried the pretence ofresistance beyond a joke. 

"You fought too much; you struck many men--and hard. You will have madeenemies. The _picaros_ of this dirty little town are as conceited aspigs. You must take care, or you will have a knife in your back. "

He lay with his hands crossed on his stomach, which was round like apudding. After a time he opened his eyes, and looked at the dancingwhite reflection of the water on the grimy ceiling. 

"To think of seeing you again, after all these years, " he said. "I didnot believe my ears when Don Carlos asked me to fetch you like this. Who would have believed it? But, as they say, " he added philosophically, "'The water flows to the sea, and the little stones find their places. '"He paused to listen to the sounds that came from above. "That Manuel isa fool, " he said without rancour; "he is mad with jealousy because forthis day I have command here. But, all the same, they are dangerouspigs, these slaves of the Señor O'Brien. I wish the town were rid ofthem. One day there will be a riot--a function--with their jealousiesand madness. "

I sat and said nothing, and things fitted themselves together, littlepatches of information going in here and there like the pieces of apuzzle map. O'Brien had gone on to Havana in the ship from which Ihad escaped, to render an account of the pirates that had been hung atKingston; the Riegos had been landed in boats at Rio Medio, of course. 

"That poor Don Carlos!" Castro moaned lamentably. "They had thebarbarity to take him out in the night, in that raw fog. He coughedand coughed; it made me faint to hear him. He could not even speak tome--his Tomas; it was pitiful. He could not speak when we got to theCasa. "

I could not really understand why I had been a second time kidnapped. Castro said that O'Brien had not been unwilling that I should reachHavana. It was Carlos that had ordered Tomas to take me out of the_Breeze_. He had come down in the raw morning, before the schooner hadput out from behind the point, to impress very elaborate directions uponTomas Castro; indeed, it was whilst talking to Tomas that he had burst ablood-vessel. 

"He said to me: 'Have a care now. Listen. He is my dear friend, thatSeñor Juan. I love him as if he were my only brother. Be very careful, Tomas Castro. Make it appear that he comes to us much against his will. Let him be dragged on board by many men. You are to understand, Tomas, that he is a youth of noble family, and that you are to be as careful ofcompromising him as you are of the honour of Our Lady. "!

Tomas Castro looked across at me. "You will be able to report well ofme, " he said; "I did my best. If you are compromised, it was you who didit by talking to me as if you knew me. "

I remembered, then, that Tomas certainly had resented my seeming torecognize him before Cowper and Lumsden. He closed his eyes again. Aftera time he added:

"_Vaya!_ After all, it is foolishness to fear being compromised. Youwould never believe that his Excellency Don Balthasar had led a riotouslife--to look at him with his silver head. It is said he had threefriars killed once in Seville, a very, very long time ago. It wasdangerous in those days to come against our Mother, the Church. " Hepaused, and undid his shirt, laying bare an incredibly hairy chest; thenslowly kicked off his shoes. "One stifles here, " he said. "Ah! in theold days------"

Suddenly he turned to me and said, with an air of indescribableinterest, as if he were gloating over an obscene idea:

"So they would hang a gentleman like you, if they caught you? Whatsavages you English people are!--what savages! Like cannibals! You didwell to make that comedy of resisting. _Quel pays!_. .. What a people. .. I dream of them still. .. . The eyes; the teeth! Ah, well! in an hour weshall be in Rio. I must sleep. .. . "

CHAPTER SEVEN

By two of the afternoon we were running into the inlet of Rio Medio. Ihad come on deck when Tomas Castro had started out of his doze. I wantedto see. We went round violently as I emerged, and, clinging to the side, I saw, in a whirl, tall, baked, brown hills dropping sheer down to astrip of flat land and a belt of dark-green scrub at the water's edge;little pink squares of house-walls dropped here and there, mounting thehillside among palms, like men standing in tall grass, running back, hiding in a steep valley; silver-gray huts with ragged dun roofs, likedishevelled shocks of hair; a great pink church-face, very tall andnarrow, pyramidal towards the top, and pierced for seven bells, buthaving only three. It looked as if it had been hidden for centuries inthe folds of an ancient land, as it lay there asleep in the blightingsunlight. 

When we anchored, Tomas, beside me in saturnine silence, grunted andspat into the water. 

"Look here, " I said. "What is the meaning of it all? What is it? What isat the bottom?"

He shrugged his shoulders gloomily. "If your worship does not know, whoshould?" he said. "It is not for me to say why people should wish tocome here. "

"Then take me to Carlos, " I said. "I must get this settled. "

Castro looked at me suspiciously. "You will not excite him?" he said. "Ihave known people die right out when they were like that. "

"Oh, I won't excite him, " I said. 

As we were rowed ashore, he began to point out the houses of thenotables. Rio Medio had been one of the principal ports of the Antillesin the seventeenth century, but it had failed before the rivalry ofHavana because its harbour would not take the large vessels of moderndraft. Now it had no trade, no life, no anything except a bishop and agreat monastery, a few retired officials from Havana. A large settlementof ragged thatched huts and clay hovels lay to the west of thecathedral. The Casa Riego was an enormous palace, with windows likeloopholes, facing the shore. Don Balthasar practically owned the wholetown and all the surrounding country, and, except for his age andfeebleness, might have been an absolute monarch. 

He had lived in Havana with great splendour, but now, in his failingyears, had retired to his palace, from which he had since only twice setfoot. This had only been when official ceremonies of extreme importance, such as the international execution of pirates that I had witnessed, demanded the presence of someone of his eminence and lustre. Otherwisehe had lived shut up in his palace. There was nowhere in Rio Medio forhim to go to. 

He was said to regard his intendente O'Brien as the apple of his eye, and had used his influence to get him made one of the judges of theMarine Court. The old Don himself probably knew nothing about thepirates. The inlet had been used by buccaneers ever since the days ofColumbus; but they were below his serious consideration, even if he hadever seen them, which Tomas Castro doubted. 

There was no doubting the sincerity of his tone. 

"Oh, you thought _I_ was a pirate!" he muttered. "For a day--yes--tooblige a Riego, my friend--yes! Moreover, I hate that familiar of thepriests, that soft-spoken Juez, intendente, intriguer--that O'Brien. Asufferer for the faith! _Que picardia!_ Have I, too, not suffered forthe faith? I am the trusted humble friend of the Riegos. But, perhaps, you think Don Balthasar is himself a pirate! He who has in his veins theblood of the Cid Campeador; whose ancestors have owned half this islandsince the days of Christopher himself. . . . "

"Has he nothing whatever to do with it?" I asked. "After all, it goes onin his own town. "

"Oh, you English, " he muttered; "you are all mad! Would one of yourgreat nobles be a pirate? Perhaps they would--God knows. Alas, alas!" hesuddenly broke off, "when I think that my Carlos shall leave his bonesin this ungodly place. . . . "

I gave up questioning Tomas Castro; he was too much for me. 

We entered the grim palace by the shore through an imposing archway, andmounted a broad staircase. In a lofty room, giving off the upper galleryround the central court of the Casa Riego, Carlos lay in a great bed. I stood before him, having pushed aside Tomas Castro, who had beencautiously scratching the great brilliant mahogany panels with a dirtyfinger-nail. 

"Damnation, Carlos!" I said. "This is the third of your treacheries. What do you want with me?"

You might well have imagined he was a descendant of the Cid Campeador, only to look at him lying there without a quiver of a feature, his facestainlessly white, a little bluish in extreme lack of blood, with allthe nobility of death upon it, like an alabaster effigy of an old knightin a cathedral. On the red-velvet hangings of the bed was an immensecoat-of-arms, worked in silk and surrounded by a collar, with the goldensheep hanging from the ring. The shield was patched in with an immensenumber of quarterings--lions rampant, leopards courant, fleurs de lis, castles, eagles, hands, and arms. His eyes opened slowly, and his faceassumed an easy, languorous smile of immense pleasure. 

"Ah, Juan, " he said, "_se bienvenido_, be welcome, be welcome. "

Castro caught me roughly by the shoulder, and gazed at me with blazing, yellow eyes. 

"You should not speak roughly to him, " he said. "English beast! He isdying. "

"No, I won't speak roughly to him, " I answered. "I see. "

I did see. At first I had been suspicious; it might have been put onto mollify me. But one could not put on that blueness of tinge, thatextra--nearly final--touch of the chisel to the lines round the nose, that air of restfulness that nothing any more could very much disturb. There was no doubt that Carlos was dying. 

"Treacheries--no. You had to come, " he said suddenly. "I need you. I amglad, dear Juan. " He waved a thin long hand a little towards mine. "Youshall not long be angry. It had to be done--you must forgive the means. "

His air was so gay, so uncomplaining, that it was hard to believe itcame from him. 

"You could not have acted worse if you had owed me a grudge, Carlos, " Isaid. "I want an explanation. But I don't want to kill you. . . . "

"Oh, no, oh, no, " he said; "in a minute I will tell. "

He dropped a gold ball into a silver basin that was by the bedside, and it sounded like a great bell. A nun in a sort of coif that took thelines of a buffalo's horns glided to him with a gold cup, from which hedrank, raising himself a little. Then the religious went out with TomasCastro, who gave me a last ferocious glower from his yellow eyes. Carlossmiled. 

"They try to make my going easy, " he said. "_Vamos!_ The pillow issmooth for him who is well loved. " He shut his eyes. Suddenly he said, "Why do you, alone, hate me, John Kemp? What have I done?"

"God knows I don't hate you, Carlos, " I answered. 

"You have always mistrusted me, " he said. "And yet I am, perhaps, nearerto you than many of your countrymen, and I have always wished you well, and you have always hated and mistrusted me. From the very first youmistrusted me. Why?"

It was useless denying it; he had the extraordinary incredulity of hiskind. I remembered how I had idolized him as a boy at home. 

"Your brother-in-law, my cousin Rooksby, was the very first to believethat I was a pirate. I, a vulgar pirate! I, Carlos Riego! Did he notbelieve it--and you?" He glanced a little ironically, and lifted a thinwhite finger towards the great coat-of-arms. "That sort of thing, " hesaid, "_amigo mio_, does not allow one to pick pockets. " He suddenlyturned a little to one side, and fixed me with his clear eyes. "Myfriend, " he said, "if I told you that Rooksby and your greatest Kentearls carried smugglers' tubs, you would say I was an ignorant fool. Yet they, too, are magistrates. The only use I have ever made of theseruffians was to-day, to bring you here. It was a necessity. That O'Brienhad gone on to take you when you arrived. You would never have comealive out of Havana. I was saving your life. Once there, you could neverhave escaped from that man. "

I saw suddenly that this might be the truth. There had been somethingfriendly in Tomas Castro's desire not to compromise me before the peopleon board the ship. Obviously he had been acting a part, with a visiblecontempt for the pilfering that he could not prevent. He _had_ been sentmerely to bring me to Rio Medio. 

"I never disliked you, " I protested. "I do not understand what you mean. All I know is, that you have used me ill--outrageously ill. You havesaved my life now, you say. That may be true; but why did you ever makeme meet with that man O'Brien?"

"And even for that you should not hate me, " he said, shaking his head onthe silk pillows. "I never wished you anything but well, Juan, becauseyou were honest and young, of noble blood, good to look upon; you haddone me and my friend good service, to your own peril, when my owncousin had deserted me. And I loved you for the sake of another. I lovedyour sister. We have a proverb: 'A man is always good to the eyes inwhich the sister hath found favour. '"

I looked at him in amazement. "You loved Veronica!" I said. "ButVeronica is nothing at all. There was the Señorita. "

He smiled wearily. "Ah, the Señorita; she is very well; a man could loveher, too. But we do not command love, my friend. "

I interrupted him. "I want to know why you brought me here. Why did youask me to come here when we were on board the _Thames?_"

He answered sadly, "Ah, then! Because I loved your sister, and youreminded me always of her. But that is all over now--done with forgood. .. . I have to address myself to dying as it becomes one of myrace to die. " He smiled at me. "One must die in peace to die like aChristian. Life has treated me rather scurvily, only the gentleman mustnot repine like a poor man of low birth. I would like to do a good turnto the friend who is the brother of his sister, to the girl-cousin whomI do not love with love, but whom I understand with affection--to thegreat inheritance that is not for my wasted hands. "

I looked out of the open door of the room. There was the absolutelyquiet inner court of the palace, a colonnade of tall square pillars, in the centre the little thread of a fountain. Round the fountain weretangled bushes of flowers--enormous geraniums, enormous hollyhocks, ariot of orange marigolds. 

"How like our flowers at home!" I said mechanically. 

"I brought the seeds from there--from your sister's garden, " he said. 

I felt horribly hipped. "But all these things tell me nothing, " I said, with an attempt towards briskness. 

"I have to husband my voice. " He closed his eyes. 

There is no saying that I did not believe him; I did, every word. I hadsimply been influenced by Rooks-by's suspicions. I had made an ass ofmyself over that business on board the _Thames_. The passage of Carlesand his faithful Tomas had been arranged for by some agent of O'Brien inLondon, who was in communication with Ramon and Rio Medio. The same manhad engaged Nichols, that Nova Scotian mate, an unscrupulous sailor, for O'Brien's service. He was to leave the ship in Kingston, and reporthimself to Ramon, who furnished him with the means to go to Cuba. Thatman, seeing me intimate with two persons going to Rio Medio, had got itinto his head that I was going there, too. And, very naturally, he didnot want an Englishman for a witness of his doings. 

But Rooksby's behaviour, his veiled accusations, his innuendoes againstCarlos, had influenced me more than anything else. I remembered ahundred little things now that I knew that Carlos loved Veronica. Iunderstood Rooksby's jealous impatience, Veronica's friendly glances atCarlos, the fact that Rooksby had proposed to Veronica on the very daythat Carlos had come again into the neighbourhood with the runners afterhim. I saw very well that there was no more connection between theCasa Riego and the rascality of Rio Medio than there was betweenRalph himself and old drunken Rangsley on Hythe beach. There was less, perhaps. 

"Ah, you have had a sad life, my Carlos, " I said, after a long time. 

He opened his eyes, and smiled his brave smile. "Ah, as to that, " hesaid, "one kept on. One has to husband one's voice, though, and notwaste it over lamentations. I have to tell you--ah, yes. .. . " He pausedand fixed his eyes upon me. "Figure to yourself that this house, thistown, an immense part of this island, much even yet in Castile itself, much gold, many slaves, a great name--a very great name--are what Ishall leave behind me. Now think that there is a very noble old man, onewho has been very great in the world, who shall die very soon; then allthese things shall go to a young girl. That old man is very old, is alittle foolish with age; that young girl knows very little of the world, and is very passionate, very proud, very helpless. 

"Add, now, to that a great menace--a very dangerous, crafty, subtlepersonage, who has the ear of that old man; whose aim it is to becomethe possessor of that young girl and of that vast wealth. The old manis much subject to the other. Old men are like that, especially the verygreat. They have many things to think of; it is necessary that theyrely on somebody. I am, in fact, speaking of my uncle and the man calledO'Brien. You have seen him. " Carlos spoke in a voice hardly above awhisper, but he stuck to his task with indomitable courage. "If I dieand leave him here, he will have my uncle to himself. He is a terribleman. Where would all that great fortune go? For the re-establishing ofthe true faith in Ireland? _Quien sabe?_ Into the hands of O'Brien, atany rate. And the daughter, too--a young girl--she would be in the handsof O'Brien, too. If I could expect to live, it might be different. Thatis the greatest distress of all. " He swallowed painfully, and put hisfrail hand on to the white ruffle at his neck. "I was in great troubleto find how to thwart this O'Brien. My uncle went to Kingston becausehe was persuaded it was his place to see that the execution of thoseunhappy men was conducted with due humanity. O'Brien came with us as hissecretary. I was in the greatest horror of mind. I prayed for guidance. Then my eyes fell upon you, who were pressed against our very carriagewheels. It was like an answer to my prayers. " Carlos suddenly reachedout and caught my hand. 

I thought he was wandering, and I was immensely sorry for him. He lookedat me so wistfully with his immense eyes. He continued to press my hand. 

"But when I saw you, " he went on, after a time, "it had come into myhead, 'That is the man who is sent in answer to my prayers. ' I knew it, I say. If you could have my cousin and my lands, I thought, it would belike my having your sister--not quite, but good enough for a man who isto die in a short while, and leave no trace but a marble tomb. Ah, onedesires very much to leave a mark under God's blessed sun, and tobe able to know a little how things will go after one is dead. .. . Iarranged the matter very quickly in my mind. There was the difficulty ofO'Brien. If I had said, 'Here is the man who is to marry my cousin, ' hewould have had you or me murdered; he would stop at nothing. So I saidto him very quietly, 'Look here, Señor Secretary, that is the man youhave need of to replace your Nichols--a devil to fight; but I thinkhe will not consent without a little persuasion. Decoy him, then, toRamon's, and do your persuading. ' O'Brien was very glad, because hethought that at last I was coming to take an interest in his schemes, and because it was bringing humiliation to an Englishman. And Sera-phinawas glad, because I had often spoken of you with enthusiasm, as veryfearless and very honourable. Then I made that man Ramon decoy you, thinking that the matter would be left to me. "

That was what Carlos had expected. But O'Brien, talking with Ramon, hadheard me described as an extreme Separationist so positively that he hadthought it safe to open himself fully. He must have counted, also, on myyouth, my stupidity, or my want of principle. Finding out his mistake, he very soon made up his mind how to act; and Carlos, fearing that worsemight befall me, had let him. 

But when the young girl had helped me to escape, Carlos, who understoodfully the very great risks I ran in going to Havana in the ship thatpicked me up, had made use of O'Brien's own picaroons to save me fromhim. That was the story. 

Towards the end his breath came fast and short; there was a flush on hisface; his eyes gazed imploringly at me. 

"You will stay here, now, till I die, and then--I want you toprotect. ------" He fell back on the pillows. 

PART THIRD -- CASA RIEGO

CHAPTER ONE

All this is in my mind now, softened by distance, by the tenderness ofthings remembered--the wonderful dawn of life, with all the mystery andpromise of the young day breaking amongst heavy thunder-clouds. At thetime I was overwhelmed--I can't express it otherwise. I felt like aman thrown out to sink or swim, trying to keep his head above water. Ofcourse, I did not suspect Carlos now; I was ashamed of ever havingdone so. I had long ago forgiven him his methods. "In a great need, you must, " he had said, looking at me anxiously, "recur to desperateremedies. " And he was going to die. I had made no answer, and only hungmy head--not in resentment, but in doubt of my strength to bear theburden of the great trust that this man whom I loved for his gayety, hisrecklessness and romance, was going to leave in my inexperienced hands. 

He had talked till, at last exhausted, he sank back gently on thepillows of the enormous bed emblazoned like a monument. I went out, following a gray-headed negro, and the nun glided in, and stood at thefoot with her white hands folded patiently. 

"Señor!" I heard her mutter reproachfully to the invalid. 

"Do not scold a poor sinner, Dona Maria, " he addressed her feebly, withvaliant jocularity. "The days are not many now. "

The strangeness and tremendousness of what was happening came over mevery strongly whilst, in a large chamber with barred loopholes, I wasthrowing off the rags in which I had entered this house. The night hadcome already, and I was putting on some of Carlos' clothes by the manyflames of candles burning in a tall bronze candelabrum, whose three legsfigured the paws of a lion. And never, since I had gone on the road towait for the smugglers, and been choked by the Bow Street runners, hadI remembered so well the house in which I was born. It was as if, tillthen, I had never felt the need to look back. But now, like somethingromantic and glamorous, there came before me Veronica's sweet, dimface, my mother's severe and resolute countenance. I had need of all herresoluteness now. And I remembered the figure of my father in the bigchair by the ingle, powerless and lost in his search for rhymes. Hemight have understood the romance of my situation. 

It grew upon me as I thought. Don Balthasar, I understood, was apprisedof my arrival. As in a dream, I followed the old negro, who hadreturned to the door of my room. It grew upon me in the silence of thiscolonnaded court. We walked along the upper gallery; his cane tappedbefore me on the tessellated pavement; below, the water splashed in themarble basins; glass lanthorns hung glimmering between the pillars and, in wrought silver frames, lighted the broad white staircase. Under theinner curve of the vaulted gateway a black-faced man on guard, witha bell-mouthed gun, rose from a stool at our passing. I thought I sawCastro's peaked hat and large cloak flit in the gloom into which fellthe light from the small doorway of a sort of guardroom near the closedgate. We continued along the arcaded walk; a double curtain was drawn toright and left before me, while my guide stepped aside. 

In a vast white apartment three black figures stood about a centralglitter of crystal and silver. At once the aged, slightly mechanicalvoice of Don Balthasar rose thinly, putting himself and his house at mydisposition. 

The formality of movements, of voices, governed and checked theunbounded emotions of my wonder. The two ladies sank, with a rustle ofstarch and stiff silks, in answer to my profound bow. I had just enoughcontrol over myself to accomplish that, but mentally I was out ofbreath; and when I felt the slight, trembling touch of Don Balthasar'shand resting on my inclined head, it was as if I had suddenly becomeaware for a moment of the earth's motion. The hand was gone; his facewas averted, and a corpulent priest, all straight and black below hisrosy round face, had stepped forward to say a Latin grace in solemntones that wheezed a little. As soon as he had done he withdrew with acircular bow to the ladies, to Don Balthasar, who inclined his silveryhead. His lifeless voice propounded:

"Our excellent Father Antonio, in his devotion, dines by the bedsideof our beloved Carlos. " He sighed. The heavy carvings of his chairrose upright at his back; he sat with his head leaning forward over hissilver plate. A heavy silence fell. Death hovered over that table--andalso, as it were, the breath of past ages. The multitude of lights, thepolished floor of costly wood, the bare whiteness of walls wainscottedwith marble, the vastness of the room, the imposing forms of furniture, carved heavily in ebony, impressed me with a sense of secular andaustere magnificence. For centuries there had always been a Riego livingin this fortress-like palace, ruling this portion of the New World withthe whole majesty of his race. And I thought of the long, loop-holed, buttressed walls that this abode of noble adventurers presentedfoursquare to the night outside, standing there by the seashore like atomb of warlike glories. They built their houses thus, centuries ago, when the bands of buccaneers, indomitable and atrocious, had hauntedtheir conquest with a reminder of mortality and weakness. 

It was a tremendous thing for me, this dinner. The portly duenna on myleft had a round eye and an irritated, parrot-like profile, crowned bya high comb, a head shaded by black lace. I dared hardly lift my eyesto the dark and radiant presence facing me across a table furniture thatwas like a display of treasure. 

But I did look. She was the girl of the lizard, the girl of the dagger, and, in the solemnity of the silence, she was like a fabulous apparitionfrom a half-forgotten tale. I watched covertly the youthful grace of herfeatures. The curve of her cheek filled me with delight. From time totime she shook the heavy clusters of her curls, and I was amazed, asthough I had never before seen a woman's hair. Each parting of her lipswas a distinct anticipation of a great felicity; when she said a fewwords to me, I felt an inward trembling. They were indifferent words. 

Had she forgotten she was the girl with the dagger? And the old Don?What did that old man know? What did he think? What did he mean by thattouch of a blessing on my head? Did _he_ know how I had come to hishouse? But every turn of her head troubled my thoughts. The movements ofher hands made me forget myself. The gravity of her eyes above the smileof her lips suggested ideas of adoration. 

We were served noiselessly. A battalion of young lusty negroes, in bluejackets laced with silver, walked about barefooted under the command ofthe old major-domo. He, alone, had white silk stockings, and shoes withsilver buckles; his wide-skirted maroon velvet coat, with gold on thecollar and cuffs, hung low about his thin shanks; and, with a long ebonystaff in his hand, he directed the service from behind Don Balthasar'schair. At times he bent towards his master's ear. Don Balthasar answeredwith a murmur: and those two faces brought close together, one like anoble ivory carving, the other black with the mute pathos of the Africanfaces, seemed to commune in a fellowship of age, of things far off, remembered, lived through together. There was something mysterious andtouching in this violent contrast, toned down by the near approach tothe tomb--the brotherhood of master and slave. 

At a given moment an enormous iron key was brought in on a silversalver, and, bending over the chair, the gray-headed negro laid it byDon Balthasar's plate. 

"Don Carlos' orders, " he muttered. 

The old Don seemed to wake up; a little colour mounted to his cheeks. 

"There was a time, young _caballero_, when the gates of Casa Riego stoodopen night and day to the griefs and poverty of the people, like thedoors of a church--and as respected. But now it seems . . . "

He mumbled a little peevishly, but seemed to recollect himself. "Thesafety of his guest is like the breath of life to a Castilian, " heended, with a benignant but attentive look at me. 

He rose, and we passed out through the double lines of the servantsranged from table to door. By the splash of the fountain, on a littleround table between two chairs, stood a many-branched candlestick. The duenna sat down opposite Don Balthasar. A multitude of stars wassuspended over the breathless peace of the court. 

"Señorita, " I began, mustering all my courage, and all my Spanish, "I donot know------"

She was walking by my side with upright carriage and a nonchalant step, and shut her fan smartly. 

"Don Carlos himself had given me the dagger, " she said rapidly. 

The fan flew open; a touch of the wind fanning her person came faintlyupon my cheek with a suggestion of delicate perfume. 

She noticed my confusion, and said, "Let us walk to the end, Señor. "

The old man and the duenna had cards in their hands now. The intimatetone of her words ravished me into the seventh heaven. 

"Ah, " she said, when we were out of ear-shot, "I have the spirit of myhouse; but I am only a weak girl. We have taken this resolution becauseof your _hidal-guidad_, because you are our kinsman, because you areEnglish. _Ay de mi!_ Would I had been a man. My father needs a son inhis great, great age. Poor father! Poor Don Carlos!"

There was the catch of a sob in the shadow of the end gallery. We turnedback, and the undulation of her walk seemed to throw me into a state ofexaltation. 

"On the word of an Englishman------" I began. 

The fan touched my arm. The eyes of the duenna glittered over the cards. 

"This woman belongs to that man, too, " muttered Seraphina. "And yet sheused to be faithful--almost a mother. _Misericordia!_ Señor, there is noone in this unhappy place that he has not bought, corrupted, frightened, or bent to his will--to his madness of hate against England. Of our poorhe has made a rabble. The bishop himself is afraid. "

Such was the beginning of our first conversation in this courtsuggesting the cloistered peace of a convent. We strolled to and fro;she dropped her eyelids, and the agitation of her mind, pictured in thealmost fierce swiftness of her utterance, made a wonderful contrast tothe leisurely rhythm of her movements, marked by the slow beating ofthe fan. The retirement of her father from the world after her mother'sdeath had made a great solitude round his declining years. Yes, thatsorrow, and the base intrigues of that man--a fugitive, a hanger-onof her mother's family--recommended to Don Balthasar's grace by hermother's favour. Yes! He had, before she died, thrown his banefulinfluence even upon that saintly spirit, by the piety of his practicesand these sufferings for his faith he always paraded. His faith! Oh, hypocrite, hypocrite, hypocrite! His only faith was hate--the hate ofEngland. He would sacrifice everything to it. He would despoil and ruinhis greatest benefactors, this fatal man!

"Señor, my cousin, " she said picturesquely, "he would, if he could, droppoison into every spring of clear water in your country. . . . Smile, Don Juan. "

Her repressed vehemence had held me spellbound, and the silvery littleburst of laughter ending her fierce tirade had the bewildering effect ofa crash on my mind. The other two looked up from their cards. 

"I pretend to laugh to deceive that woman, " she explained quickly. "Iused to love her. "

She had no one now about her she could trust or love. It was as ifthe whole world were blind to the nefarious nature of that man. He hadpossessed himself of her little father's mind. I glanced towards the oldDon, who at that moment was brokenly taking a pinch of snuff out ofa gold snuff-box, while the duenna, very sallow and upright, waited, frowning loftily at her cards. 

"It seemed as if nothing could restrain that man, " Seraphina's voicewent on by my side, "neither fear nor gratitude. " He seemed to cast aspell upon people. He was the plenipotentiary of a powerful religiousorder--no matter. Don Carlos knew these things better than she did. Hehad the ear of the Captain-General through that. "Sh! But the intrigues, the intrigues!" I saw her little hand clenched on the closed fan. Therewere no bounds to his audacity. He wasted their wealth. "The audacity!"He had overawed her father's mind; he claimed descent from his Irishkings, he who------ "Señor, my English cousin, he even dares aspire tomy person. "

The game of cards was over. 

"Death rather, " she let fall in a whisper of calm resolution. 

She dropped me a deep curtsey. Servants were ranging themselves in arow, holding upright before their black faces wax lights in tall silvercandlesticks inherited from the second Viceroy of Mexico. I bowedprofoundly, with indignation on her behalf and horror in my breast;and, turning away from me, she sank low, bending her head to receive herfather's blessing. The major-domo preceded the _cortège_. The two womenmoved away with an ample rustling of silk, and with lights carried oneach side of their black, stiff figures. Before they had disappeared upthe wide staircase, Don Balthasar, who had stood perfectly motionlesswith his old face over his snuff-box, seemed to wake up, and made in theair a hasty sign of the cross after his daughter. 

They appeared again in the upper gallery between the columns. I sawher head, draped in lace, carried proudly, with the white flower in herhair. I raised my eyes. All my being seemed to strive upwards in thatglance. Had she turned her face my way just a little? Illusion! Andthe double door above closed with an echoing sound along the emptygalleries. She had disappeared. 

Don Balthasar took three turns in the courtyard, no more. It wasevidently a daily custom. When he withdrew his hand from my arm to taphis snuff-box, we stood still till he was ready to slip it in again. This was the strangest part of it, the most touching, the moststartling--that he should lean like this on me, as if he had done it foryears. Before me there must have been somebody else. Carlos? Carlos, nodoubt. And in this placing me in that position there was apparent thework of death, the work of life, of time, the pathetic realization of aninevitable destiny. He talked a little disjointedly, with the uncertainswaying of a shadow on his thoughts, as if the light of his mind hadflickered like an expiring lamp. I remember that once he asked me, in asort of senile worry, whether I had ever heard of an Irish king calledBrian Boru; but he did not seem to attach any importance to my reply, and spoke no more till he said good-night at the door of my chamber. 

He went on to his apartment, surrounded by lights and preceded by hismajor-domo, who walked as bowed with age as himself; but the African hada firmer step. 

I watched him go; there was about his progress in state somethingghostlike and royal, an old-time, decayed majesty. It was as if he hadarisen before me after a hundred years' sleep in his retreat--that manwho, in his wild and passionate youth, had endangered the wealth of theRiegos, had been the idol of the Madrid populace, and a source of dismayto his family. He had carried away, _vi et armis_, a nun from a convent, incurring the enmity of the Church and the displeasure of his sovereign. He had sacrificed all his fortune in Europe to the service of his king, had fought against the French, had a price put upon his head by aspecial proclamation. He had known passion, power, war, exile, and love. He had been thanked by his returned king, honoured for his wisdom, andcrushed with sorrow by the death of his young wife--Seraphina's mother. 

What a life! And what was my arm--my arm on which he had leaned in hisdecay? I looked at it with a sort of surprise, dubiously. What wasexpected of it? I asked myself. Would it have the strength? Ah, let_her_ only lean on it!

It seemed to me that I would have the power to shake down heavy pillarsof stone, like Samson, in her service; to reach up and take the stars, one by one, to lay at her feet. I heard a sigh. A shadow appeared in thegallery. 

The door of my room was open. Leaning my back against the balustrade, Isaw the black figure of the Father Antonio, muttering over his breviary, enter the space of the light. 

He crossed himself, and stopped with a friendly, "You are taking theair, my son. The night is warm. " He was rubicund, and his little eyeslooked me over with priestly mansuetude. 

I said it was warm indeed. I liked him instinctively. 

He lifted his eyes to the starry sky. "The orbs are shiningexcessively, " he said; then added, "To the greater glory of God. One isnever tired of contemplating this sublime spectacle. "

"How is Don Carlos, your reverence?" I asked. 

"My beloved penitent sleeps, " he answered, peering at me benevolently;"he reposes. Do you know, young _caballero_, that I have been a prisonerof war in your country, and am acquainted with Londres? I was chaplainof the ship _San José_ at the battle of Trafalgar. On my soul, it is, indeed, a blessed, fertile country, full of beauty and of well-disposedhearts. I have never failed since to say every day an especial prayerfor its return to our holy mother, the Church. Because I love it. "

I said nothing to this, only bowing; and he laid a short, thick hand onmy shoulder. 

"May your coming amongst us, my son, bring calmness to a Christian soultoo much troubled with the affairs of this world. " He sighed, nodded tome with a friendly, sad smile, and began to mutter his prayers as hewent. 

CHAPTER TWO

Don Balthasar accepted my presence without a question. Perhaps hefancied he had invited me; of my manner of coming he was ignorant, ofcourse. O'Brien, who had gone on to Havana in the ship which had landedthe Riegos in Rio Medio, gave no sign of life. And yet, on the arrivalof the _Breeze_, he must have found out I was no longer on board. Iforgot the danger suspended over my head. For a fortnight I lived as ifin a dream. 

"What is the action you want me to take, Carlos?"

I asked one day. 

Propped up with pillows, he looked at me with the big eyes of hisemaciation. 

"I would like best to see you marry my cousin. Once before a woman ofour race had married an Englishman. She had been happy. English thingslast forever--English peace, English power, English fidelity. It is acountry of much serenity, of order, of stable affection. . . . "

His voice was very weak and full of faith. I remained silent, overwhelmed at this secret of my innermost heart, voiced by hisbloodless lips--as if a dream had come to pass, as if a miracle hadtaken place. He added, with an indefinable smile of an almost unearthlywistfulness:

"I would have married your sister, my Juan. "

He had on him the glamour of things English--of English power emergingfrom the dust of wars and revolution; of England stable and undismayed, like a strong man who had kept his feet in the tottering of secularedifices shaken to their foundations by an earthquake. It was as if forhim that were something fine, something romantic, just as for me romancehad always seemed to be embodied in his features, in his glance, and tolive in the air he breathed. On the other side of the bed the old Don, lost in a high-backed armchair, remained plunged in that meditation ofthe old which resembles sleep, as sleep resembles death. The priest, lighted up by the narrow, bright streak of the window, was reading hisbreviary through a pair of enormous spectacles. The white coif of thenun hovered in distant corners of the room. 

We were constantly talking of O'Brien. He was the only subject of allour conversations; and when Carlos inveighed against the Intendente, theold Don nodded sadly in his chair. He was dishonouring the name of theRiegos, Carlos would exclaim feebly, turning his head towards his uncle. His uncle's own province, the name of his own town, stood for a refugeof the scum of the Antilles. It wras a shameful sanctuary. Everyruffian, rascal, murderer, and thief of the West Indies had come tothink of this ancient and honourable town as a safe haven. 

I myself could very well remember the Jamaica household expression, "TheRio Medio piracies, " and all these paragraphs in the home papers thatreached us a month old headed, "The Activity of the So-called MexicanPrivateers, " and urging upon our Government the necessity of energeticremonstrances in Madrid. "The fact, incredible as it may appear, " saidthe writers, "seeming to be that the nest of these Picaroons is actuallywithin the loyal dominions of the Spanish Crown. " If Spain, our presssaid, resented our recognition of South American independence, let itdo so openly, not by countenancing criminals. It was unworthy of a greatnation. "Our West Indian trade is being stabbed in the back, " declaimedthe _Bristol Mirror_. "Where is our fleet?" it asked. "If the Cubanauthorities are unable or unwilling, let us take the matter in our ownhands. "

There was a great deal of mystery about this peculiar outbreak oflawlessness that seemed to be directed so pointedly against the Britishtrade. The town of Rio Medio was alluded to as one of the unapproachabletowns of the earth--closed, like the capital of Prester John to thetravellers, or Mecca to the infidels. Nobody I ever met in Jamaica hadset eyes on the place. The impression prevailed that no stranger couldcome out of it alive. Incredible stories were told of it in the island, and indignation at its existence grew at home and in the colonies. 

Admiral Rowley, an old fighter, grown a bit lazy, no diplomatist(the stories of his being venal, I take it, were simply abominablecalumnies), unable to get anything out of the Cuban authorities butpromises and lofty protestations, had made up his mind, under directpressure from home, to take matters into his own hands. His boat attackhad been a half-and-half affair, for all that. He intended, he had said, to go to the bottom of the thing, and find out what there was in theplace; but he could not believe that anybody would dare offer resistanceto the boats of an English squadron. They were sent in as if for anexploration rather than for an armed landing. 

It ended in a disaster, and a sense of wonder had been added to themystery of the fabulous Rio Medio organization. The Cuban authoritiesprotested against the warlike operations attempted in a friendlycountry; at the same time, they had delivered the seven pirates--the menwhom I saw hanged in Kingston. And Rowley was recalled home in disgrace. 

It was my extraordinary fate to penetrate into this holy city of thelast organized piracy the world would ever know. I beheld it with myeyes; I had stood on the point behind the very battery of guns which hadswept Rowley's boats out of existence. 

The narrow entrance faced, across the water, the great portal of thecathedral. Rio Medio had been a place of some splendour in its time. Theruinous heavy buildings clung to the hillsides, and my eyes plunged intoa broad vista of an empty and magnificent street. Behind many of theimposing and escutcheoned frontages there was nothing but heaps ofrubble; the footsteps of rare passers-by woke lonely echoes, and stripsof grass outlined in parallelograms the flagstones of the roadway. TheCasa Riego raised its buttressed and loop-holed bulk near the shore, resembling a defensive outwork; on my other hand the shallow bay, vast, placid, and shining, extended itself behind the strip of coast like anenormous lagoon. The fronds of palm-clusters dotted the beach over theglassy shimmer of the far distance. The dark and wooded slopes of thehills closed the view inland on every side. 

Under the palms the green masses of vegetation concealed the hovels ofthe rabble. There were three so-called 'villages' at the bottom of thebay; and that good Catholic and terrible man, Señor Juez O'Brien, couldwith a simple nod send every man in them to the gallows. 

The respectable population of Rio Medio, leading a cloistered existencein the ruins of old splendour, used to call that thievish rabble_Lugarenos_--villagers. They were sea-thieves, but they were dangerous. At night, from these clusters of hovels surrounded by the bananaplantations, there issued a villainous noise, the humming of hivedscoundrels. Lights twinkled. One could hear the thin twanging ofguitars, uproarious songs, all the sounds of their drinking, singing, gambling, quarrelling, love-making, squalor. Sometimes the long shriekof a woman rent the air, or shouting tumults rose and subsided; while, on the other side of the cathedral, the houses of the past, the houseswithout life, showed no light and made no sound. 

There would be no strollers on the beach in the daytime; the masts ofthe two schooners (bought in the United States by O'Brien to make warwith on the British Empire) appeared like slender sticks far away upthe empty stretch of water; and that gathering of ruffians, thieves, murderers, and runaway slaves slept in their noisome dens. Their habitswere obscene and nocturnal. Cruel without hardihood, and greedy withoutcourage, they were no skull-and-crossbones pirates of the old kind, that, under the black flag, neither gave nor expected quarter. Theirusual practice was to hang in rowboats round some unfortunate shipbecalmed in sight of their coast, like a troop of vultures hopping aboutthe carcass of a dead buffalo on a plain. When they judged the thing wasfairly safe, they would attack with a great noise and show of ferocity;do some hasty looting amongst the cargo; break into the cabins forwatches, wearing apparel, and so on; perpetrate at times some atrocity, such as singeing the soles of some poor devil of a ship-master, whenthey had positive information (from such affiliated helpers as Ramon, the storekeeper in Jamaica) that there was coined money concealed onboard; and take themselves off to their sordid revels on shore, and tohold auctions of looted property on the beach. These Were attended bypeople from the interior of the province, and now and then even theHavana dealers would come on the quiet to secure a few pieces of silkor a cask or two of French wine. Tomas Castro could not mention themwithout spitting in sign of contempt. And it was with that base crewthat O'Brien imagined himself to be making war on the British Empire!

In the time of Nichols it did look as if they were really becomingenterprising. They had actually chased and boarded ships sixty miles outat sea. It seems he had inspired them with audacity by means of kicks, blows, and threats of instant death, after the manner of Bluenosesailors. His long limbs, the cadaverous and menacing aspect, the strangenasal ferocity of tone, something mocking and desperate in his aspect, had persuaded them that this unique sort of heretic was literally inleague with the devil. He had been the most efficient of the successiveleaders O'Brien had imported to give some sort of effect to his warlikeoperations. I laugh and wonder as I write these words; but the man didlook upon it as a war and nothing else. What he had had the audacity topropose to me had been treason, not thieving. It had a glamour for himwhich, he supposed, a Separationist (as I had the reputation of being)could not fail to see. He was thinking of enlarging his activity, ofgetting really in touch with the Mexican Junta of rebels. As he hadsaid, he needed a gentleman now. These were Carlos' surmises. 

Before Nichols there had been a rather bloodthirsty Frenchman, but hegot himself stabbed in an _aguardiente_ shop for blaspheming the Virgin. Nichols, as far as I could understand, had really grown scared atO'Brien's success in repulsing Rowley's boats; he had mysteriouslydisappeared, and neither of the two schooners had been out till theday of my kidnapping, when Castro, by order of Carlos, had taken thecommand. The freebooters of Rio Medio had returned to their cautious andpetty pilfering in boats, from such unlucky ships as the chance of theweather had delivered into their hands. I heard, also, during my walkswith Castro (he attended me wrapped in his cloak, and with two pistolsin his belt), that there were great jealousies and bickerings amongstthat base populace. They were divided into two parties. For instance, the rascals living in the easternmost village accepted tacitly theleadership of a certain Domingo, a mulatto, keeper of a vile grogshop, who was skilled in the art of throwing a knife to a great distance. Man-uel-del-Popolo, the extraordinary _improvisador_ with the guitar, was an aspirant for power with a certain following of his own. Wordscould not express Castro's scorn for these fellows. _Ladrones!_ verminof the earth, scum of the sea, he called them. 

His position, of course, was exceptional. A dependent of the Riegos, a familiar of the Casa, he was infinitely removed from a Domingo or aManuel. He lived soberly, like a Spaniard, in some hut in the nearest ofthe villages, with an old woman who swept the earth floor and cooked hisfood at an outside fire--his _puchero_ and _tortillas_--and rolled forhim his provision of cigarettes for the day. Every morning he marched upto the Casa, like a courtier, to attend on his king. I never saw him eator drink anything there. He leaned a shoulder against the wall, or saton the floor of the gallery with his short legs stretched out near thebig mahogany door of Carlos' room, with many cigarettes stuck behindhis ears and in the band of his hat. When these were gone he grubbed formore in the depths of his clothing, somewhere near his skin. Puffs ofsmoke issued from his pursed lips; and the desolation of his pose, thesorrow of his round, wrinkled face, was so great that it seemed were heto cease smoking, he would die of grief. 

The general effect of the place was of vitality exhausted, of a bodycalcined, of romance turned into stone. The still air, the hot sunshine, the white beach curving around the deserted sheet of water, the sombregreen of the hills, had the motionlessness of things petrified, the vividness of things painted, the sadness of things abandoned, desecrated. And, as if alone intrusted with the guardianship of life'ssacred fire, I was moving amongst them, nursing my love for Sera-phina. The words of Carlos were like oil upon a flame; it enveloped me fromhead to foot with a leap. I had the physical sensation of breathing it, of seeing it, of being at the same time driven on and restrained. Onemoment I strode blindly over the sand, the next I stood still; andCastro, coming up panting, would remark from behind that, on such a hotday as this, it was a shame to disturb even a dog sleeping in the shade. I had the feeling of absolute absorption into one idea. I was ravaged bya thought. It was as if I had never before imagined, heard spoken of, orseen a woman. 

It was true. She was a revelation to my eye and my ear, as much as to myheart and mind. Indeed, I seemed never before to have seen a woman. Whomhad I seen? Veronica? We had been too poor, and my mother too proud, tokeep up a social intercourse with our neighbours; the village girls hadbeen devoid of even the most rustic kind of charm; the people were toopoor to be handsome. I had never been tempted to look at a woman's face;and the manner of my going from home is known. In Jamaica, sharing withan exaggerated loyalty the unpopularity of the Mac-donalds, I had leda lonely life; for I had no taste for their friends' society, and theothers, after a time, would have nothing to do with me. I had made asort of hermitage for myself out of a house in a distant plantation, andsometimes I would see no white face for whole weeks together. She wasthe first woman to me--a strange new being, a marvel as great as Eveherself to Adam's wondering awakening. 

It may be that a close intimacy stands in the way of love springing upbetween two young people, but in our case it was different. My passionseemed to spring from our understanding, because the understanding wasin the face of danger. We were like two people in a slowly sinkingship; the feeling of the abyss under our feet was our bond, not the realcomprehension of each other. Apart from that, she remained to me alwaysunattainable and romantic?--unique, with all the unexpressed promisesof love such as no world had ever known. And naturally, because forme, hitherto, the world had held no woman. She was an apparition ofdreams--the girl with the lizard, the girl with the dagger, a wonder tostretch out my hands to from afar; and yet I was permitted to whisperintimately to this my dream, to this vision. We had to put our headsclose together, talking of the enemy and of the shadow over thehouse; while under our eyes Carlos waited for death, made cruel by hisanxieties, and the old Don walked in the darkness of his accumulatedyears. 

As to me, what was I to her?

Carlos, in a weak voice, and holding her hand with a feeble andtenacious grasp, had told her repeatedly that the English cousin wasready to offer up his life to her happiness in this world. Many a timeshe would turn her glance upon me--not a grateful glance, but, as itwere, searching and pensive--a glance of penetrating candour, a younggirl's glance, that, by its very trustfulness, seems to look one throughand through. 

And then the sense of my unworthiness made me long for her love as asinner, in his weakness, longs for the saving grace. 

"Our English cousin is worthy of his great nation. He is very brave, andvery chivalrous to a poor girl, " she would say softly. 

One day, I remember, going out of Carlos' room, she had just paused onthe threshold for an almost imperceptible moment, the time to murmur, with feeling, "May Heaven reward you, Don Juan. " This sound, faint andenchanting, like a breath of sweet wind, staggered me. Castro, sittingoutside as usual, had scrambled to his feet and stood by, hat in hand, his head bent slightly with saturnine deference. She smiled at him. Ithink she felt kindly towards the tubby little bandit of a fellow. Afterall, there was something touching and pathetic in his mournful vigilat the door of our radiant Carlos. I could have embraced that figure ofgrotesque and truculent devotion. Had she not smiled upon him?

The rest of that memorable day I spent in a state of delightfuldistraction, as if I had been ravished into the seventh heaven, andfeared to be cast out again presently, as my unworthiness deserved. Whatif it were possible, after all?--this, what Carlos wished, what he hadsaid. The heavens shook; the constellations above the court of CasaRiego trembled at the thought. 

Carlos fought valiantly. There were days when his courage seemed todrive the grim presence out of the chamber, where Father Antonio withhis breviary, and the white coif of the nun, seemed the only remindersof illness and mortality. Sometimes his voice was very strong, and asort of hopefulness lighted his wasted features. Don Balthasar paidmany visits to his nephew in the course of each day. He sat apparentlyattentive, and nodding at the name of O'Brien. Then Carlos would talkagainst O'Brien from amongst his pillows as if inspired, till the oldman, striking the floor with his gold-headed cane, would exclaim, in aquavering voice, that he, alone, had made him, had raised him up fromthe dust, and could abase him to the dust again. He would instantlygo to Havana; orders would be given to Cesar for the journey this verymoment. He would then take a pinch of snuff with shaky energy, and leanback in the armchair. Carlos would whisper to me, "He will never leavethe Casa again, " and an air of solemn, brooding helplessness would fallupon the funereal magnificence of the room. Presently we would hear theold Don muttering dotingly to himself the name of Seraphina's mother, the young wife of his old days, so saintly, and snatched away from himin punishment of his early sinfulness. It was impossible that sheshould have been deceived in Don Patricio (O'Brien's Christian name wasPatrick). The intendente was a man of great intelligence, and full ofreverence for her memory. Don Balthasar admitted that he himself wasgrowing old; and, besides, there was that sorrow of his life. . . . Hehad been fortunate in his affliction to have a man of his worth byhis side. There might have been slight irregularities, faults of youth(O'Brien was five-and-forty if a day). The archbishop himself wasedified by the life of the upright judge--all Havana, all the island. The intendente's great zeal for the House might have led him into anindiscretion or two. So many years now, so many years. A noble himself. Had we heard of an Irish king? A king . . . King. .. He could notrecall the name at present. It might be well to hear what a man of suchabilities had to say for himself. 

Carlos and I looked at each other silently. "And his life hangs on athread, " whispered the dying man with something like despair. 

The crisis of all these years of plotting would come the moment theold Don closed his eyes. Meantime, why was it that O'Brien did not showhimself in Rio Medio? What was it that kept him in Havana?

"Already I do not count, my Juan, " Carlos would say. "And he preparesall things for the day of my uncle's death. "

The dark ways of that man were inscrutable. He must have known, ofcourse, that I was in Rio Medio. His presence was to be feared, and hisabsence itself was growing formidable. 

"But what do you think he will do? How do you think he will act?" Iwould ask, a little bewildered by my responsibility. 

Carlos could not tell precisely. It was not till some time after hisarrival from Europe that he became clearly aware of all the extent ofthat man's ambition. At the same time, he had realized all his power. That man aimed at nothing less than the whole Riego fortune, and, ofcourse, through Seraphina. I would feel a rage at this--a sort of ragethat made my head spin as if the ground had reeled. "He would have foundmeans of getting rid of me if he had not seen I was not long for thisworld, " Carlos would say. He had gained an unlimited ascendency over hisuncle's mind; he had made a solitude round this solemn dotage in whichended so much power, a great reputation, a stormy life of romance andpassion--so picturesque and excessive even in his old man's love, whose after-effect, as though the work of a Nemesis resenting so muchbrilliance, was casting a shadow upon the fate of his daughter. 

Small, fair, plump, concealing his Irish vivacity of intelligence underthe taciturn gravity of a Spanish lawyer, and backed by the influenceof two noble houses, O'Brien had attained to a remarkable reputation ofsagacity and unstained honesty. Hand in glove with the clergy, one ofthe judges of the Marine Court, procurator to the cathedral chapter, hehad known how to make himself so necessary to the highest in the landthat everybody but the very highest looked upon him with fear. Hisoccult influence was altogether out of proportion to his officialposition. His plans were carried out with an unswerving tenacityof purpose. Carlos believed him capable of anything but a vulgarpeculation. He had been reduced to observe his action quietly, hamperedby the weakness of ill-health. As an instance of O'Brien's methods, herelated to me the manner in which, faithful to his purpose of making asolitude about the Riegos, he had contrived to prevent overtures for analliance from the Salazar family. The young man Don Vincente himself wasimpossible, an evil liver, Carlos said, of dissolute habits. Still, tohave even that shadow of a rival out of the way, O'Brien took advantageof a sanguinary affray between that man and one of his boon companionsabout some famous guitar-player girl. The encounter having taken placeunder the wall of a convent, O'Brien had contrived to keep Don Vincentein prison ever since--not on a charge of murder (which for a young manof that quality would have been a comparatively venial offence), butof sacrilege. The Salazars were a powerful family, but he was strongenough to risk their enmity. "Imagine that, Juan!" Carlos would exclaim, closing his eyes. What had caused him the greatest uneasiness was theknowledge that Don Balthasar had been induced lately to write someletter to the archbishop in Havana. Carlos was afraid it was simplyan expression of affection and unbounded trust in his intendente, practically dictated to the old man by O'Brien. "Do you not see, Juan, how such a letter would strengthen his case, should he ask the guardiansfor Seraphina's hand?" And perhaps he was appointed one of theguardians himself. It was impossible to know what, were the testamentarydispositions; Father Antonio, who had learned many things in theconfessional, could tell us nothing, but, when the matter was mentioned, only rolled his eyes up to heaven in an alarming manner. It wasstartling to think of all the unholy forces awakened by the temptationof Seraphina's helplessness and her immense fortune. Incorruptiblehimself, that man knew how to corrupt others. There might have beencombined in one dark intrigue the covetousness of religious orders, theavarice of high officials--God knows what conspiracy--to help O'Brien'sambition, his passions. He could make himself necessary; he could bribe;he could frighten; he was able to make use of the highest in the landand of the lowest, from the present Captain-General to the _Lugarenos_. In Havana he had for him the reigning powers; in Rio Medio the lowestoutcasts of the island. 

This last was the most dangerous aspect of his power for us, andalso his weakest point. This was the touch of something fanciful andimaginative; a certain grim childishness in the idea of making war onthe British Empire; a certain disregard of risk; a bizarre illusionof his hate for the abhorred Saxon. That he risked his position by hisconnection with such a nest of scoundrels, there could be no doubt. Itwas he who had given them such organization as they had, and he stoodbetween them and the law. But whatever might have been suspected of him, he was cautious enough not to go too far. He never appeared personally;his agents directed the action--men who came from Havana rathermysteriously. They were of all sorts; some of them were friars. But therabble, who knew him really only as the intendente of the great man, stood in the greatest dread of him. Who was it procured the release ofsome of them who had got into trouble in Havana? The intendente. Who wasit who caused six of their comrades, who had been taken up on a matterof street-brawling in the capital, to be delivered to the Englishas pirates? Again, the intendente, the terrible man, the Juez, whoapparently had the power to pardon and condemn. 

In this way he was most dangerous to us in Rio Medio. He had thatrabble at his beck and call. He could produce a rising of cut-throats bylifting his little finger. He was not very likely to do that, however. He was intriguing in Havana--but how could we unmask him there? "He hascut us off from the world, " Carlos would say. "It is so, my Juan, that, if I tried to write, no letter of mine would reach its destination; itwould fall into his hands. And if I did manage to make my voice heard, he would appeal to my uncle himself in his defence. "

Besides, to whom could he write?--who would believe him? O'Brien woulddeny everything, and go on his way. He had been accepted too long, hadserved too many people and known so many secrets. It was terrible. And if I went myself to Havana, no one would believe me. But I shoulddisappear; they would never see me again. It was impossible tounmask that man unless by a long and careful action. And for thishe--Carlos--had no time; and I--I had no standing, no relations, noskill even. .. . 

"But what is my line of conduct, Carlos?" I insisted; while FatherAntonio, from whom Carlos had, of course, no secrets, stood by the bed, his round, jolly face almost comical in its expression of compassionateconcern. 

Carlos passed his thin, wasted hand over a white brow pearled with thesweat of real anguish. 

Carlos thought that while Don Balthasar lived, O'Brien would do nothingto compromise his influence over him. Neither could I take any action;I must wait and watch. O'Brien would, no doubt, try to remove me; butas long as I kept within the Casa, he thought I should be safe. Herecommended me to try to please his cousin, and even found strengthto smile at my transports. Don Balthasar liked me for the sake of hissister, who had been so happy in England. I was his kinsman and hisguest. From first to last, England, the idea of my country, of my home, played a great part in my life then; it seemed to rest upon all ourthoughts. To me it was but my boyhood, the farm at the foot of thedowns--Rooksby's Manor--all within a small nook between the quarry bythe side of the Canterbury road and the shingle beach, whose regularcrashing under the feet of a smuggling band was the last sound of mycountry I had heard. For Carlos it was the concrete image of stability, with the romantic feeling of its peace and of Veronica's beauty; theunchangeable land where he had loved. To O'Brien's hate it loomed upimmense and odious, like the form of a colossal enemy. Father Antonio, in the naïve benevolence of his heart, prayed each night for itsconversion, as if it were a loved sinner. He believed this event tobe not very far off accomplishment, and told me once, with an amazingsimplicity of certitude, that "there will be a great joy amongst thehost of heaven on that day. " It is marvellous how that distant land, from which I had escaped as if from a prison to go in search of romance, appeared romantic and perfect in these days--all things to all men! WithSeraphina I talked of it and its denizens as of a fabulous country. I wonder what idea she had formed of my father, of my mother, mysister--"Señora Dona Veronica Rooksby, " she called her--of thelandscape, of the life, of the sky. Her eyes turned to me seriously. Once, stooping, she plucked an orange marigold for her hair; and at lastwe came to talk of our farm as the only perfect refuge for her. 

CHAPTER THREE

One evening Carlos, after a silence of distress, had said, "There'snothing else for it. When the crisis comes, you must carry her off fromthis unhappiness and misery that hangs over her head. You must take herout of Cuba; there is no safety for her here. "

This took my breath away. "But where are we to go, Carlos?" I asked, bending over him. 

"To--to England, " he whispered. 

He was utterly worn out that evening by all the perplexities of hisdeath-bed. He made a great effort and murmured a few words more--aboutthe Spanish ambassador in London being a near relation of the Riegos;then he gave it up and lay still under my amazed eyes. The nun wasapproaching, alarmed, from the shadows. Father Antonio, gazing sadlyupon his beloved penitent, signed me to withdraw. 

Castro had not gone away yet; he greeted me in low tones outside the bigdoor. 

"Señor, " he went on, "I make my report usually to his Señoria DonCarlos; only I have not been admitted to-day into his rooms at all. Butwhat I have to say is for your ear, also. There has arrived a friar froma Havana convent amongst the _Lugarenos_ of the bay. I have known himcome like this before. "

I remembered that in the morning, while dressing, I had glanced outof the narrow outside window of my room, and had seen a brown, mountedfigure passing on the sands. Its sandalled feet dangled against theflanks of a powerful mule. 

Castro shook his head. "Malediction on his green eyes! He baptizes theoffspring of this vermin sometimes, and sits for hours in the shadebefore the door of Domingo's posada telling his beads as piously as adevil that had turned monk for the greater undoing of us Christians. These women crowd there to kiss his oily paw. What else they------_Basta!_ Only I wanted to tell you, Señor, that this evening (I justcome from taking a _pasear_ that way) there is much talk in the villagesof an evil-intentioned heretic that has introduced himself into this ourtown; of an _Inglez_ hungry for men to hang--of you, in short. "

The moon, far advanced in its first quarter, threw an ashen, bluishlight upon one-half of the courtyard; and the straight shadow upon theother seemed to lie at the foot of the columns, black as a broad strokeof Indian ink. 

"And what do you think of it, Castro?" I asked. 

"I think that Domingo has his orders. Manuel has made a song already. And do you know its burden, Señor? Killing is its burden. I would thedevil had all these _Improvisadores_. They gape round him while hetwangs and screeches, the wind-bag! And he knows what words to sing tothem, too. He has talent. _Maladetta!_"

"Well, and what do you advise?"

"I advise the senor to keep, now, within the Casa. No songs can givethat vermin the audacity to seek the senor here. The gate remainsbarred; the firearms are always loaded; and Cesar is a sagaciousAfrican. But methinks this moon would fall out of the heaven firstbefore they would dare. .. . Keep to the Casa, I say--I, Tomas Castro. "

He flung the corner of his cloak over his left shoulder, and preceded meto the door of my room; then, after a "God guard you, Señor, " continuedalong the colonnade. Before I had shut my door it occurred to me thathe was going on towards the part of the gallery on which Seraphina'sapartments opened. Why? What could he want there?

I am not so much ashamed of my sudden suspicion of him--one did not knowwhom to trust--but I am a little ashamed to confess that, kicking off myshoes, I crept out instantly to spy upon him. 

This part of the house was dark in the inky flood of shadow; and beforeI had come to a recess in the wall, I heard the discreet scratching of afinger-nail on a door. A streak of light darted and disappeared, like asignal for the murmurs of two voices. 

I recognized the woman's at once. It belonged to one of Seraphina'smaids, a pretty little quadroon--a favourite of hers--called La Chica. She had slipped out, and her twitter-like whispering reached me in thestill solemnity of the quadrangle. She addressed Castro as "His Worship"at every second word, for the saturnine little man, in his unbrushedcloak and battered hat, was immensely respected by the household. Had henot been sent to Europe to fetch Don Carlos? He was in the confidence ofthe masters--their humble friend. The little tire-woman twittered of hermistress. The senorita had been most anxious all day--ever since she hadheard the friar had come. Castro muttered:

"Tell the Excellency that her orders have been obeyed. The English_caballero_ has been warned. I have been sleepless in my watchfulnessover the guest of the house, as the senorita has desired--for the honourof the Riegos. Let her set her mind at ease. "

The girl then whispered to him with great animation. Did not his worshipthink that it was the senorita's heart which was not at ease?

Then the quadrangle became dumb in its immobility, half sheen, halfnight, with its arcades, the soothing plash of water, with its expiringlights, in a suggestion of Castilian severity, enveloped by the exoticsoftness of the air. 

"What folly!" uttered Castro's sombre voice. "You women do not mind howmany corpses come into your imaginings of love. The mere whisper of sucha thing------"

She murmured swiftly. He interrupted her. 

"Thine eyes, La Chica--thine eyes see only the silliness of thine ownheart. Think of thine own lovers, _nina. Por Dios!_"--he changed to atone of severe appreciation--"thy foolish face looks well by moonlight. "

I believe he was chucking her gravely under the chin. I heard hersoft, gratified cooing in answer to the compliment; the streak of lightflashed on the polished shaft of a pillar; and Castro went on, goinground to the staircase, evidently so as not to pass again before my opendoor. 

I forgot to shut it. I did not stop until I was in the middle ofmy room; and then I stood still for a long time in a self-forgetfulecstasy, while the many wax candles of the high candelabrum burnedwithout a flicker in a rich cluster of flames, as if lighted to throwthe splendour of a celebration upon the pageant of my thoughts. 

For the honour of the Riegos!

I came to myself. Well, it was sweet to be the object of her anxiety andcare, even on these terms--on any terms. And I felt a sort of profound, inexpressible, grateful emotion, as though no one, never, on no day, onno occasion, had taken thought of me before. 

I should not be able to sleep. I went to the window, and leaned myforehead on the iron bar. There was no glass; the heavy shutter wasthrown open; and, under the faint crescent of the moon I saw a smallpart of the beach, very white, the long streak of light lying mistilyon the bay, and two black shapes, cloaked, moving and stopping all of apiece like pillars, their immensely long shadows running away from theirfeet, with the points of the hats touching the wall of the Casa Riego. Another, a shorter, thicker shape, appeared, walking with dignity. Itwas Castro. The other two had a movement of recoil, then took off theirhats. 

"_Buenas noches, caballeros_, " his voice said, with grim politeness. "You are out late. "

"So is your worship. _Vaya, Señor, con Dios_. We are taking the air. "

They walked away, while Castro remained looking after them. But I, from my elevation, noticed that they had suddenly crouched behind somescrubby bushes growing on the edge of the sand. Then Castro, too, passedout of my sight in the opposite direction, muttering angrily. 

I forgot them all. Everything on earth was still, and I seemed to belooking through a casement out of an enchanted castle standing in thedreamland of romance. I breathed out the name of Seraphina into themoonlight in an increasing transport. "Seraphina! Seraphina! Seraphina!"The repeated beauty of the sound intoxicated me. "Seraphina!" I criedaloud, and stopped, astounded at myself. And the moonlight of romanceseemed to whisper spitefully from below:

"Death to the traitor! Vengeance for our brothers dead on the Englishgallows!" "Come away, Manuel. "

"No. I am an artist. It is necessary for my soul. .. "

"Be quiet!"

Their hissing ascended along the wall from under the window. The two_Lugarenos_ had stolen in unnoticed by me. There was a stifled metallicringing, as of a guitar carried under a cloak. 

"Vengeance on the heretic _Inglez!_"

"Come away! They may suddenly open the gate and fall upon us withsticks. "

"My gentle spirit is roused to the accomplishment of great things. I feel in me a valiance, an inspiration. I am no vulgar seller of_aguardiente_, like Domingo. I was born to be the _capataz_ of the_Lugarenos_. "

"We shall be set upon and beaten, oh, thou Manuel. Come away!"

There were no footsteps, only a noiseless flitting of two shadows, and adistant voice crying:

"Woe, woe, woe to the traitor!"

I had not needed Castro's warning to understand the meaning of this. O'Brien was setting his power to work, only this Manuel's restlessvanity had taught me exactly how the thing was to be done. The friarhad been exciting the minds of this rabble against me; awakening theirsuspicions, their hatred, their fears. 

I remained at the casement, lost in rather sombre reflections. I was nowa prisoner within the walls of the Casa. After all, it mattered little. I did not want to go away unless I could carry off Seraphina with me. What a dream! What an impossible dream! Alone, without friends, with noplace to go to, without means of going; without, by Heaven, the right ofeven as much as speaking of it to her. Carlos--Carlos dreamed--adream of his dying hours. England was so far, the enemy so near;and--Providence itself seemed to have forgotten me. 

A sound of panting made me turn my head. Father Antonio was mopping hisbrow in the doorway. Though a heavy man, he was noiseless of foot. Awheezing would be heard along the dark galleries some time before hisblack bulk approached you with a gliding motion. He had the outwardplacidity of corpulent people, a natural artlessness of demeanourwhich was amusing and attractive, and there was something shrewd in hissimplicity. Indeed, he must have displayed much tact and shrewdness tohave defeated all O'Brien's efforts to oust him from his position ofconfessor to the household. What had helped him to hold his ground wasthat, as he said to me once, "I, too, my son, am a legacy of that trulypious and noble lady, the wife of Don Riego. I was made her spiritualdirector soon after her marriage, and I may say that she showed morediscretion in the choice of her confessor than in that of her man ofaffairs. But what would you have? The best of us, except for Divinegrace, is liable to err; and, poor woman, let us hope that, in herblessed state, she is spared the knowledge of the iniquities going onhere below in the Casa. "

He used to talk to me in that strain, coming in almost every eveningon his way from the sick room. He, too, had his own perplexities, whichmade him wipe his forehead repeatedly; afterwards he used to spread hisred bandanna handkerchief over his knees. 

He sympathized with Carlos, his beloved penitent, with Seraphina, hisdear daughter, whom he had baptized and instructed in the mysteries of"our holy religion, " and he allowed himself often to drop the remarkthat his "illustrious spiritual son, " Don Balthasar, after a stormylife of which men knew only too much, had attained to a state of trulychildlike and God-fearing innocence--a sign, no doubt, of Heaven'sforgiveness for those excesses. He ended, always, by sighing heartily, to sit with his gaze on the floor. 

That night he came in silently, and after shutting the door with care, took his habitual seat, a broad wooden armchair. 

"How did your reverence leave Don Carlos?" I asked. 

"Very low, " he said. "The disease is making terrible ravages, and myministrations------I ought to be used to the sight of human misery, but------" He raised his hands; a genuine emotion overpowered him; then, uncovering his face to stare at me, "He is lost, Don Juan, " heexclaimed. 

"Indeed, I fear we are about to lose him, your reverence, " I said, surprised at this display. It seemed inconceivable that he should havebeen in doubt up to this very moment. 

He rolled his eyes painfully. I was forgetting the infinite might ofGod. Still, nothing short of a miracle------But what had we done todeserve miracles?

"Where is the ancient piety of our forefathers which made Spain sogreat?" he apostrophized the empty air, a little wildly, as if indistraction. "No, Don Juan; even I, a true servant of our faith, amconscious of not having had enough grace for my humble ministrations topoor sailors and soldiers--men naturally inclined to sin, but simple. And now--there are two great nobles, the fortune of a great house. .. . "

I looked at him and wondered, for he was, in a manner, wringing hishands, as if in immense distress. 

"We are all thinking of that poor child--_mas que_, Don Juan, imagineall that wealth devoted to the iniquitous purposes of that man. Herhappiness sacrificed. "

"I cannot imagine this--I will not, " I interrupted, so violently that hehushed me with both hands uplifted. 

"To these wild enterprises against your own country, " he went onvehemently, disregarding my exasperated and contemptuous laugh. "And sheherself, the _niña_ I have baptized her; I have instructed her; and amore noble disposition, more naturally inclined to the virtues andproprieties of her sex------But, Don Juan, she has pride, whichdoubtless is a gift of God, too, but it is made a snare of by Satan, the roaring lion, the thief of souls. And what if her femininerashness--women are rash, my son, " he interjected with unction--"and herpride were to lead her into--I am horrified at the thought--into an actof mortal sin for which there is no repentance?"

"Enough!" I shouted at him. 

"No repentance, " he repeated, rising to his feet excitedly, and I stoodbefore him, my arms down my sides, with my fists clenched. 

Why did the stupid priest come to talk like this to me, as if I had notenough of my own unbearable thoughts?

He sat down and began to flourish his handkerchief. There was depictedon his broad face--depicted simply and even touchingly--the inwardconflict of his benevolence and of his doubts. 

"I observe your emotion, my son, " he said. I must have been as paleas death. And, after a pause, he meditated aloud, "And, after all, youEnglish are a reverent nation. You, a scion of the nobility, have beenbrought up in deplorable rebellion against the authority of God on thisearth; but you are not a scoffer--not a scoffer. I, a humblepriest------But, after all, the Holy Father himself, in his inspiredwisdom------I have prayed to be enlightened. .. . "

He spread the square of his damp handkerchief on his knees, and bowedhis head. I had regained command over myself, but I did not understandin the least. I had passed from my exasperation into a careworn fatigueof mind that was like utter darkness. 

"After all, " he said, looking up naively, "the business of us priests isto save souls. It is a solemn time when death approaches. The affairs ofthis world should be cast aside. And yet God surely does not mean us toabandon the living to the mercy of the wicked. "

A sadness came upon his face, his eyes; all the world seemed asleep. Hemade an effort. "My son, " he said with decision, "I call you to followme to the bedside of Don Carlos at this very hour of night. I, a humblepriest, the unworthy instrument of God's grace, call upon you to bringhim a peace which my ministrations cannot give. His time is near. "

I rose up, startled by his solemnity, by the hint of hidden significancein these words. 

"Is he dying now?" I cried. 

"He ought to detach his thoughts from this earth; and if there is noother way------"

"What way? What am I expected to do?"

"My son, I had observed your emotion. We, the appointed confidantsof men's frailties, are quick to discern the signs of their innermostfeelings. Let me tell you that my cherished daughter in God, SeñoritaDona Seraphina Riego, is with Don Carlos, the virtual head of thefamily, since his Excellency Don Balthasar is in a state of, I may say, infantile innocence. "

"What do you mean, father?" I faltered. 

"She is waiting for you with him, " he pronounced, looking up. And as hissolemnity seemed to have deprived me of my power to move, he added, withhis ordinary simplicity, "Why, my son, she is, I may say, not whollyindifferent to your person. "

I could not have dropped more suddenly into the chair had the good_padre_ discharged a pistol into my breast. He went away; and when Ileapt up, I saw a young man in black velvet and white ruffles staringat me out of the large mirror set frameless into the wall, like theapparition of a Spanish ghost with my own English face. 

When I ran out, the moon had sunk below the ridge of the roof; the wholequadrangle of the Casa had turned black under the stars, with only ayellow glimmer of light falling into the well of the court from the lampunder the vaulted gateway. The form of the priest had gone out of sight, and a far-away knocking, mingling with my footfalls, seemed to be partof the tumult within my heart. Below, a voice at the gate challenged, "Who goes there?" I ran on. Two tiny flames burned before Carlos' doorat the end of the long vista, and two of Seraphina's maids shrank awayfrom the great mahogany panels at my approach. The candlesticks trembledaskew in their hands; the wax guttered down, and the taller of the twogirls, with an uncovered long neck, gazed at me out of big sleepyeyes in a sort of dumb wonder. The teeth of the plump little one--LaChica--rattled violently like castanets. She moved aside with ahysterical little laugh, and glanced upwards at me. 

I stopped, as if I had intruded; of all the persons in the sick-room, not one turned a head. The stillness of the lights, of things, of theair, seemed to have passed into Seraphina's face. She stood with a stiffcarriage under the heavy hangings of the bed, looking very Spanish andromantic in her short black skirt, a black lace shawl enveloping herhead, her shoulders, her arms, as low as the waist. Her bare feet, thrust into high-heeled slippers, lent to her presence an air of flight, as if she had run into that room in distress or fear. Carlos, sitting upamongst the snowy pillows of eider-down at his back, was not speakingto her. He had done; and the flush on his cheek, the eager lustre ofhis eyes, gave him an appearance of animation, almost of joy, a sort ofconsuming, flame-like brilliance. They were waiting for me. With all hiseagerness and air of life, all he could do was to lift his white hand aninch or two off the silk coverlet that spread over his limbs smoothly, like a vast crimson pall. There was something joyous and cruel in theshimmer of this piece of colour, contrasted with the dead white of thelinen, the duskiness of the wasted face, the dark head with no visiblebody, symbolically motionless. The confused shadows and the tarnishedsplendour of emblazoned draperies, looped up high under the ceiling, fell in heavy and unstirring folds right down to the polished floor, that reflected the lights like a sheet of water, or rather like ice. 

I felt it slippery under my feet. I, alone, had to move, in thisgreat chamber, with its festive patches of colour amongst the funerealshadows, with the expectant, still figures of priest and nun, servantsof passionless eternity, as if immobilized and made mute by hostilewonder before the perishable triumph of life and love. And only theimpatient tapping of the sick man's hand on the stiff silk of thecoverlet was heard. 

It called to me. Seraphina's unstirring head was lighted strongly by atwo-branched sconce on the wall; and when I stood by her side, not eventhe shadow of the eyelashes on her cheek trembled. Carlos' lips moved;his voice was almost extinct; but for all his emaciation, the profundityof his eyes, the sunken cheeks, the hollow temples, he remainedattractive, with the charm of his gallant and romantic temper worn awayto an almost unearthly fineness. 

He was going to have his desire because, on the threshold of hisspiritual inheritance, he refused, or was unable, to turn his gaze awayfrom this world. Father Antonio's business was to save this soul; andwith a sort of simple and sacerdotal shrewdness, in which there was muchlove for his most noble penitent, he would try to appease its trouble bya romantic satisfaction. His voice, very grave and profound, addressedme:

"Approach, my son--nearer. We trust the natural feelings of pity whichare implanted in every human breast, the nobility of your extraction, the honour of your _hidalguidad_, and that inextinguishable couragewhich, as by the unwearied mercy of God, distinguishes the sons ofyour fortunate and unhappy nation. " His bass voice, deepened in solemnutterance, vibrated huskily. There was a rustic dignity in his uncouthform, in his broad face, in the gesture of the raised hand. "Youshall promise to respect the dictates of our conscience, guided by theauthority of our faith; to defer to our scruples, and to the procedureof our Church in matters which we believe touch the welfare of oursouls. .. . You promise?"

He waited. Carlos' eyes burned darkly on my face. What were they askingof me? This was nothing. Of course I would respect her scruples--herscruples--if my heart should break. I felt her living intensely by myside; she could be brought no nearer to me by anything they could do, orI could promise. She had already all the devotion of my love and youth, the unreasoning and potent devotion, without a thought or hope ofreward. I was almost ashamed to pronounce the two words they expected. "I promise. "

And suddenly the meaning pervading this scene, something that was in mymind already, and that I had hardly dared to look at till now, becameclear to me in its awful futility against the dangers, in all its remoteconsequences. It was a betrothal. The priest--Carlos, too--must haveknown that it had no binding power. To Carlos it was symbolic of hiswishes. Father Antonio was thinking of the papal dispensation. I was aheretic. What if it were refused? But what was that risk to me, who hadnever dared to hope? Moreover, they had brought her there, had persuadedher; she had been influenced by her fears, impressed by Carlos. Whatcould she care for me? And I repeated:

"I promise. I promise, even at the cost of suffering and unhappiness, never to demand anything from her against her conscience. "

Carlos' voice sounded weak. "I answer for him, good father. " Thenhe seemed to wander in a whisper, which we two caught faintly, "Heresembles his sister, O Divine------"

And on this ghostly sigh, on this breath, with the feeble click of beadsin the nun's hands, a silence fell upon the room, vast as the stillnessof a world of unknown faiths, loves, beliefs, of silent illusions, ofunexpressed passions and secret motives that live in our unfathomablehearts. 

Seraphina had given me a quick glance--the first glance--which I hadrather felt than seen. Carlos made an effort, and, raising himself, puther hand in mine. 

Father Antonio, trying to pronounce a short allocution, broke down, naïve in his emotion, as he had been in his dignity. I could at firstcatch only the words, "Beloved child--Holy Father--poor priest. .. . "He had taken this upon himself; and he would attest the purity of ourintentions, the necessity of the case, the assent of the head of thefamily, my excellent disposition. All the Englishmen had excellentdispositions. He would, personally, go to the foot of the Holy See--onhis knees, if necessary. Meantime, a document--he should at once preparea justificative document. The archbishop, it is true, did not like himon account of the calumnies of that man O'Brien. But there was, beyondthe seas, the supreme authority of the Church, unerring and inaccessibleto calumnies. 

All that time Seraphina's hand was lying passive in my palm--warm, soft, living; all the life, all the world, all the happiness, the onlydesire--and I dared not close my grasp, afraid of the vanity of myhopes, shrinking from the intense felicity in the audacious act. Father Antonio--I must say the word--blubbered. He was now only atender-hearted, simple old man, nothing more. 

"Before God now, Don Juan. .. . I am only a poor priest, but investedwith a sacred office, an enormous power. Tremble, Señor, it is a younggirl. .. I have loved her like my own; for, indeed, I have in baptismgiven her the spiritual life. You owe her protection; it is for that, before God, Señor------"

It was as if Carlos had swooned; his eyes were closed, his face likea carving. But gradually the suggestion of a tender and ironic smileappeared on his lips. With a slow effort he raised his arm and hiseyelids, in an appeal of all his weariness for my ear. I made a movementto stoop over him, and the floor, the great bed, the whole room, seemedto heave and sway. I felt a slight, a fleeting pressure of Seraphina'shand before it slipped out of mine; I thought, in the beating rush ofblood to my temples, that I was going mad. 

He had thrown his arm over my neck; there was the calming austerity ofdeath on his lips, that just touched my ear and departed, together withthe far-away sound of the words, losing themselves in the remoteness ofanother world:

"Like an Englishman, Juan. "

"On my honour, Carlos. "

His arm, releasing my neck, fell stretched out on the coverlet. FatherAntonio had mastered his emotion; with the trail of undried tears onhis face, he had become a priest again, exalted above the reach of hisearthly sorrow by the august concern of his sacerdocy. 

"Don Carlos, my son, is your mind at ease, now?"

Carlos closed his eyes slowly. 

"Then turn all your thoughts to heaven. " Father Antonio's bass voicerose, aloud, with an extraordinary authority. "You have done with theearth. "

The arm of the nun touched the cords of the curtains» and the massivefolds shook and fell expanded, hiding from us the priest and thepenitent. 

CHAPTER FOUR

Seraphina and I moved towards the door sadly, as if under the oppressionof a memory, as people go back from the side of a grave to the cares oflife. No exultation possessed me. Nothing had happened. It had been asick man's whim. 

"Señorita, " I said low, with my hand on the wrought bronze of thedoor-handle, "Don Carlos might have died in full trust of my devotion toyou--without this. "

"I know it, " she answered, hanging her head. 

"It was his wish, " I said. "And I deferred. "

"It was his wish, " she repeated. 

"Remember he had asked you for no promise. "

"Yes, it is you only he has asked. You have remembered it very well, Señor. And you--you ask for nothing. "

"No, " I said; "neither from your heart nor from your conscience--norfrom your gratitude. Gratitude from you! As if it were not I thatowe you gratitude for having condescended to stand with your hand inmine--if only for a moment--if only to bring peace to a dying man; forgiving me the felicity, the illusion of this wonderful instant, that, all my life, I shall remember as those who are suddenly stricken blindremember the great glory of the sun. I shall live with it, I shallcherish it in my heart to my dying day; and I promise never to mentionit to you again. "

Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes remained downcast, her headdrooped as if in extreme attention. 

"I asked for no promise, " she murmured coldly. 

My heart was heavy. "Thank you for that proof of your confidence, " Isaid. "I am yours without any promises. Wholly yours. But what can Ioffer? What help? What refuge? What protection? What can I do? I canonly die for you. Ah, but this was cruel of Carlos, when he knew that Ihad nothing else but my poor life to give. "

"I accept that, " she said unexpectedly. "Señorita, it is generous of youto accept so worthless a gift--a life I value not at all save for oneunique memory which I owe to you. "

I knew she was looking at me while I swung open the door with a low bow. I did not trust myself to look at her. An unreasonable disenchantment, like the awakening from a happy dream, oppressed me. I felt an almostangry desire to seize her in my arms--to go back to my dream. If I hadlooked at her then, I believed I could not have controlled myself. 

She passed out; and when I looked up there was O'Brien booted andspurred, but otherwise in his lawyer's black, inclining his dapperfigure profoundly before her in the dim gallery. She had stopped short. The two maids, huddled together behind her, stared with terrified eyes. The flames of their candles vacillated very much. 

I closed the door quietly. Carlos was done with the earth. This hadbecome my affair; and the necessity of coming to an immediate decisionalmost deprived me of my power of thinking. The necessity had arisen tooswiftly; the arrival of that man acted like the sudden apparition ofa phantom. It had been expected, however; only, from the moment wehad turned away from Carlos' bedside, we had thought of nothing butourselves; we had dwelt alone in our emotions, as if there had been noinhabitant of flesh and blood on the earth but we two. Our danger hadbeen present, no doubt, in our minds, because we drew it in with everybreath. It was the indispensable condition of our contact, of our words, of our thoughts; it was the atmosphere of our feelings; a somethingas all-pervading and impalpable as the air we drew into our lungs. Andsuddenly this danger, this breath of our life, had taken this materialform. It was material and expected, and yet it had the effect of an evilspectre, inasmuch as one did not know where and how it was vulnerable, what precisely it would do, how one should defend one's self. 

His bow was courtly; his gravity was all in his bearing, which was quietand confident: the manner of a capable man, the sort of man the greatof this earth find invaluable and are inclined to trust. His full-shavenface had a good-natured, almost a good-humored expression, which I havecome to think must have depended on the cast of his features, on thesetting of his eyes--on some peculiarity not under his control, or elsehe could not have preserved it so well. On certain occasions, as thisone, for instance, it affected me as a refinement of cynicism; and, generally, it was startling, like the assumption of a mask inappropriateto the action and the speeches of the part. 

He had journeyed in his customary manner overland from Havana, arrivingunexpectedly at night, as he had often done before; only this time hehad found the little door, cut out in one of the sides of the big gate, bolted fast. It was his knocking I had heard, as I hurried after thepriest. The major-domo, who had been called up to let him in, told meafterwards that the senor intendente had put no question whatever to himas to this, and had gone on, as usual, towards his own room. Nobody knewwhat was going on in Carlos' chamber, but, of course, he came upon thetwo girls at the door. He said nothing to them either, only just stoppedthere and waited, leaning with one elbow on the balustrade with hisgood-tempered, gray eyes fixed on the door. He had fully expected to seeSeraphina come out presently, but I think he did not count on seeingme as well. When he straightened himself up after the bow, we two werestanding side by side. 

I had stepped quickly towards her, asking myself what he would do. Hedid not seem to be armed; neither had I any weapon about me. Would hefly at my throat? I was the bigger, and the younger man. I wished hewould. But he found a way of making me feel all his other advantages. He did not recognize my existence. He appeared not to see me at all. Heseemed not to be aware of Seraphina's startled immobility, of my firmattitude; but turning his good-humoured face towards the two girls, whoappeared ready to sink through the floor before his gaze, he shook hisfore-finger at them slightly. 

This was all. He was not menacing; he was almost playful; and thisgesture, marvellous in its economy of effort, disclosed all the mightand insolence of his power. It had the unerring efficacy of an act ofinstinct. It was instinct. He could not know how he dismayed us bythat shake of the finger. The tall girl dropped her candlestick witha clatter, and fled along the gallery like a shadow. La Chica coweredunder the wall. The light of her candle just touched dimly the form ofa negro boy, waiting passively in the background with O'Brien'ssaddle-bags over his shoulder. 

"You see, " said Seraphina to me, in a swift, desolate murmur. "They areall like this--all, all. "

Without a change of countenance, without emphasis, he said to her inFrench:

"_Votre père dort sans doute, Señorita_. "

And she intrepidly replied, "You know very well, Señor Intendente, thatnothing can make him open his eyes. "

"So it seems, " he muttered between his teeth, stooping to pick up thedropped candlestick. It was lying at my feet. I could have taken himat a disadvantage, then; I could have felled him with one blow, thrownmyself upon his back. Thus may an athletic prisoner set upon a jailercoming into his cell, if there were not the prison, the locks, the bars, the heavy gates! the walls, all the apparatus of captivity, and thesuperior weight of the idea chaining down the will, if not the courage. 

It might have been his knowledge of this, or his absolute disdain ofme. The unconcerned manner in which he busied himself--his head withinstriking distance of my fist--in lighting the extinguished candle fromthe trembling Chica's humiliated me beyond expression. He had somedifficulty with that, till he said to her just audibly, "Calm thyself, niña, " and she became rigid in her appearance of excessive terror. 

He turned then towards Seraphina, candlestick in hand, courteouslysaying in Spanish:

"May I be allowed to help light you to your door, since that sillyJuanita--I think it was Juanita--has taken leave of her senses? She isnot fit to remain in your service--any more than this one here. "

With a gasp of desolation, La Chica began to sob limply against thewall. I made one step forward; and, holding the candle well up, asthough for the purpose of examining my face carefully, he never lookedmy way, while he and Seraphina were exchanging a few phrases in Frenchwhich I did not understand well enough to fellow. 

He was politely interrogatory, it seemed to me. The natural, good-humoured expression never left his face, as though he had a fund ofinexhaustible patience for dealing with the unaccountable trifles of awoman's conduct. Seraphina's shawl had slipped off her head. La Chicasidled towards her, sobbing a deep sob now and then, without any sign oftears; and with their scattered hair, their bare arms, the disorder oftheir attire, they looked like two women discovered in a secret flightfor life. Only the mistress stood her ground firmly; her voice wasdecided; there was resolution in the way one little white hand clutchedthe black lace on her bosom. Only once she seemed to hesitate in herreplies. Then, after a pause he gave her for reflection, he appearedto repeat his question. She glanced at me apprehensively, as I thought, before she confirmed the previous answer by a slow inclination of herhead. 

Had he allowed himself to make a provoking movement, a dubious gestureof any sort, I would have flung myself upon him at once; but thenonchalant manner in which he looked away, while he extended to me hishand with the candlestick, amazed me. I simply took it from him. Hestepped back, with a ceremonious bow for Seraphina. La Chica ran upclose to her elbow. I heard her voice saying sadly, "You need fearnothing for yourself, child"; and they moved away slowly. I remainedfacing O'Brien, with a vague notion of protecting their retreat. 

This time it was I who was holding the light before his face. It wascalm and colourless; his eyes were fixed on the ground reflectively, with the appearance of profound and quiet absorption. But suddenly Iperceived the convulsive clutch of his hand on the skirt of his coat. Itwas as if accidentally I had looked inside the man--upon the strength ofhis illusions, on his desire, on his passion. Now he will fly at me, I thought, with a tremendously convincing certitude. Now------All mymuscles, stiffening, answered the appeal of that thought of battle. 

He said, "Won't you give me that light?"

And I understood he demanded a surrender. 

"I would see you die first where you stand, " was my answer. 

This object in my hand had become endowed with moralmeaning--significant, like a symbol--only to be torn from me with mylife. 

He lifted his head; the light twinkled in his eyes. "Oh, _I_ won't die, "he said, with that bizarre suggestion of humour in his face, in hissubdued voice. "But it is a small thing; and you are young; it may beyet worth your while to try and please me--this time. "

Before I could answer, Seraphina, from some little distance, called outhurriedly:

"Don Juan, your arm. "

Her voice, sounding a little unsteady, made me forget O'Brien, and, turning my back on him, I ran up to her. She needed my support; andbefore us La Chica tottered and stumbled along with the lights, moaning:

"_Madré de Dios!_ What will become of us now! Oh, what will become of usnow!"

"You know what he had asked me to let him do, " Seraphina talked rapidly. "I made answer, 'No; give the light to my cousin. ' Then he said, 'Do youreally wish it, Señorita? I am the older friend. ' I repeated, 'Give thelight to my cousin, Señor. ' He, then, cruelly, 'For the young man's ownsake, reflect, Señorita. ' And he waited before he asked me again, 'ShallI surrender it to him?' I felt death upon my heart, and all my fear foryou--there. " She touched her beautiful throat with a swift movement ofa hand that disappeared at once under the lace. "And because I couldnot speak, I------Don Juan, you have just offered me your life--I------_Misericordia!_ What else was possible? I made with my head the sign'Yes. '"

In the stress, hurry, and rapture encompassing my immense gratitude, I pressed her hand to my side familiarly, as if we had been two loverswalking in a lane on a serene evening. 

"If you had not made that sign, it would have been worse than death--inmy heart, " I said. "He had allied me, too, to renounce my trust, mylight. "

We walked on slowly, accompanied in our sudden silence by the plash ofthe fountain at the bottom of the great square of darkness on our left, and by the piteous moans of La Chica. 

"That is what he meant, " said the enchanting voice by my side. "And yourefused. That is your valour. "

"From no selfish motives, " I said, troubled, as if all the greatincertitude of my mind had been awakened by the sound that brought somuch delight to my heart. "My valour is nothing. "

"It has given me a new courage, " she said. 

"You did not want more, " I said earnestly. 

"Ah! I was very much alone. It is difficult to------"

She hesitated. 

"To live alone, " I finished. 

"More so to die, " she whispered, with a new note of timidity. "It isfrightful. Be cautious, Don Juan, for the love of God, because I couldnot------"

We stopped. La Chica, silent, as if exhausted, drooped lamentably, with her shoulder against the wall, by Seraphina's door; and the purecrystalline sound of the fountain below, enveloping the parting pause, seemed to wind its coldness round my heart. 

"Poor Don Carlos!" she said. "I had a great affection for him. I wasafraid they would want me to marry him. He loved your sister. "

"He never told her, " I murmured. "I wonder if she ever guessed. "

"He was poor, homeless, ill already, in a foreign land. "

"We all loved him at home, " I said. 

"He never asked her, " she breathed out. "And, perhaps--but he neverasked her. "

"I have no more force, " sighed La Chica, suddenly, and sank down at thefoot of the wall, putting the candlesticks on the floor. 

"You have been very good to him, " I said; "only he need not havedemanded this from you. Of course, I understood perfectly. .. . I hope youunderstand, too, that I------"

"Señor, my cousin, " she flashed out suddenly, "do you think that I wouldhave consented only from my affection for him?"

"Señorita, " I cried, "I am poor, homeless, in a foreign land. How can Ibelieve? How can I dare to dream?--unless your own voice------"

"Then you are permitted to ask. Ask, Don Juan. "

I dropped on one knee, and, suddenly extending her arm, she pressed herhand to my lips. Lighted up from below, the picturesque aspect of herfigure took on something of a transcendental grace; the unusual upwardshadows invested her beauty with a new mystery of fascination. A minutepassed. I could hear her rapid breathing above, and I stood up beforeher, holding both her hands. 

"How very few days have we been together, " she whispered. "Juan, I amashamed. "

"I did not count the days. I have known you always. I have dreamed ofyou since I can remember--for days, for months, a year, all my life. "

The crash of a heavy door flung to, exploded, filling the galleries allround the _patio_ with the sonorous reminder of our peril. 

"Ah! We had forgotten. "

I heard her voice, and felt her form in my arms. Her lips at my earpronounced:

"Remember, Juan. Two lives, but one death only. "

And she was gone so quickly that it was as though she had passed throughthe wood of the massive panels. 

La Chica crouched on her knees. The lights on the floor burned beforeher empty stare, and with her bare shoulders the tone of old ivoryemerging from the white linen, with wisps of raven hair hanging down hercheeks, the abandonment of her whole person embodied every outward markand line of desolation. 

"What do you fear from him?" I asked. 

She looked up; moved nearer to me on her knees. "I have a loveroutside. "

She seized her hair wildly, drew it across her face, tried to stuffhandfuls of it into her mouth, as if to stop herself from shrieking. 

"He shook his finger at me, " she moaned. 

Her terror, as incomprehensible as the emotion of an animal, was gainingupon me. I said sternly:

"What can he do, then?"

"I don't know. "

She did not know. She was like me. She feared for her love. Like myself!Was there anything in the way of our undoing which it was not in hispower to achieve?

"Try to be faithful to your mistress, " I said, "and all may be wellyet. "

She made no answer, but staggered to her feet, and went away blindlythrough the door, which opened just wide enough to let her through. There were clouds on the sky. The _patio_, in its blackness, was likethe rectangular mouth of a bottomless pit. I picked up the candlesticks, and lighted myself to my room, walking upon air, upon tempestuous air, in a feeling of insecurity and exultation. 

The lights of my candelabrum had gone out. I stood the two candlestickson a table, and the shadows of the room, uplifted above the two flamesas high as the ceiling, filled the corners heavily like gathereddraperies, descended to the foot of the four walls in the shape of amilitary tent, in which warlike objects vaguely gleamed: a trophy ofancient arquebuses and conquering swords, arranged with bows, spears, the stick and stone weapons of an extinct race, a war collar of shellsor pebbles, a round wicker-work shield in a halo of arrows, with amatchlock piece on each side--of the sort that had to be served by twomen. 

I had left the door of my room open on purpose, so that he should knowI was back there, and ready for him. I took down a long straight blade, like a rapier, with a basket hilt. It was a cumbrous weapon, and with ablunt edge; still, it had a point, and I was ready to thrust and parryagainst the world. I called upon my foes. No enemy appeared, and bythe light of two candles, with a sword in my hand, I lost myself in theforeshadowings of the future. 

It was positive and uncertain. I wandered in it like a soul outside thegates of paradise, with an anticipation of bliss, and the pain of myexclusion. There was only one man in the way. I was certain he had beenwatching us across the blackness of the _patio_. He must have seen thedimly-lit dumb show of our parting at Sera-phina's door. I hoped he hadunderstood, and that my shadow, bearing the two lights, had struck himas triumphant and undismayed, walking upon air. I strained my ears. Ihad heard. .. . 

Somebody was coming towards me along the silent galleries. It was he;I knew it. He was coming nearer and nearer. In the profound, tomb-likestillness of the great house, I had heard the sound of his footsteps onthe tessellated pavement from afar. Now he had turned the corner, andthe calm, strolling pace of his approach was enough to strike awe intoan adversary's heart. It never hesitated, not once; never hurried; neverslowed till it stopped. He stood in the doorway. 

I suppose, in that big room, by the light of two candles, I must havepresented an impressive picture of a menacing youth all in black, witha tense face, and holding a naked, long rapier in his hand. At any rate, he stood still, eyeing me from the doorway, the picture of a dapperSpanish lawyer in a lofty frame; all in black, also, with a fair headand a well-turned leg advanced in a black silk stocking. He had takenoff his riding boots. For the rest, I had never seen him dressedotherwise. There was no weapon in his hand, or at his side. 

I lowered the point, and, seeing he remained on the doorstep, as if notwilling to trust himself within, I said disdainfully:

"You don't suppose I would murder a defenceless man. "

"Am I defenceless?" He had a slight lift of the eyebrows. "That is news, indeed. It is you who are supposing. I have been a very certain man forthis many a year. "

"How can you know how an English gentleman would feel and act? I amneither a murderer nor yet an intriguer. "

He walked right in rapidly, and, getting round to the other side of thetable, drew a small pistol out of his breeches pocket. 

"You see--I am not trusting too much to your English generosity. "

He laid the pistol negligently on the table. I had turned about on myheels. As we stood, by lunging between the two candlesticks, I shouldhave been able to run him through the body before he could cry out. 

I laid the sword on the table. 

"Would you trust a damned Irish rebel?" he asked. 

"You are wrong in your surmise. I would have nothing to do with a rebel, even in my thoughts and suppositions. I think that the Intendente of DonBalthasar Riego would look twice before murdering in a bedroom the guestof the house--a relation, a friend of the family. "

"That's sensible, " he said, with that unalterable air of good nature, which sometimes was like the most cruel mockery of humour. "And do youthink that even a relation of the Riegos would escape the scaffold forkilling Don Patricio O'Brien, one of the Royal Judges of the MarineCourt, member of the Council, Procurator to the Chapter. .. . "

"Intendente of the Casa, " I threw in. 

"That's my gratitude, " he said gravely. "So you see. .. . "

"Supreme chief of thieves and picaroons, " I suggested again. 

He answered this by a gesture of disdainful superiority. 

"I wonder if you---if any of you English--would have the courage to riskyour all--ambition, pride, position, wealth, peace of mind, your dearesthope, your self-respect--like this. For an idea. "

His tone, that revealed something exalted and sad behind everything thatwas sordid and base in the acts of that man's villainous tools, struck me with astonishment. I beheld, as an inseparable whole, thecontemptible result, the childishness of his imagination, the danger ofhis recklessness, and something like loftiness in his pitiful illusion. 

"Nothing's too hot, too dirty, too heavy. Any way to get at you English;any means. To strike! That's the thing. I would die happy if I knew Ihad helped to detach from you one island--one little island of all theearth you have filched away, stolen, taken by force, got by lying. .. . Don't taunt me with your taunts of thieves. What weapons better worthyof you could I use? Oh, I am modest. I am modest. This is a littlething, this Jamaica. What do I care for the Separationist blatherskitemore than for the loyal fools? You are all English to me. If I had myway, your Empire would die of pin-pricks all over its big, overgrownbody. Let only one bit drop off. If robbing your ships may help it, then, as you see me standing here, I am ready to go myself in a leakyboat. I tell you Jamaica's gone. And that may be the beginning of theend. "

He lifted his arm not at me, but at England, if I may judge from hisburning stare. It was not to me he was speaking. There we were, Irishand English, face to face, as it had been ever since we had met in thenarrow way of the world that had never been big enough for the tribes, the nations, the races of man. 

"Now, Mr. O'Brien, I don't know what you may do to me, but I won'tlisten to any of this, " I said, very red in the face. 

"Who wants you to listen?" he muttered absently, and went away from thetable to look out of the loophole, leaving me there with the sword andthe pistol. 

Whatever he might have said of the scaffold, this was very imprudentof him. It was characteristic of the man--of that impulsiveness whichexisted in him side by side with his sagacity, with his coolness inintrigue, with his unmerciful and revengeful temper. By my own feelingsI understood what an imprudence it was. But he was turning his back onme, and how could I?. .. His imprudence was so complete that it made forsecurity. He did not, I am sure, remember my existence. I would just assoon have jumped with a dagger upon a man in the dark. 

He was really stirred to his depths--to the depths of his hate, and ofhis love--by seeing me, an insignificant youth (I was no more), surge upsuddenly in his path. He turned where he stood at last, and contemplatedme with a sort of thoughtful surprise, as though he had tried to accountto himself for my existence. 

"No, " he said, to himself really, "I wonder when I look at you. How didyou manage to get that pretty reputation over there? Ramon's a fool. Heshall know it to his cost. But the craftiness of that Carlos! Or is itonly my confounded willingness to believe?"

He was putting his finger nearly on the very spot. I said nothing. 

"Why, " he exclaimed, "when it's all boiled down, you are only an Englishbeggar boy. "

"I've come to a man's estate since we met last, " I said meaningly. 

He seemed to meditate over this. His face never changed, except, perhaps, to an even more amused benignity of expression. 

"You have lived very fast by that account, " he remarked artlessly. "Is it possible now? Well, life, as you know, can't last forever; and, indeed, taking a better look at you in this poor light, you do seem tobe very near death. "

I did not flinch; and, with a very dry mouth, I uttered defiantly:

"Such talk means nothing. "

"Bravely said. But this is not talk. You've gone too fast. I am givingyou a chance to turn back. "

"Not an inch, " I said fiercely. "Neither in thought, in deed; not evenin semblance. "

He seemed as though he wanted to swallow a bone in his throat. 

"Believe me, there is more in life than you think. There is at your age, more than. .. " he had a strange contortion of the body, as though in asudden access of internal pain; that humorous smile, that abode in theform of his lips, changed into a ghastly, forced grin. .. "than one lovein a life--more than one woman. "

I believe he tried to leer at me, because his voice was absolutely dyingin his throat. My indignation was boundless. I cried out with the fireof deathless conviction:

"It is not true. You know it is not true. "

He was speechless for a time; then, shaking and stammering with thatinward rage that seemed to heave like molten lava in his breast, withoutever coming to the surface of his face:

"What! Is it I, then, who have to go back? For--for you---a boy--comefrom devil knows where--an English, beggarly. .. . For a girl's whim. .. . I--a man. "

He calmed down. "No; you are mad. You are dreaming. You don't know. Youcan't--you! You don't know what a man is; you with your calf-love a dayold. How dare you look at me who have breathed for years in the veryair? You fool--you little, wretched fool! For years sleeping, andwaking, and working. .. . "

"And intriguing, " I broke in, "and plotting, and deceiving--for years. "

This calmed him altogether. "I am a man; you are but a boy; or else Iwould not have to tell you that your love"--he choked at the word--"isto mine like--like--"

His eyes fell on a cut-glass water-ewer, and, with a convulsive sweepof his arm, he sent it flying far away from the table. It fell heavily, shattering itself with the unringing thud of a piece of ice. "Likethis. " He remained for some time with his eyes fixed on the table, andwhen he looked up at me it was with a sort of amused incredulity. Histone was not resentful. He spoke in a business-like manner, a littlecontemptuously. I had only Don Carlos to thank for the position in whichI found myself. What the "poor devil over there" expected from me, he, O'Brien, would not inquire. It was a ridiculous boy-and-girl affair. Ifthose two--meaning Carlos and Seraphina--had not been so mighty clever, I should have been safe now in Jamaica jail, on a charge of treasonablepractices. He seemed to find the idea funny. Well, anyhow, he had meantno worse by me than my own dear countrymen. When he, O'Brien, had foundhow absurdly he had been hoodwinked by Don Carlos--the poor devil--andmisled by Ramon--he would make him smart for it, yet--all he hadintended to do was to lodge me in Havana jail. On his word of honour. .. 

"Me in jail!" I cried angrily. "You--you would dare! On what charge? Youcould not. .. . "

"You don't know what Pat O'Brien can do in Cuba. "

The little country solicitor came out in a flash from under the Spanishlawyer. Then he frowned slightly at me. "You being an Englishman, Iwould have had you taken up on a charge of stealing. "

Blood rushed to my face. I lost control over myself. "Mr. O'Brien, " Isaid, "I dare say you could have trumped up anything against me. You area very great scoundrel. "

"Why? Because I don't lie about my motives, as you all do? I would wishyou to know that I would scorn to lie either to myself or to you. "

I touched the haft of the sword on the table. It was lying with thepoint his way. 

"I had been thinking, " said I, in great heat, "to propose to you that weshould fight it out between us two, man to man, rebel and traitor as youhave been. "

"The devil you have!" he muttered. 

"But really you are too much of a Picaroon. I think the gallows shouldbe your end. "

I gave rein to my exasperation, because I felt myself hopelessly in hispower. What he was driving at, I could not tell. I had an intolerablesense of being as much at his mercy as though I had been lying boundhand and foot on the floor. It gave me pleasure to tell him whatI thought. And, perhaps, I was not quite candid, either. Suppose Iprovoked him enough to fire his pistol at me. He had been fingering thebutt, absently, as we talked. He might have missed me, and then. .. . Orhe might have shot me dead. But surely there was some justice in Cuba. It was clear enough that he did not wish to kill me himself. Well, thiswas a desperate strait; to force him to do something he did not wish todo, even at the cost of my own life, was the only step left open tome to thwart his purpose; the only thing I could do just then for thefurtherance of my mission to save Seraphina from his intrigues. I wasoppressed by the misery of it all. As to killing him as he stood--if Icould do it by being very quick with the old rapier--my bringing up, myideas, my very being, recoiled from it. I had never taken a life. I wasvery young. I was not used to scenes of violence; and to begin like thisin cold blood! Not only my conscience, but my very courage faltered. Truth to tell, I was afraid; not for myself--I had the courage todie; but I was afraid of the act. It was the unknown for me--for mynerve--for my conscience. And then the Spanish gallows! That, too, revolted me. To kill him, and then kill myself. .. . No, I must live. "Twolives, one death, " she had said. .. .. For a second or two my brain reeledwith horror; I was certainly losing my self-possession. His voice brokeupon that nightmare. 

"It may be your lot, yet, " it said. I burst into a nervous laugh. For amoment I could not stop myself. 

"I won't murder you, " I cried. 

To this he said astonishingly, "Will you go to Mexico?"

It sounded like a joke. He was very serious. "I shall send one of theschooners there on a little affair of mine. I can make use of you. Igive you this chance. " It was as though he had thrown a bucketful ofwater over me. I had an inward shiver, and became quite cool. It was histurn now to let himself go. 

It was a matter of delivering certain papers to the Spanish commandantin Tamaulipas. There would be some employment found for me with theRoyal troops. I was a relation of the Riegos. And there came upon hisvoice a strange ardour; a swiftness into his utterance. He walked awayfrom the table; came back, and gazed into my face in a marked, expectantmanner. He was not prompted by any love for me, he said, and gave anuncertain laugh. 

My wits had returned to me wholly; and as he repeated "No love foryou--no love for you, " I had the intuition that what influenced him washis love for Seraphina. I saw it. I read it in the workings of hisface. His eyes retained his good-humoured twinkle. He did not attachany importance to a boy-and-girl affair; not at all--pah! The lady, naturally young, warmhearted, full of kindness. I mustn't think. .. . Ha, ha! A man of his age, of course, understood. .. . No importance at all. 

He walked away from the table trying to snap his fingers, and, suddenly, he reeled; he reeled, as though he had been overcome by the poison ofhis jealousy--as though a thought had stabbed him to the heart. Therewas an instant when the sight of that man moved me more than anythingI had seen of passionate suffering before (and that was nothing), orsince. He longed to kill me--I felt it in the very air of the room; andhe loved her too much to dare. He laughed at me across the table. I hadridiculously misunderstood a very proper and natural kindness of a girlwith not much worldly experience. He had known her from the earliestchildhood. 

"Take my word for it, " he stammered. 

It seemed to me that there were tears in his eyes. A stiff smile wasparting his lips. He took up the pistol, and evidently not knowinganything about it, looked with an air of curiosity into the barrel. 

It was time to think of making my career. That's what I ought tobe thinking of at my age. "At your age--at your age, " he repeatedaimlessly. I was an Englishman. He hated me--and it was easy to believethis, though he neither glared nor grimaced. He smiled. 

He smiled continuously and rather pitifully. But his devotion toa--a--person who. .. . His devotion was great enough to overcome eventhat, even that. Did I understand? I owed it to the lady's regard, which, for the rest, I had misunderstood--stupidly misunderstood. 

"Well, at your age it's excusable!" he mumbled. "A career that. .. "

"I see, " I said slowly. Young as I was, it was impossible to mistakehis motives. Only a man of mature years, and really possessed by a greatpassion--by a passion that had grown slowly, till it was exactly as bigas his soul--could have acted like this--with that profound simplicity, with such resignation, with such horrible moderation--But I wantedto find out more. "And when would you want me to go?" I asked, witha dissimulation of which I would not have suspected myself capable amoment before. I was maturing in the fire of love, of danger; in thelurid light of life piercing through my youthful innocence. 

"Ah, " he said, banging the pistol on to the table hurriedly. "At once. To-night. Now. "

"Without seeing anybody?"

"Without seeing. .. Oh, of course. In your own interest. "

He was very quiet now. "I thought you looked intelligent enough, " hesaid, appearing suddenly very tired. "I am glad you see your position. You shall go far in the Royal service, on the faith of Pat O'Brien, English as you are. I will make it my own business for the sake of--theRiego family. There is only one little condition. "

He pulled out of his pocket a piece of paper, a pen, a travellinginkstand. He looked the lawyer to the life; the Spanish family lawyergrafted on an Irish attorney. 

"You can't see anybody. But you ought to write. Dona Seraphina naturallywould be interested. A cousin and. .. I shall explain to Don Balthasar, of course. .. . I will dictate: 'Out of regard for your future, and thedesire for active life, of your own will, you accept eagerly SeñorO'Brien's proposition. ' She'll understand. "

"Oh, yes, she'll understand, " I said. 

"Yes. And that you will write of your safe arrival in Tamaulipas. Youmust promise to write. Your word. .. "

"By heavens, Señor O'Brien!" I burst out with inexpressible scorn, "I thought you meant your villains to cut my throat on the passage. Ishould have deserved no better fate. "

He started. I shook with rage. A change had come upon both of us assudden as if we had been awakened by a violent noise. For a time we didnot speak a word. One look at me was enough for him. He passed his handover his forehead. 

"What devil's in you, boy?" he said. "I seem to make nothing butmistakes. "

He went to the loophole window, and, advancing his head, cried out:

"The schooner does not sail to-night. "

He had some of his cut-throats posted under the window. I could not makeout the reply he got; but after a while he said distinctly, so as to beheard below:

"I give up that spy to you. " Then he came back, put the pistol in hispocket, and said to me, "Fool! I'll make you long for death yet. "

"You've given yourself away pretty well, " I said. "Some day I shallunmask you. It will be my revenge on you for daring to propose to me. .. . "

"What?" he interrupted, over his shoulder. "You? Not you--and I'll tellyou why. It's because dead men tell no tales. "

He passed through the door--a back view of a dapper Spanish lawyer, all in black, in a lofty frame. The calm, strolling footsteps went awayalong the gallery. He turned the corner. The tapping of his heels echoedin the _patio_, into whose blackness filtered the first suggestion ofthe dawn. 

CHAPTER FIVE

I remember walking about the room, and thinking to myself, "This is bad, this is very bad; what shall I do now?" A sort of mad meditation that inthis meaningless way became so tense as positively to frighten me. Thenit occurred to me that I could do nothing whatever at present, and I wassoothed by this sense of powerless-ness, which, one would think, oughtto have driven me to distraction. I went to sleep ultimately, just as aman sentenced to death goes to sleep, lulled in a sort of ghastly way bythe finality of his doom. Even when I awoke it kept me steady, in a way. I washed, dressed, walked, ate, said "Good-morning, Cesar, " to the oldmajor-domo I met in the gallery; exchanged grins with the negro boysunder the gateway, and watched the mules being ridden out barebackedby other nearly naked negro boys into the sea, with great splashingof water and a noise of voices. A small knot of men, unmistakably__Lugareños__, stood on the beach, also, watching the mules, andexchanging loud jocular shouts with the blacks. Rio Medio, the dead, forsaken, and desecrated city, was lying, as bare as a skeleton, on thesands. They were yellow; the bay was very blue, the wooded hills verygreen. 

After the mules had been ridden uproariously back to the stables, wetand capering, and shaking their long ears, all the life of the landseemed to take refuge in this vivid colouring. As I looked at it fromthe outer balcony above the great gate, the small group of __Lugareños__turned about to look at the Casa Riego. 

They recognized me, no doubt, and one of them flourished, threateningly, an arm from under his cloak. I retreated indoors. 

This was the only menacing sign, absolutely the only sign that markedthis day. It was a day of pause. Seraphina did not leave her apartments;Don Balthasar did not show himself; Father Antonio, hurrying towards thesick room, greeted me with only a wave of the hand. I was not admittedto see Carlos; the nun came to the door, shook her head at me, andclosed it gently in my face. Castro, sitting on the floor not very faraway, seemed unaware of me in so marked a manner that it inspired mewith the idea of not taking the slightest notice of him. Now and thenthe figure of a maid in white linen and bright petticoat flitted in theupper gallery, and once I fancied I saw the black, rigid carriage of theduenna disappearing behind a pillar. 

Señor O'Brien, old Cesar whispered, without looking at me, was extremelyoccupied in the _Cancillería_. His midday meal was served him there. I had mine all alone, and then the sunny, heat-laden stillness ofsiesta-time fell upon the Castilian dignity of the house. 

I sank into a kind of reposeful belief in the work of accident. Something would happen. I did not know how soon and how atrociouslymy belief was to be justified. I exercised my ingenuity in the mostapproved lover-fashion--in devising means how to get secret speechwith Seraphina. The confounded silly maids fled from my most distantappearance, as though I had the pest. I was wondering whether I shouldnot go simply and audaciously and knock at her door, when I fancied Iheard a scratching at mine. It was a very stealthy sound, quite capableof awakening my dormant emotions. 

I went to the door and listened. Then, opening it the merest crack, Isaw the inexplicable emptiness of the gallery. Castro, on his hands andknees, startled me by whispering at my feet:

"Stand aside, Señor. "

He entered my room on all-fours, and waited till I got the door closedbefore he stood up. 

"Even he may sleep sometimes, " he said. "And the balustrade has hiddenme. "

To see this little saturnine bandit, who generally stalked abouthaughtily, as if the whole Casa belonged to him by right of fidelity, crawl into my room like this was inexpressibly startling. He shook thefolds of his cloak, and dropped his hat on the floor. 

"Still, it is better so. The very women of the house are not safe, " hesaid. "Señor, I have no mind to be delivered to the English for hanging. But I have not been admitted to see Don Carlos, and, therefore, I mustmake my report to you. These are Don Carlos' orders. 'Serve him, Castro, when I am dead, as if my soul had passed into his body. '"

He nodded sadly. "_Si!_ But Don Carlos is a friend to me and you--you. "He shook his head, and drew me away from the door. "Two __Lugareños__, "he said, "Manuel and another one, did go last night, as directed by thefriar"--he supposed--"to meet the _Juez_ in the bush outside Rio Medio. "

I had guessed that much, and told him of Manuel's behaviour under mywindow. How did they know my chamber?

"Bad, bad, " muttered Castro. "La Chica told her lover, no doubt. " Hehissed, and stamped his foot. 

She was pretty, but flighty. The lover was a silly boy of decent, Christian parents, who was always hanging about in the low villages. Nomatter. 

What he could not understand was why some boats should have been held inreadiness till nearly the morning to tow a schooner outside. Manuel camealong at dawn, and dismissed the crews. They had separated, making agreat noise on the beach, and yelling, "Death to the _Inglez!_"

I cleared up that point for him. He told me that O'Brien had the duennacalled to his room that morning. Nothing had been heard outside, but thewoman came out staggering, with her hand on the wall. He had terrifiedher. God knows what he had said to her. The widow--as Castro calledher--had a son, an _escrivano_ in one of the Courts of Justice. No doubtit was that. 

"There it is, Señor, " murmured Castro, scowling all round, as if everywall of the room was an enemy. "He holds all the people in his hand insome way. Even I must be cautious, though I am a humble, trusted friendof the Casa!"

"What harm could he do you?" I asked. 

"He is civil to me. _Amigo Castro_ here, and _Amigo Castro_ there. Bah!The devil, alone, is his friend! He could deliver me to justice, and getmy life sworn away. He could------_Quien sabe?_ What need he care whathe does--a man that can get absolution from the archbishop himself if helikes. "

He meditated. "No! there is only one remedy for him. " He tiptoed to myear. "The knife!"

He made a pass in the air with his blade, and I remembered vividly thecockroach he had impaled with such accuracy on board the _Thames_. Hisbaneful glance reminded me of his murderous capering in the steerage, when he had thought that the only remedy for _me_ was the knife. 

He went to the loop-hole, and passed the steel thoughtfully on the stoneedge. I had not moved. 

"The knife; but what would you have? Before, when I talked of thisto Don Carlos, he only laughed at me. That was his way in matters ofimportance. Now they will not let me come in to him. He is too nearGod--and the Señorita--why, she is too near the saints for all thegreat nobility of her spirit. But, _que dia-bleria_, when I--in mydevotion--opened my mouth to her I saw some of that spirit in hereyes. .. . "

There was a slight irony in his voice. "No! Me--Castro! to be told thatan English Señora would have dismissed me forever from her presence forsuch a hint. 'Your Excellency, ' I said, 'deign, then, to find it goodthat I should avoid giving offence to that man. It is not my desire torun my neck into the iron collar. '"

He looked at me fixedly, as if expecting me to make a sign, thenshrugged his shoulders. 

"_Bueno_. You see this? Then look to it yourself, Señor. You are tome even as Don Carlos--all except for the love. No English body is bigenough to receive his soul. No friend will be left that would risk hisvery honour of a noble for a man like Tomas Castro. Let me warn you notto leave the Casa, even if a shining angel stood outside the gate andcalled you by name. The gate is barred, now, night and day. I havedropped a hint to Cesar, and that old African knows more than the Señorwould suppose. I cannot tell how soon I may have the opportunity to talkto you again. "

He peeped through the crack of the door, then slipped out, suddenlyfalling at once on his hands and knees, so as to be hidden by the stonebalustrade from anybody in the _patio_. He, too, did not think himselfsafe. 

Early in the evening I descended into the court, and Father Antonio, walking up and down the _patio_ with his eyes on his breviary, mutteredto me:

"Sit on this chair, " and went on without stopping. 

I took a chair near the marble rim of the basin with its border ofEnglish flowers, its splashing thread of water. The goldfishes that hadbeen lying motionless, with their heads pointing different ways, glidedinto a bunch to the fall of my shadow, waiting for crumbs of bread. 

Father Antonio, his head down, and the open breviary under his nose, brushed my foot with the skirt of his cassock. 

"Have you any plan?"

When he came back, walking very slowly, I said, "None. "

At this next turn I pronounced rapidly, "I should like to see Carlos. "

He frowned over the edge of the book. I understood that he refused tolet me in. And, after all, why should I disturb that dying man? The newsabout him was that he felt stronger that day. But he was preparing foreternity. Father Antonio's business was to save souls. I felt horriblycrushed and alone. The priest asked, hardly moving his lips: "What doyou trust to?"

I had the time to meditate my reply. "Tell Carlos I think of escape bysea. "

He made a little sign of assent, turned off towards the staircase, andwent back to the sick room. 

"The folly of it, " I thought. How could I think of it? Escape where? Idared not even show myself outside the Casa. My safety within dependedon old Cesar more than on anybody else. He had the key of the gate, andthe gate was practically the only thing between me and a miserable deathat the hands of the first ruffian I met outside. And with the thought Iseemed to stifle in that _patio_ open to the sky. 

That gate seemed to cut off the breath of life from me. I was there, asif in a trap. Should I--I asked myself--try to enlighten Don Balthasar?Why not? He would understand me. I would tell him that in his own town, as he always called Rio Medio, there lurked assassination for his guest. That would move him if anything could. 

He was then walking with O'Brien after dinner, as he had walked with meon the day of my arrival. Only Seraphina had not appeared, and we threemen had sat out the silent meal alone. 

They stopped as I approached, and Don Balthasar listened to mebenignantly. "Ah, yes, yes! Times have changed. " But there was no reasonfor alarm. There were some undesirable persons. Had they not arrivedlately? He turned to O'Brien, who stood by, in readiness to resumethe walk, and answered, "Yes, quite lately. Very undesirable, " in amatter-of-fact tone. The excellent Don Patricio would take measuresto have them removed, the old man soothed me. But it was not reallydangerous for any one to go out. Again he addressed O'Brien, who onlysmiled gently, as much as to say, "What an absurdity!" I must notforget, continued the old man, the veneration for the very name of Riegothat still, thank Heaven, survived in these godless and revolutionarytimes in the Riegos' own town. He straightened his back a little, looking at me with dignity, and then glanced at the other, who inclinedhis head affirmatively. The utter and complete hopelessness of theposition appalled me for a moment. The old man had not put foot outsidehis door for years, not even to go to church. Father Antonio saidMass for him every day in the little chapel next the dining room. When O'Brien--for his own purposes, and the better to conceal his ownconnection with the Rio Medio piracies--had persuaded him to go toJamaica officially, he had been rowed in state to the ship waitingoutside. For many years now it had been impossible to enlighten him asto the true condition of affairs. He listened to people's talk as thoughit had been children's prattle. I have related how he received Carlos'denunciations. If one insisted, he would draw himself up in displeasure. But in his decay he had preserved a great dignity, a grave firmness thatintimidated me a little. 

I did not, of course, insist that evening, and, after giving memy dismissal in a gesture of blessing, he resumed his engrossingconversation with O'Brien. It related to the services commemorating hiswife's death, those services that, once every twelve months, draped inblack all the churches in Havana. A hundred masses, no less, had tobe said that day; a distribution of alms had to be made. O'Brien wascharged with all the arrangements, and I caught, as they crept past meup and down the _patio_, snatches of phrases relating to this mournfulfunction, when all the capital was invited to pray for the soul of theillustrious lady. The priest of the church of San Antonio had said thisand that; the grand vicar of the diocese had made difficulties aboutsomething; however, by the archbishop's special grace, no less thanthree altars would be draped in the cathedral. 

I saw Don Balthasar smile with an ineffable satisfaction; he thankedO'Brien for his zeal, and seemed to lean more familiarly on his arm. Hisvoice trembled with eagerness. "And now, my excellent Don Patricio, asto the number of candles. .. . "

I stood for a while as if rooted to the spot, overwhelmed by myinsignificance. O'Brien never once looked my way. Then, hanging my head, I went slowly up the white staircase towards my room. 

Cesar, going his rounds along the gallery, shuffled his silk-clad shankssmartly between two young negroes balancing lanthorns suspended onthe shafts of their halberds. That little group had a mediaeval andoutlandish aspect. Cesar carried a bunch of keys in one hand, his staffof office in the other. He stood aside, in his maroon velvet and goldlace, holding the three-cornered hat under his arm, bowing his gray, woolly head--the most venerable and deferential of majordomos. Hisattendants, backing against the wall, grounded their halberds heavily atmy approach. 

He stepped out to intercept me, and, with great discretion, "Señor, aword, " he said in his subdued voice. "A moment ago I have been calledwithin the door of our senorita's apartments. She has given me this foryour worship, together with many compliments. It is a seal. The Señorwill understand. "

I took it; it was a tiny seal with her monogram on it. "Yes, " I said. 

"And Señorita Dona Seraphina has charged me to repeat"--he made astealthy sign, as if to counteract an evil influence--"the words, 'Twolives--one death. ' The Señor will understand. "

"Yes, " I said, looking away with a pang at my heart. He touched myelbow. "And to trust Cesar. Señor, I dandled her when she was quitelittle. Let me most earnestly urge upon your worship not to go near thewindows, especially if there is light in your worship's room. Evil menare gazing upon the house, and I have seen myself the glint of a musketat the end of the street. The moon grows fast, too. The senorita begsyou to trust Cesar. "

"Are there many men?" I asked. 

"Not many in sight; I have seen only one. But by signs, open to a man ofmy experience, I suspect many more to be about. " Then, as I looked downon the ground, he added parenthetically, "They are poor shots, one andall, lacking the very firmness of manhood necessary to discharge apiece with a good aim. Still, Señor, I am ordered to entreat you to becautious. Strange it is that to-night, from the great revelry at theAldea Bajo, one might think they had just visited an English shipoutside. "

A ship! a ship! of any sort. But how to get out of the Casa? Murderforbade me even as much as to look out of the windows. Was there a shipoutside? Cesar was positive there was not--not since I had arrived. Besides, the empty sea itself was unattainable, it seemed. I pressed theseal to my lips. "Tell the senorita how I received her gift, " I said;and the old negro inclined his head lower still. "Tell her that as theletters of her name are graved on this, so are all the words she hasspoken graven on my heart. "

They went away busily, the lanthorns swinging about the ax-heads of thehalberds, Cesar's staff tapping the stones. 

I shut my door, and buried my face in the pillows of the state bed. Mymental anguish was excessive; action, alone, could relieve it. I hadbeen battling with my thoughts like a man fighting with shadows. I couldsee no issue to such a struggle, and I prayed for something tangible toencounter--something that one could overcome or go under to. I musthave fallen suddenly asleep, because there was a lion in front of me. Itlashed its tail, and beyond the indistinct agitation of the brute I sawSeraphina. I tried to shout to her; no voice came out of my throat. Andthe lion produced a strange noise; he opened his jaws like a door. I satup. It was like a change of dream. A glare filled my eyes. In the widedoorway of my room, in a group of attendants, I saw a figure in a shortblack cloak standing, hat on head, and an arm outstretched. It was DonBalthasar. He held himself more erect than I had ever seen him before. Stifled sounds of weeping, a vast, confused rumour of lamentations, running feet and flamming doors, came from behind him; his aged, dryvoice, much firmer and very distinct, was speaking to me. 

"You are summoned to attend the bedside of Don Carlos Riego at the hourof death, to help his soul struggling on the threshold of eternity, withyour prayers--as a kinsman and a friend. "

A great draught swayed the lights about that black and courtly figure. All the windows and doors of the palace had been flung open for thedeparture of the struggling soul. Don Balthasar turned; the group ofattendants was gone in a moment, with a tramp of feet and jostling oflights in the long gallery. 

I ran out after them. A wavering glare came from under the arch, and, through the open gate, I saw the bulky shape of the bishop's coachwaiting outside in the moonlight. A strip of cloth fell from stepto step down the middle of the broad white stairs. The staircase wasbrilliantly lighted, and quite empty. The household was crowding theupper galleries; the sobbing murmurs of their voices fell into thedeserted _patio_. The strip of crimson cloth laid for the bishop ranacross it from the arch of the stairway to the entrance. 

The door of Carlos' room stood wide open; I saw the many candles ona table covered with white linen, the side of the big bed, surplicedfigures moving within the room. There was the ringing of small bells, and sighing groans from the kneeling forms in the gallery through whichI was making my way slowly. 

Castro appeared at my side suddenly. "Señor, " he began, with saturninestoicism, "he is dead. I have seen battlefields------" His voice broke. 

I saw, through the large portal of the death-chamber, Don Balthasarand Seraphina standing at the foot of the bed; the bowed heads oftwo priests; the bishop, a tiny old man, in his vestments; and FatherAntonio, burly and motionless, with his chin in his hand, as if leftbehind after leading that soul to the very gate of Eternity. All aboutme, women and men were crossing themselves; and Castro, who for a momenthad covered his eyes with his hand, touched my elbow. 

"And you live, " he said, with sombre emphasis; then, warningly, "You arein great danger now. "

I looked around, as if expecting to see an uplifted knife. I saw only alot of people--household negroes and the women--rising from their knees. Below, the _patio_ was empty. 

"The house is defenceless, " Castro continued. We heard tumultuous voicesunder the gate. O'Brien appeared in the doorway of Carlos' room with anattentive and dismayed expression on his face. I do not really think hehad anything to do with what then took place. He meant to have me killedoutside; but the rabble, excited by Manuel's inflammatory speeches, had that night started from the villages below with the intention ofclamouring for my life. Many of their women were with them. Some of the__Lugareños__ carried torches, others had pikes; most of them, however, had nothing but their long knives. They came in a disorderly, shoutingmob along the beach, intending this not for an attack, but as a simpledemonstration. 

The sight of the open gate struck them with wonder. The bishop's coachblocked the entrance, and for a time they hesitated, awed by the mysteryof the house and by the rites going on in there. Then two or threebolder spirits stole closer. The bishop's people, of course, did notthink of offering any resistance. The very defencelessness of the houserestrained the mob for a while. A few more men from outside ran in. Several women began to clamour scoldingly to them to bring the _Inglez_out. Then the men, encouraging each other in their audacity, advancedfurther under the arch. 

A solitary black, the only guard left at the gate, shouted at them, "_Arria!_ Go back!" It had no effect. More of them crowded in, though, of course, the greater part of that mob remained outside. The blackrolled big eyes. He could not stop them; he did not like to leave hispost; he dared not fire. "Go back! Go back!" he repeated. 

"Not without the _Inglez_, " they answered. 

The tumult we had heard arose when the _Lugareños_ suddenly fell uponthe sentry, and wrenched his musket from him. 

This man, when disarmed, ran away. I saw him running across the_patio_, on the crimson pathway, to the foot of the staircase. Hisshouting, "The _Lugareños_ have risen!" broke upon the hush of mourning. Father Antonio made a brusque movement, and Seraphina sent a startledglance in my direction. 

The cloistered court, with its marble basin and a jet of water in thecentre, remained empty for a moment after the negro had run across; agrowing clamour penetrated into it. In the midst of it I heard O'Brien'svoice saying, "Why don't they shut the gate?" Immediately afterwards awoman in the gallery cried out in surprise, and I saw the _Lugareños_pour into the _patio_. 

For a time that motley group of bandits stood in the light, as ifintimidated by the great dignity of the house, by the mysteriousprestige of the Casa whose interior, probably, none of them hadever seen before. They gazed about silently, as if surprised to findthemselves there. 

It looked as if they would have retired if they had not caught sight ofme. A murmur of "the _Inglez_" arose at once. By that time the householdnegroes had occupied the staircase with what weapons they could findupstairs. 

Father Antonio pushed past O'Brien out of the room, and shook his armsover the balustrade. 

"Impious men, " he cried, "begone from this house of death. " His eyesflashed at the ruffians, who stared stupidly from below. 

"Give us the _Inglez_, " they growled. Seraphina, from within, cried, "Juan. " I was then near the door, but not within the room. 

"The _Inglez!_ The heretic! The traitor!" came in sullen, subduedmutter. A hoarse, reckless voice shouted, "Give him to us, and we shallgo!"

"You are putting in danger all the lives in this house!" O'Brien hissedat me. "Señorita, pray do not. " He stood in the way of Seraphina, whowished to come out. 

"It is you!" she cried. "It is you! It is your voice, it is your hand, it is your iniquity!"

He was confounded by her vehemence. 

"Who brought him here?" he stammered. "Am I to find one of that accursedbrood forever in my way? I take him to witness that for your sake------"

A formidable roar, "Throw us down the _Inglez!_" filled the _patio_. They were gaining assurance down there; and the ferocious clamouring ofthe mob outside came faintly upon our ears. 

O'Brien barred the way. Don Balthasar leaned on his daughter's arm--shevery straight, with tears still on her face and indignation in her eye, he bowed, and with his immovable fine features set in the calmness ofage. Behind that group there were two priests, one with a scared, whiteface, another, black-browed, with an exalted and fanatical aspect. Thelight of the candles from the improvised altar fell on the bishop'ssmall, bald head, emerging with a patient droop from the wide spread ofhis cope, as though he had been inclosed in a portable gold shrine. Hewas ready to go. 

Don Balthasar, who seemed to have heard nothing, as if suddenly wakingup to his duty, left his daughter, and muttering to O'Brien, "Let meprecede the bishop, " came out, bare-headed, into the gallery. FatherAntonio had turned away, and his heavy hand fell on O'Brien's shoulder. 

"Have you no heart, no reverence, no decency?" he said. "In the nameof everything you respect, I call upon you to stop this sacrilegiousoutbreak. "

O'Brien shook off the priestly hand, and fixed his eyes upon Seraphina. I happened to be looking at his face; he seemed to be ready to go outof his mind. His jealousy, the awful torment of soul and body, made himmotionless and speechless. 

Seeing Don Balthasar appear by the balustrade, the ruffians below hadbecome silent for a while. His aged, mechanical voice was heard askingdistinctly:

"What do these people want?"

Seraphina, from within the room, said aloud, "They are clamouring forthe life of our guest. " She looked at O'Brien contemptuously, "They aredoing this to please you. "

"Before God, I have nothing to do with this. "

It was true enough, he had nothing to do with this outbreak; and Ibelieve he would have interfered, but, in his dismay at having losthimself in the eyes of Seraphina, in his rage against myself, he didnot know how to act. No doubt he had been deceiving himself as to hisposition with Seraphina. He was a man who in his wishes. His desire ofrevenge on me, the downfall of his hopes (he could no longer deceivehimself), a desperate striving of thought for their regaining, hisimpulse towards the impossible--all these emotions paralyzed his will. 

Don Balthasar beckoned to me. 

"Don't go near him, " said O'Brien, in a thick, mumbling voice. "Ishall------I must------"

I put him aside. Don Balthasar took my arm. "Misguided populace, " hewhispered. "They have been a source of sorrow to me lately. But thiswicked folly is incredible. I shall call upon them to come to theirsenses. My voice------"

The court below was strongly lighted, so that I saw the bearded, bronzed, wild faces of the _Lugareños_ looking up. We, also, werestrongly shown by the light of the doorway behind us, and by the torchesburning in the gallery. 

That morning, in my helplessness, I had come to put my trust inaccident--in some accident--I hardly knew of what nature--my own death, perhaps--that would find a solution for my responsibilities, put an endto my tormenting thoughts. And now the accident came with a terribleswiftness, at which I shudder to this day. 

We were looking down into the _patio_. Don Balthasar had just said, "You are nowhere as safe as by my side, " when I noticed a _Lugareño_withdrawing himself from the throng about the basin. His face came to mefamiliarly. He was the pirate with the broken nose, who had had a tasteof my fist. He had the sentry's musket on his shoulder, and was slinkingaway towards the gate. 

Don Balthasar extended his hand over the balustrade, and there wasa general movement of recoil below. I wondered why the slaves on thestairs did not charge and clear the _patio_; but I suppose with such amob outside there was a natural hesitation in bringing the position toan issue. The _Lugareños_ were muttering, "Look at the _Inglez!_" thencried out together, "Excellency, give up this _Inglez!_"

Don Balthasar seemed ten years younger suddenly. I had never seen him soimposingly erect. 

"Insensate!" he began, without any anger. 

"He is going to fire!" yelled Castro's voice somewhere in the gallery. 

I saw a red dart in the shadow of the gate. The broken-nosed pirate hadfired at me. The report, deadened in the vault, hardly reached myears. Don Balthazar's arm seemed to swing me back. Then I felt him leanheavily on my shoulder. I did not know what had happened till I heardhim say:

"Pray for me, gentlemen. "

Father Antonio received him in his arms. 

For a second after the shot, the most dead silence prevailed in thecourt. It was broken by an affrighted howl below: and Seraphina's voicecried piercingly:

"Father!"

The priest, dropping on one knee, sustained the silvery head, with itsthin features already calm in death. Don Balthasar had saved my life;and his daughter flung herself upon the body. O'Brien pressed his handsto his temples, and remained motionless. 

I saw the bishop, in his stiff cope, creep up to the group with themotion of a tortoise. And, for a moment, his quavering voice pronouncingthe absolution was the only sound in the house. 

Then a most fiendish noise broke out below. The negroes had charged, andthe _Lugareños_, struck with terror at the unforeseen catastrophe, wererushing helter-skelter through the gate. The screaming of the maids wasfrightful. They ran up and down the galleries with their hair streaming. O'Brien passed me by swiftly, muttering like a madman. 

I, also, got down into the courtyard in time to strike some heavy blowsunder the gateway; but I don't know who it was that thrust into my handsthe musket which I used as a club. The sudden burst of shrieks, the cries of terror under the vault of the gate, yells of rage andconsternation, silenced the mob outside. The _Lugareños_, appalled atwhat had happened, shouted most pitifully. They squeaked like the verminthey were. I brought down the clubbed musket; two went down. Of two I amsure. The rush of flying feet swept through between the walls, bearingme along. For a time a black stream of men eddied in the moonlight roundthe bishop's coach, like a torrent breaking round a boulder. The greatheavy machine rocked, mules plunged, torches swayed. 

The archway had been cleared. Outside, the slaves were forming in theopen space before the Casa, while Cesar, with a few others, labouredto swing the heavy gates to. Hats, torn cloaks, knives strewed theflagstones, and the dim light of the lamps, fastened high up on thewalls, fell on the faces of three men stretched out on their backs. Another, lying huddled up in a heap, got up suddenly and rushed out. 

The thought of Seraphina clinging to the lifeless body of her fatherupstairs came to me; it came over me in horror, and I let the musketfall out of my hand. A silence like the silence of despair reigned inthe house. She would hate me now. I felt as if I could walk out and givemyself up, had it not been for the sight of O'Brien. 

He was leaning his shoulders against the wall in the posture of a mansuddenly overcome by a deadly disease. No one was looking at us. It cameto me that he could not have many illusions left to him now. He lookedup wearily, saw me, and, waking up at once, thrust his hands into thepockets of his breeches. I thought of his pistol. No wild hope of lovewould prevent him, now, from killing me outright. The fatal shot thathad put an end to Don Balthasar's life must have brought to him anawakening worse than death. I made one stride, caught him by both armsswiftly, and pinned him to the wall with all my strength. We struggledin silence. 

I found him much more vigorous than I had expected; but, at the sametime, I felt at once that I was more than a match for him. We did notsay a word. We made no noise. But, in our struggle, we got away from thewall into the middle of the gateway I dared not let go of his arms totake him by the throat. He only tried to jerk and wrench himself away. Had he succeeded, it would have been death for me. We never moved ourfeet from the spot, fairly in the middle of the archway but nearer tothe gate than to the _patio_. The slaves, formed outside, guarded thebishop's coach, and I do not know that there was anybody else actuallywith us under the vault of the entrance. We glared into each other'sfaces, and the world seemed very still around us. I felt in me apassion--not of hate, but of determination to be done with him; and fromhis face it was impossible to guess his suffering, his despair, or hisrage. 

In the midst of our straining I heard a sibilant sound. I detached myeyes from his; his struggles redoubled, and, behind him, stealing intowards us from the court, black on the strip of crimson cloth, I sawTomas Castro. He flung his cloak back. The light of the lanthorn underthe keystone of the arch glimmered feebly on the blade of his maimedarm. He made a discreet and bloodcurdling gesture to me with the other. 

How could I hold a man so that he should be stabbed from behind in myarms? Castro was running up swiftly, his cloak opening like a pair ofsable wings. Collecting all my strength, I forced O'Brien round, andwe swung about in a flash. Now he had his back to the gate. My effortseemed to have uprooted him. I felt him give way all over. 

As soon as our position had changed, Castro checked himself, and steppedaside into the shadow of the guardroom doorway. I don't think O'Brienhad been aware of what had been going on. His strength was overborneby mine. I drove him backwards. His eyes blinked wildly. He bared histeeth. He resisted, as though I had been forcing him over the brink ofperdition. His feet clung to the flagstones. I shook him till his headrolled. 

"Viper brood!" he spluttered. 

"Out you go!" I hissed. 

I had found nothing heroic, nothing romantic to say--nothing that wouldexpress my desperate resolve to rid the world of his presence. All Icould do was to fling him out. The Casa Riego was all my world--a Worldfull of great pain, great mourning, and love. I saw him pitch headlongunder the wheels of the bishop's enormous carriage. The black coachmanwho had sat aloft, unmoved through all the tumult, in his whitestockings and three-cornered hat, glanced down from his high box. Andthe two parts of the gate came together with a clang of ironwork and aheavy crash that seemed as loud as thunder under that vault. 

CHAPTER SIX

Not even in memory am I willing to live over again those three days whenFather Antonio, the old major-domo, and myself would meet each otherin the galleries, in the _patio_, in the empty rooms, moving in thestillness of the house with heavy hearts and desolate eyes, which seemedto demand, "What is there to do?"

Of course, precautions were taken against the Lugareños. They werebesieging the Casa from afar. They had established a sort of camp at theend of the street, and they prowled about amongst the old, barricadedhouses in their pointed hats, in their rags and finery; women, withfood, passed constantly between the villages and the panic-strickentown; there were groups on the beach; and one of the schooners had beentowed down the bay, and was lying, now, moored stem and stern oppositethe great gate. They did nothing whatever active against us. They layaround and watched, as if in pursuance of a plan traced by a superiorauthority. They were watching for me. But when, by some mischance, theyburnt the roof off the outbuildings that were at some distance from theCasa, their chiefs sent up a deputation of three, with apologies. Those men came unarmed, and, as it were, under Castro's protection, and absolutely whimpered with regrets before Father Antonio. "Would hisreverence kindly intercede with the most noble senorita?. .. "

"Silence! Dare not pronounce her name!" thundered the good priest, snatching away his hand, which they attempted to grab and kiss. 

I, in the background, noted their black looks at me even as theycringed. The man who had fired the shot, they said, had expired of hiswounds after great torments. Their other dead had been thrust out ofthe gate before. A long fellow, with slanting eyebrows and a scar on hischeek, called El Rechado, tried to inform Cesar, confidentially, thatManuel, his friend, had been opposed to any encroachment of the Casa'soffices, only: "That Domingo------"

As soon as we discovered what was their object (their apparent object, at any rate), they were pushed out of the gate unceremoniously, --stillprotesting their love and respect--by the Riego negroes. Castro followedthem out again, after exchanging a meaning look with Father Antonio. Tolive in the two camps, as it were, was a triumph of Castro's diplomacy, of his saturnine mysteriousness. He kept us in touch with the outerworld, coming in under all sorts of pretences, mostly with messages fromthe bishop, or escorting the priests that came in relays to pray by thebodies of the two last Riegos lying in state, side by side, rigid inblack velvet and white lace ruffles, on the great bed dragged out intothe middle of the room. 

Two enormous wax torches in iron stands flamed and guttered at the door;a black cloth draped the emblazoned shields; and the wind from the sea, blowing through the open casement, inclined all together the flames ofa hundred candles, pale in the sunlight, extremely ardent in the night. The murmur of prayers for these souls went on incessantly; I have it inmy ears now. There would be always some figure of the household kneelingin prayer at the door; or the old major-domo would come in to stand atthe foot, motionless for a time; or, through the open door, I would seethe cassock of Father Antonio, flung on his knees, with his foreheadresting on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped above his tonsure. 

Apart from what was necessary for defence, all the life of the houseseemed stopped. Not a woman appeared; all the doors were closed; andthe numbing desolation of a great bereavement was symbolized by DonBal-thasar's chair in the _patio_, which had remained lying overturnedin full view of every part of the house, till I could bear the sightno longer, and asked Cesar to have it put away. "_Si, Señor_, " he saiddeferentially, and a few tears ran suddenly down his withered cheeks. The English flowers had been trampled down; an unclean hat floated onthe basin, now here, now there, frightening the goldfish from one sideto the other. 

And Seraphina. It seems not fitting that I should write of her in thesedays. I hardly dared let my thoughts approach her, but I had to think ofher all the time. Her sorrow was the very soul of the house. 

Shortly after I had thrown O'Brien out the bishop had left, and then Ilearned from Father Antonio that Seraphina had been carried away to herown apartments in a fainting condition. The excellent man was almostincoherent with distress and trouble of mind, and walked up and down, his big head drooping on his capacious chest, the joints of his entwinedfingers cracking. I had met him in the gallery, as I was making my wayback to Carlos' room in anxiety and fear, and we had stepped aside intoa large saloon, seldom used, above the gateway. I shall never forgetthe restless, swift pacing of that burly figure, while, feeling utterlycrushed, now the excitement was over, I leaned against a console. Threelong bands of moonlight fell, chilly bluish, into the vast room, withits French Empire furniture stiffly arranged about the white walls. 

"And that man?" he asked me at last. 

"I could have killed him with my own hands, " I said. "I was thestronger. He had his pistols on him, I am certain, only I could not be aparty to an assassination. .. . "

"Oh, my son, it would have been no sin to have exerted the strengthwhich God had blessed you with, " he interrupted. "We are allowed to killvenomous snakes, wild beasts; we are given our strength for that, ourintelligence. .. . " And all the time he walked about, wringing his hands. 

"Yes, your reverence, " I said, feeling the most miserable and helplessof lovers on earth; "but there was no time. If I had not thrown him out, Castro would have stabbed him in the back in my very hands. And thatwould have been------" Words failed me. 

I had been obliged not only to desist myself, but to save his life fromCastro. I had been obliged! There had been no option. Murderous enemy ashe was, it seemed to me I should never have slept a wink all the rest ofmy life. 

"Yes, it is just, it is just. What else? Alas!" Father Antonio repeateddisconnectedly. "Those feelings implanted in your breast----I haveserved my king, as you know, in my sacred calling, but in the midst ofwar, which is the outcome of the wickedness natural to our fallen state. I understand; I understand. It may be that God, in his mercy, did notwish the death of that evil man--not yet, perhaps. Let us submit. Hemay repent. " He snuffled aloud. "I think of that poor child, " he saidthrough his handkerchief. Then, pressing my arm with his vigorousfingers, he murmured, "I fear for her reason. "

It may be imagined in what state I spent the rest of that sleeplessnight. At times, the thought that I was the cause of her bereavementnearly drove me mad. 

And there was the danger, too. 

But what else could I have done? My whole soul had recoiled from thehorrible help Castro was bringing us at the point of his blade. No lovecould demand from me such a sacrifice. 

Next day Father Antonio was calmer. To my trembling inquiries he saidsomething consolatory as to the blessed relief of tears. When notpraying fervently in the mortuary chamber, he could be seen pacing thegallery in a severe aloofness of meditation. In the evening he tookme by the arm, and, without a word, led me up a narrow and windingstaircase. He pushed a small door, and we stepped out on a flat part ofthe roof, flooded in moonlight. 

The points of land dark with the shadows of trees and broken groundclasped the waters of the bay, with a body of shining white mists inthe centre; and, beyond, the vast level of the open sea, touched withglitter, appeared infinitely sombre under the luminous sky. 

We stood back from the parapet, and Father Antonio threw out a thick armat the splendid trail of the moon upon the dark water. 

"This is the only way, " he said. 

He had a warm heart under his black robe, a simple and courageouscomprehension of life, this priest who was very much of a man; a certaingrandeur of resolution when it was a matter of what he regarded as hisprincipal office. 

"This is the way, " he repeated. 

Never before had I been struck so much by the gloom, the vastness, the emptiness of the open sea, as on that moonlight night. And FatherAntonio's deep voice went on:

"My son, since God has made use of the nobility of your heart to savethat sinner from an unshriven death------"

He paused to mutter, "Inscrutable! inscrutable!" to himself, sighed, andthen:

"Let us rejoice, " he continued, with a completely unconcealedresignation, "that you have been the chosen instrument to afford him anopportunity to repent. "

His tone changed suddenly. 

"He will never repent, " he said with great force. "He has sold hissoul and body to the devil, like those magicians of old of whom we haverecords. "

He clicked his tongue with compunction, and regretted his want ofcharity. It was proper for me, however, as a man having to deal with aworld of wickedness and error, to act as though I did not believe in hisrepentance. 

"The hardness of the human heart is incredible; I have seen the mostappalling examples. " And the priest meditated. "He is not a commoncriminal, however, " he added profoundly. 

It was true. He was a man of illusions, ministering to passionsthat uplifted him above the fear of consequences, Young as I was, Iunderstood that, too. There was no safety for us in Cuba while he lived. Father Antonio nodded dismally. 

"Where to go?" I asked. "Where to turn? Whom can we trust? In whom canwe repose the slightest confidence? Where can we look for hope?"

Again the _padre_ pointed to the sea. The hopeless aspect of its moonlitand darkling calm struck me so forcibly that I did not even ask how heproposed to get us out there. I only made a gesture of discouragement. Outside the Casa, my life was not worth ten minutes' purchase. And howcould I risk her there? How could I propose to her to follow me to analmost certain death? What could be the issue of such an adventure?How could we hope to devise such secret means of getting away as wouldprevent the _Lugareños_ pursuing us? I should perish, then, and she. .. 

Father Antonio seemed to lose his self-control suddenly. 

"Yes, " he cried. "The sea is a perfidious element, but what is it tothe blind malevolence of men?" He gripped my shoulder. "The risk to herlife, " he cried; "the risk of drowning, of hunger, of thirst--that isall the sea can do. I do not think of that. I love her too much. Sheis my very own spiritual child; and I tell you, Señor, that the unholyintrigue of that man endangers not her happiness, not her fortunealone--it endangers her innocent soul itself. "

A profound silence ensued. I remembered that his business was to savesouls. This old man loved that young girl whom he had watched growingup, defenceless in her own home; he loved her with a great strength ofpaternal instinct that no vow of celibacy can extinguish, and with aheroic sense of his priestly duty. And I was not to say him nay. Thesea--so be it. It was easier to think of her dead than to think of herimmured; it was better that she should be the victim of the sea than ofevil men; that she should be lost with me than to me. 

Father Antonio, with that naïve sense of the poetry of the sky hepossessed, apostrophized the moon, the "gentle orb, " as he called it, which ought to be weary of looking at the miseries of the earth. Hisimmense shadow on the leads seemed to fling two vast fists over theparapet, as if to strike at the enemies below, and without discussingany specific plan we descended. It was understood that Seraphina and Ishould try to escape--I won't say by sea, but to the sea. At best, toask the charitable help of some passing ship, at worst to go out of theworld together. 

I had her confidence. I will not tell of my interview with her; but Ishall never forget my sensations of awe, as if entering a temple, themelancholy and soothing intimacy of our meeting, the dimly lit loftinessof the room, the vague form of La Chica in the background, and thefrail, girlish figure in black with a very pale, delicate face. FatherAntonio was the only other person present, and chided her for giving wayto grief. "It is like rebellion--like rebellion, " he denounced, turningaway his head to wipe a tear hastily; and I wondered and thanked Godthat I should be a comfort to that tender young girl, whose lot on earthhad been difficult, whose sorrow was great but could not overwhelm herindomitable spirit, which held a promise of sweetness and love. 

Her courage was manifest to me in the gentle and sad tones of her voice. I made her sit in a vast armchair of tapestry, in which she lookedlost like a little child, and I took a stool at her feet. This is anunforgettable hour in my life in which not a word of love was spoken, which is not to be written of. The burly shadow of the priest laymotionless from the window right across the room; the flickering flameof a silver lamp made an unsteady white circle of light on the loftyceiling above her head. A clock was beating gravely somewhere in thedistant gloom, like the unperturbed heart of that silence, in which ourunderstanding of each other was growing, even into a strength fit towithstand every tempest. 

"Escape by the sea, " I said aloud. "It would be, at least, like twolovers leaping hand in hand off a high rock, and nothing else. "

Father Antonio's bass voice spoke behind us. 

"It is better to jeopardize the sinful body that returns to the dust ofwhich it is made than the redeemed soul, whose awful lot is eternity. Reflect. "

Seraphina hung her head, but her hand did not tremble in mine. 

"My daughter, " the old man continued, "you have to confide your fate toa noble youth of elevated sentiments, and of a truly chivalrousheart. .. . "

"I trust him, " said Seraphina. 

And, as I heard her say this, it seemed really to me as if, in verytruth, my sentiments were noble and my heart chivalrous. Such is thepower of a girl's voice. The door closed on us, and I felt very humble. 

But in the gallery Father Antonio leaned heavily on my shoulder. 

"I shall be a lonely old man, " he whispered faintly. "After all theseyears! Two great nobles; the end of a great house--a child I had seengrow up. .. . But I am less afraid for her now. "

I shall not relate all the plans we made and rejected. Everything seemedimpossible. We knew from Castro that O'Brien had gone to Havana, eitherto take the news of Don Balthasar's death himself, or else to preventthe news spreading there too soon. Whatever his motive for leaving RioMedio, he had left orders that the house should be respected under themost awful penalties, and that it should be watched so that no one leftit. The Englishman was to be killed at sight. Not a hair on anybodyelse's head was to be touched. 

To escape seemed impossible; then on the third day the thing came topass. The way was found. Castro, who served me as if Carlos' soul hadpassed into my body, but looked at me with a saturnine disdain, hadarranged it all with Father Antonio. 

It was the day of the burial of Carlos and Don Balthasar. That same dayCastro had heard that a ship had been seen becalmed a long way out tosea. It was a great opportunity; and the funeral procession would givethe occasion for my escape. There was in Rio Medio, as in all Spanishtowns amongst the respectable part of the population, a confraternityfor burying the dead, "The Brothers of Pity, " who, clothed in blackrobes and cowls, with only two holes for the eyes, carried the dead totheir resting-place, unrecognizable and unrecognized in that pious work. A "Brother of Pity" dress would be brought for me into Father Antonio'sroom. Castro was confident as to his ability of getting a boat. It wouldbe a very small and dangerous one, but what would I have, if I neitherkilled my enemy, nor let any one else kill him for me, he commented withsombre sarcasm. 

A truce of God had been called, and the burial was to take place in theevening when the mortal remains of the last of the Riegos would belaid in the vault of the cathedral of what had been known as theirown province, and had, in fact, been so for a time under a grant fromCharles V. 

Early in the day I had a short interview with Seraphina. She wasresolute. Then, long before dark, I slipped into Father Antonio's room, where I was to stay until the moment to come out and mingle with thethrong of other Brothers of Pity. Once with the bodies in the crypt ofthe cathedral, I was to await Seraphina there, and, together, we shouldslip through a side door on to the shore. Cesar, to throw any observeroff the scent (three _Lugareños_ were to be admitted to see the bodiesput in their coffins), posted two of the Riego negroes with loadedmuskets on guard before the door of my empty room, as if to protect me. 

Then, just as dusk fell, Father Antonio, who had been praying silentlyin a corner, got up, blew his nose, sighed, and suddenly enfolded me inhis powerful arms for an instant. 

"I am an old man--a poor priest, " he whispered jerkily into my ear, "andthe sea is very perfidious. And yet it favours the sons of your nation. But, remember--the child has no one but you. Spare her. "

He went off; stopped. "Inscrutable! inscrutable!" he murmured, liftingupwards his eyes. He raised his hand with a solemn slowness. "An oldman's blessing can do no harm, " he said humbly. I bowed my head. Myheart was too full for speech, and the door closed. I never saw himagain, except later on in his surplice for a moment at the gate, hisgreat bass voice distinct in the chanting of the priests conducting thebodies. 

The _Lugareños_ would respect the truce arranged by the bishop. 

No man of them but the three had entered the Casa. Already, early in thenight, their black-haired women, with coarse faces and melancholy eyes, were kneeling in rows under the black _mantillas_ on the stone floor ofthe cathedral, praying for the repose of the soul of Seraphina'sfather, of that old man who had lived among them, unapproachable, almostinvisible, and as if infinitely removed. They had venerated him, andmany of them had never set eyes on his person. 

It strikes me, now, as strange and significant of a mysterious humanneed, the need to look upwards towards a superiority inexpressiblyremote, the need of something to idealize in life. They had only thatand, maybe, a sort of love as idealized and as personal for the motherof God, whom, also, they had never seen, to whom they trusted to savethem from a devil as real. And they had, moreover, a fear even more realof O'Brien. 

And, when one comes to think of it, in putting on the long spectacledrobe of a Brother of Pity, in walking before the staggering bearersof the great coffin with a tall crucifix in my hand, in thus takingadvantage of their truce of God, I was, also, taking advantage of whatwas undoubtedly their honour--a thing that handicapped them quite asmuch as had mine when I found myself unable to strike down O'Brien. Atthat time, I was a great deal too excited to consider this, however. Ihad many things to think of, and the immense necessity of keeping a coolhead. 

It was, after all, Tomas Castro to whom all the credit of the thingbelonged. Just after it had fallen very dark, he brought me the blackrobes, a pair of heavy pistols to gird on under them, and the heavystaff topped by a crucifix. He had an air of sarcastic protest in thedim light of my room, and he explained with exaggeratedly plain wordsprecisely what I was to do--which, as a matter of fact, was neither morenor less than merely following in his own footsteps. 

"And, oh, Señor, " he said sardonically, "if you desire again to pillowyour head upon the breast of your mother; if you would again see yoursister, who, alas! by bewitching my Carlos, is at the heart of all ourtroubles; if you desire again to see that dismal land of yours, whichpoliteness forbids me to curse, I would beg of you not to let themad fury of your nation break loose in the midst of these thieves andscoundrels. "

He peered intently into the spectacled eyeholes of my cowl, and laidhis hand on his sword-hilt. His small figure, tightly clothed in blackvelvet from chin to knee, swayed gently backwards and forwards in thelight of the dim candle, and his grotesque shadow flitted over theghostly walls of the great room. He stood gazing silently for a minute, then turned smartly on his heels, and, with a gesture of sardonicrespect, threw open the door for me. 

"Pray, Señor, " he said, "that the moon may not rise too soon. "

We went swiftly down the colonnades for the last time, in the pitchdarkness and into the blackness of the vast archway. The clumping staffof my heavy crucifix drew hollow echoes from the flagstones. In the deepsort of cave behind us, lit by a dim lanthorn, the negroes waited tounbar the doors. Castro himself began to mutter over his beads. Suddenlyhe said:

"It is the last time I shall stand here. Now, there is not any more aplace for me on the earth. "

Great flashes of light began to make suddenly visible the tall pillarsof the immense mournful palace, and after a long time, absolutelywithout a sound, save the sputter of enormous torches, an incrediblyghostly body of figures, black-robed from head to foot, with largeeyeholes peering fantastically, swayed into the great arch of the hall. Above them was the enormous black coffin. It was a sight so appallingand unexpected that I stood gazing at them without any power to move, until I remembered that I, too, was such a figure. And then, with anejaculation of impatience, Tomas Castro caught at my hand, and whirledme round. 

The great doors had swung noiselessly open, and the black night, bespangled with little flames, was framed in front of me. He suddenlyunsheathed his portentous sword, and, hanging his great hat upon hismaimed arm, stalked, a pathetic and sinister figure of grief, down thegreat steps. I followed him in the vivid and extraordinary compulsion ofthe sinister body that, like one fabulous and enormous monster, swayedimpenetrably after me. 

My heart beat till my head was in a tumultuous whirl, when thus, atlast, I stepped out of that house--but I suppose my grim robes cloakedmy emotions--though, seeing very clearly through the eyeholes, it wasalmost incredible to me that I was not myself seen. But these Brothersof Pity were a secret society, known to no man except their spiritualhead, who chose them in turn, and not knowing even each other. Theirgood deeds of charity were, in that way, done by pure stealth. And ithappened that their spiritual director was the Father Antonio himself. At that foot of the palace steps, drawn back out of our way, stood thegreat glass coach of state, containing, even then, the woman who wasall the world to me, invisible to me, unattainable to me, not to becomforted by me, even as her great griefs were to me invisible andunassuageable. And there between us, in the great coffin, held onhigh by the grim, shadowy beings, was all that she loved, invisible, unattainable, too, and beyond all human comfort. Standing there, in themidst of the whispering, bare-headed, kneeling, and villainous crowd, Ihad a vivid vision of her pale, dim, pitiful face. Ah, poor thing! shewas going away for good from all that state, from all that seclusion, from all that peace, mutely, and with a noble pride of quietness, intoa world of dangers, with no head but mine to think for her, no arm butmine to ward off all the great terrors, the immense and dangerous weightof a new world. 

In the twinkle of innumerable candles, the priceless harness of thewhite mules, waiting to draw the great coach after us, shone likestreaks of ore in an infinitely rich silver mine. A double line oftapers kept the road to the cathedral, and a crowd of our negroes, thebell muzzles of their guns suggested in the twinkling light, massedthemselves round the coach. Outside the lines were the crowd ofrapscallions in red jackets, their women and children--all thepopulation of the Aldea Bajo, groaning. The whole crowd got into motionround us, the white mules plunging frantically, the coach swaying. Aheadof me inarched the sardonic, gallantly grotesque figure of true Tomas, his sword point up, his motions always jaunty. Ahead of him, again, were the white robes of many priests, a cluster of tall candles, a greatjewelled cross, and a tall saint's figure swaying, more than shoulderhigh, and disappearing up above into the darkness. For me, under mycowl, it was suffocatingly hot; but I seemed to move forward, following, swept along without any volition of my own. It appeared an immenselylong journey; and then, as we went at last up the cathedral steps, avoice cried harshly, "Death to the heretic!" My heart stood still. I clutched frantically at the handle of a pistol that I could notdisengage from folds of black cloth. But, as a matter of fact, the crywas purely a general one; I was supposed to be shut up in the palacestill. 

The sudden glow, the hush, the warm breath of incense, and the blazeof light turned me suddenly faint; my ears buzzed, and I heard strangesounds. 

The cathedral was a mass of heads. Everyone in Rio Medio was present, or came trooping in behind us. The better class was clustered near theblaze of gilding, mottled marble, wax flowers, and black and purpledrapery that vaulted over the two black coffins in the choir. Down inthe unlit body of the church the riff-raff of O'Brien kept the doors. 

I followed the silent figure of Tomas Castro to the bishop's own stall, right up in the choir, and we became hidden from the rest by the forestof candles round the catafalque. Up the centre of the great church, and high over the heads of the kneeling people, came the great coffin, swaying, its bearers robbed of half their grimness by the blaze oflights. Tomas Castro suddenly caught at my sleeve whilst they wereletting the coffin down on to the bier. He drew me unnoticed intothe shadow behind the bishop's stall. In the swift transit, I had amomentary glance of a small, black figure, infinitely tiny in thatquiet place, and infinitely solitary, veiled in black from head to foot, coming alone up the centre of the nave. 

I stood hidden there beside the bishop's stall for a long time, and thensuddenly I saw the black figure alone in the gallery, looking down uponme--from the _loggia_ of the Riegos. I felt suddenly an immense calm;she was looking at me with unseeing eyes, but I knew and felt that shewould follow me now to the end of the world. I had no more any doubtsas to the issue of our enterprise; it was open to no unsuccess with afigure so steadfast engaged in it; it was impossible that blind fateshould be insensible to her charm, impossible that any man could strikeat or thwart her. 

Monks began to sing; a great brass instrument grunted lamentably; in thebody of the building there was silence. The bishop and his supportersmoved about, as if aimlessly, in front of the altar; the chains of thegold censors clicked ceaselessly. Seraphina's head had sunk forward outof my sight. All the heads of the cathedral bowed down, and suddenly, from round the side of the stall, a hand touched mine, and a voice said, "It is time. " Very softly, as if it were part of the rite, I was drawnround the stall through a door in the side of the screen. As we wentout, in his turnings, the old bishop gave us the benediction. Then thedoor closed on the glory of his robes, and in a minute, in the darknesswe were rustling down a circular narrow staircase into the dimness ofa crypt, lit by the little blue flame of an oil lamp. From above camesounds like thunder, immense, vibrating; we were immediately under thechoir. Through the cracks round a large stone showed a parallelogram oflight. 

In the dimness I had a glimpse of the face of my conductor--a thin, wonderfully hollow-cheeked lay brother. He began, with great gentleness, to assist me out of my black robes, and then he said:

"The senorita will be here very soon with the Señor Tomas, " and thenadded, with an infinitely sad and tender, dim smile:

"Will not the Señor Caballero, if it is not repugnant, say a prayer forthe repose of. .. " He pointed gently upwards to the great flagstone abovewhich was the coffin of Don Balthasar and Carlos. The priest himself wasone of those very holy, very touching---perhaps, very stupid--men thatone finds in such places. With his dim, wistful face he is very presentin my memory. He added: "And that the good God of us all may keep itin the Señor Caballero's heart to care well for the soul of the dearsenorita. "

"I am a very old man, " he whispered, after a pause. He was indeed anold man, quite worn out, quite without hope on earth. "I have loved thesenorita since she was a child. The Señor Caballero takes her from us. Iwould have him pray--to be made worthy. "

Whilst I was doing it, the place began to be alive with whispers ofgarments, of hushed footsteps, a small exclamation in a gruff voice. Then the stone above moved out of its place, and a blaze of light felldown from the choir above. 

I saw beside me Seraphina's face, brilliantly lit, looking upwards. Tomas Castro said:

"Come quickly. .. Come quickly. .. The prayers are ending; there will bepeople in the street. " And from above an enormous voice intoned:

"_Tu. . U. . Ba mi. . I. . I. . Rum. .. _" And the serpent groaned discordantly. The end of a great box covered with black velvet glided forward aboveour heads; ropes were fastened round it. The priest had opened a door inthe shadowy distance, beside a white marble tablet in the thick walls. The coffin up above moved forward a little again; the ropes werereadjusted with a rattling, wooden sound. A dry, formal voice intonedfrom above:

"_Èrit. .. Justus Ab auditione. .. _"

From the open door the priest rattled his keys, and said, "Come, come, "impatiently. 

I was horribly afraid that Seraphina would shriek or faint, or refuseto move. There was very little time. The pirates might stream out of thefront of the cathedral as we came from the back; the bishop had promisedto accentuate the length of the service. But Seraphina glided towardsthe open door; a breath of fresh air reached us. She looked back once. The coffin was swinging right over the hole, shutting out the light. Tomas Castro took her hand and said, "Come. .. Come, " with infinitetenderness. 

He had been sobbing convulsedly. We went up some steps, and the doorshut behind us with a sound like a sigh of relief. 

We walked fast, in perfect blackness and solitude, on the deserted beachbetween the old town and the village. Every soul was near the cathedral. A boat lay half afloat. To the left in the distance the light of theschooner opposite the Casa Riego wavered on the still water. 

Suddenly Tomas Castro said:

"The senorita never before set foot to the open ground. "

At once I lifted her into the boat. "Shove off, Tomas, " I said, with abeating heart. 

PART FOURTH -- BLADE AND GUITAR

CHAPTER ONE

There was a slight, almost imperceptible jar, a faint grating noise, awhispering sound of sand--and the boat, without a splash, floated. 

The earth, slipping as it were away from under the keel, left us borneupon the waters of the bay, which were as still as the windless nightitself. The pushing off of that boat was like a launching into space, asa bird opens its wings on the brow of a cliff, and remains poised inthe air. A sense of freedom came to me, the unreasonable feeling ofexultation--as if I had been really a bird essaying its flight for thefirst time. Everything, sudden and evil and most fortunate, had beenarranged for me, as though I had been a lay figure on which Romancehad been wreaking its bewildering unexpectedness; but with the floatingclear of the boat, I felt somehow that this escape I had to managemyself. 

It was dark. Dipping cautiously the blade of the oar, I gave anotherpush against the shelving shore. Seraphina sat, cloaked and motionless, and Tomas Castro, in the bows, made no sound. I didn't even hear himbreathe. Everything was left to me. The boat, impelled afresh, madea slight ripple, and my elation was replaced in a moment by all thetorments of the most acute anxiety. 

I gave another push, and then lost the bottom. Success depended uponmy resource, readiness, and courage. And what was this success?Immediately, it meant getting out of the bay, and into the open sea ina twelve-foot dinghy looted from some ship years ago by the Rio Mediopirates, if that miserable population of sordid and ragged outcasts ofthe Antilles deserved such a romantic name. They were sea-thieves. 

Already the wooded shoulder of a mountain was thrown out intenselyblack by the glow in the sky behind. The moon was about to rise. A greatanguish took my heart as if in a vice. The stillness of the dark shorestruck me as unnatural. I imagined the yell of the discovery breakingit, and the fancy caused me a greater emotion than the thing itself, Iflatter myself, could possibly have done. The unusual silence in which, through the open portals, the altar of the cathedral alone blazed withmany flames upon the bay, seemed to enter my very heart violently, likea sudden access of anguish. The two in the boat with me were silent, too. I could not bear it. 

"Seraphina, " I murmured, and heard a stifled sob. 

"It is time to take the oars, Señor, " whispered Castro suddenly, asthough he had fallen asleep as soon as he had scrambled into the bows, and only had awaked that instant. "The mists in the middle of the baywill hide us when the moon rises. "

It was time--if we were to escape. Escape where? Into the open sea? Withthat silent, sorrowing girl by my side! In this miserable cockleshell, and without any refuge open to us? It was not really a hesitation; shecould not be left at the mercy of O'Brien. It was as though I had forthe first time perceived how vast the world was; how dangerous; howunsafe. And there was no alternative. There could be no going back. 

Perhaps, if I had known what was before us, my heart would have failedme utterly out of sheer pity. Suddenly my eyes caught sight of the moonmaking like the glow of a bush fire on the black slope of the mountain. In a moment it would flood the bay with light, and the schooner anchoredoff the beach before the Casa Riego was not eighty yards away. I dippedmy oar without a splash. Castro pulled with his one hand. 

The mists rising on the lowlands never filled the bay, and I could seethem lying in moonlight across the outlet like a silvery white ghostof a wall. We penetrated it, and instantly became lost to view from theshore. 

Castro, pulling quickly, turned his head, and grunted at a red blurvery low in the mist. A fire was burning on the low point of land whereNichols--the Nova Scotian--had planted the battery which had worked suchhavoc with Admiral Rowley's boats. It was a mere earthwork and some ofthe guns had been removed. The fire, however, warned us that there weresome people on the point. We ceased rowing for a moment, and Castroexplained to me that a fire was always lit when any of these thieves'boats were stirring. There would be three or four men to keep it up. Onthis very night Manuel-del-Popolo was outside with a good many rowboats, waiting on the _Indiaman_. The ship had been seen nearing the shoresince noon. She was becalmed now. Perhaps they were looting her already. 

This fact had so far favoured our escape. There had been no strollers onthe beach that night. Since the investment of the Casa Riego, Castro hadlived amongst the besiegers on his prestige of a superior person, ofa _caballero_ skilled in war and diplomacy. No one knew how much thetubby, saturnine little man was in the confidence of the Juez O'Brien;and there was no doubt that he was a good Catholic. He was a very grave, a very silent _caballero_. In reality his heart had been broken by thedeath of Carlos, and he did not care what happened to him. His actionwas actuated by his scorn and hate of the Rio Medio population, ratherthan by any friendly feeling towards myself. 

On that night Domingo's partisans were watching the Casa Riego, whileManuel (who was more of a seaman) had taken most of his personalfriends, and all the larger boats that would float, to do a bit of"outside work, " as they called it, upon the becalmed West Indiaman. 

This had facilitated Castro's plan, and it also accounted for thesmallness of the boat, which was the only one of the refuse lot lefton the beach that did not gape at every seam. She was not tight by anymeans, though. I could hear the water washing above the bottom-boards, and I remember how concern about keeping Seraphina's feet dry mingledwith the grave apprehensions of our enterprise. 

We had been paddling an easy stroke. The red blurr of the fire on thepoint was growing larger, while the diminished blaze of lights on thehigh altar of the cathedral pierced the mist with an orange ray. 

"The boat should be baled out, " I remarked in a whisper. 

Castro laid his oar in and made his way to the thwart. It shows how wellwe were prepared for our flight, that there was not even a half-cocoanutshell in the boat. A gallon earthenware jar, stoppered with a bunch ofgrass, contained all our provision of fresh water. Castro displaced it, and, bending low, tried to bale with his big, soft hat. I should imaginethat he found it impracticable, because, suddenly, he tore off oneof his square-toed shoes with a steel buckle. He used it as a scoop, blaspheming at the necessity, but in a very low mutter, out of respectfor Seraphina. 

Standing up in the stern-sheets by her side, I kept on sculling gently. Once before I had gone desperately to sea--escaping the gallows, perhaps--in a very small boat, with the drunken song of Rangsley's uncleheralding the fascination of the unknown to a very callow youth. Thatnight had been as dark, but the danger had been less great. The boat, itis true, had actually sunk under us, but then it was only the sea thatmight have swallowed me who knew nothing of life, and was as much astranger to fate as the animals on our farm. But now the world of menstood ready to devour us, and the Gulf of Mexico was of no more accountthan a puddle on a road infested by robbers. What were the dangersof the sea to the passions amongst which I was launched--with my highfortunes in my hand, and, like all those who live and love, with a swordsuspended above my head?

The danger had been less great on that old night, when I had heardbehind me the soft crash of the smugglers' feet on the shingle. It hadbeen less great, and, if it had had a touch of the sordid, it had led meto this second and more desperate escape--in a cockleshell, carryingoff a silent and cloaked figure, which quickened my heart-beats at eachlook. I was carrying her off from the evil spells of the Casa Riego, as a knight a princess from an enchanted castle. But she was more to methan any princess to any knight. 

There was never anything like that in the world. Lovers might have gone, in their passion, to a certain death; but never, it seemed to me, inthe history of youth, had they gone in such an atmosphere of cautiousstillness upon such a reckless adventure. Everything depended uponslipping out through the gullet of the bay without a sound. The men onthe point had no means of pursuit, but, if they heard or saw anything, they could shout a warning to the boats outside. These were the realdangers--my first concern. Afterwards. .. I did not want to thinkof afterwards. There were only the open sea and the perilous coast. Perhaps, if I thought of them, I should give up. 

I thought only of gaining each successive moment and concentrated allmy faculties into an effort of stealthiness. I handled the boat with adeliberation full of tense prudence, as if the oar had been a stalk ofstraw, as if the water of the bay had been the film of a glass bubble anunguarded movement could have shivered to atoms. I hardly breathed, forthe feeling that a deeper breath would have blown away the mist that wasour sole protection now. 

It was not blown away. On the contrary, it clung closer to us, with theenveloping chill of a cloud wreathing a mountain crag. The vague shadowsand dim outlines that had hung around us began, at last, to vanishutterly in an impenetrable and luminous whiteness. And through thejumble of my thoughts darted the sudden knowledge that there was asea-fog outside--a thing quite different from the nightly mists of thebay. It was rolling into the passage inexplicably, for no stir of airreached us. It was possible to watch its endless drift by the glow ofthe fire on the point, now much nearer us. Its edges seemed to meltaway in the flight of the water-dust. It was a sea-fog coming in. Wasit disastrous to us, or favourable? It, at least, answered our immediateneed for concealment, and this was enough for me, when all our futurehung upon every passing minute. 

The Rio picaroons, when engaged in thieving from some ship becalmedon the coast, began by towing one of their schooners as far as theentrance. They left her there as a rallying point for the boats, and toreceive the booty. 

One of these schooners, as I knew, was moored opposite the Casa Riego. The other might be lying at anchor somewhere right in the fairway ahead, within a few yards. I strained my ears for some revealing sound fromher, if she were there--a cough, a voice, the creak of a block, or thefall of something on her deck. Nothing came. I began to fear lest Ishould run stem on into her side without a moment's warning. I could seeno further than the length of our twelve-foot boat. 

To make certain of avoiding that danger, I decided to shave close thespit of sand that tipped the narrow strip of lowland to the south. I setmy teeth, and sheered in resolutely. 

Castro remained on the after-thwart, with his elbows on his knees. Hishead nearly touched my leg. I could distinguish the woeful, bentback, the broken swaying of the plume in his hat. Seraphina's perfectimmobility gave me the measure of her courage, and the silence was soprofoundly pellucid that the flutter of the flames that we were nearingbegan to come loud out of the blur of the glow. Then I heard the verycrackling of the wood, like a fusillade from a great distance. Even thenCastro did not deign to turn his head. 

Such as he was--a born vagabond, _contrabandista_, spy in armed camps, sutler at the tail of the _Grande Armée_ (escaped, God only knows how, from the snows of Russia), beggar, _guerrillero_, bandit, scepticallymurderous, draping his rags in saturnine dignity--he had ended bybecoming the sinister and grotesque squire of our quixotic Carlos. Therewas something romantically sombre in his devotion. He disdained to turnround at the danger, because he had left his heart on the coffin as alesser affection would have laid a wreath. I looked down at Seraphina. She too, had left a heart in the vaults of the cathedral. The edge ofthe heavy cloak drawn over her head concealed her face from me, and, with her face, her ignorance, her great doubts, her great fears. 

I heard, above the crackling of dry wood, a husky exclamation ofsurprise, and then a startled voice exclaiming:

"Look! _Santissima Madre!_ What is this?"

Sheer instinct altered at once the motion of my hand so as to inclinethe bows of the dinghy away from the shore; but a sort of stupefyingamazement seized upon my soul. We had been seen. It was all over. Was itpossible? All over, already?

In my anxiety to keep clear of the schooner which, for all I know tothis day, may not have been there at all, I had come too close to thesand, so close that I heard soft, rapid footfalls stop short in the fog. A voice seemed to be asking me in a whisper:

"Where, oh, where?"

Another cried out irresistibly, "I see it. "

It was a subdued cry, as if hushed in sudden awe. 

My arm swung to and fro; the turn of my wrist went on imparting thepropelling motion of the oar. All the rest of my body was grippedhelplessly in the dead expectation of the end, as if in the benumbingseconds of a fall from a towering height. And it was swift, too. I felta draught at the back of my neck--a breath of wind. And instantly, as ifa battering-ram had been let swing past me at many layers of stretchedgauze, I beheld, through a tattered deep hole in the fog, a roaringvision of flames, borne down and springing up again; a dance of purplegleams on the strip of unveiled water, and three coal-black figures inthe light. 

One of them stood high on lank black legs, with long black arms thrownup stiffly above the black shape of a hat. The two others crouched lowon the very edge of the water, peering as if from an ambush. 

The clearness of this vision was contained by a thick and fieryatmosphere, into which a soft white rush and swirl of fog fell like asudden whirl of snow. It closed down and overwhelmed at once the tallflutter of the flames, the black figures, the purple gleams playinground my oar. The hot glare had struck my eyeballs once, and had meltedaway again into the old, fiery stain on the mended fabric of the fog. But the attitudes of the crouching men left no room for doubt that wehad been seen. I expected a sudden uplifting of voices on the shore, answered by cries from the sea, and I screamed excitedly at Castro tolay hold of his oar. 

He did not stir, and after my shout, which must have fallen on thescared ears with a weird and unearthly note, a profound silence attendedus--the silence of a superstitious fear. And, instead of howls, I heard, before the boat had travelled its own short length, a voice that seemedto be the voice of fear itself asking, "Did you hear that?" and atrembling mutter of an invocation to all the saints. Then a strangledthroat trying to pronounce firmly, "The souls of the dead _Inglez_. Crying from pain. "

Admiral Rowley's seamen, so miserably thrown away in the ill-conceivedattack on the bay, were making a ghostly escort for our escape. Thosedead boats'-crews were supposed to haunt the fatal spot, after themanner of spectres that linger in remorse, regret, or revenge, aboutthe gates of departure. I had blundered; the fog, breaking apart, hadbetrayed us. But my obscure and vanquished countrymen held possessionof the outlet by the memory of their courage. In this critical moment itwas they, I may say, who stood by us. 

We, on our part, must have been disclosed, dark, indistinct, utterlyinexplicable; completely unexpected; an apparition of stealthy shades. The painful voice in the fog said:

"Let them be. Answer not. They shall pass on, for none of them died onthe shore--all in the water. Yes, all in the water. "

I suppose the man was trying to reassure himself and his companions. His meaning, no doubt, was that, being on shore, they were safe fromthe ghosts of those _Inglez_ who had never achieved a landing. Fromthe enlarging and sudden deepening of the glow, I knew that they werethrowing more brushwood on the fire. 

I kept on sculling, and gradually the sharp fusillade of dry twigs grewmore distant, more muffled in the fog. At last it ceased altogether. Then a weakness came over me, and, hauling my oar in, I sat down bySera-phina's side. I longed for the sound of her voice, for some tenderword, for the caress of a murmur upon my perplexed soul. I was sure ofher, as of a conquered and rare treasure, whose possession simplifieslife into a sort of adoring guardianship--and I felt so much at hermercy that an overwhelming sense of guilt made me afraid to speak toher. The slight heave of the open sea swung the boat up and down. 

Suddenly Castro let out a sort of lugubrious chuckle, and, in low tones, I began to upbraid him with his apathy. Even with his one arm he shouldhave obeyed my call to the oar. It was incomprehensible to me thatwe had not been fired at. Castro enlightened me, in a few moody andscornful words. The Rio Medio people, he commented upon the incident, were fools, of bestial nature, afraid of they knew not what. 

"Castro, the valour of these dead countrymen of mine was not wasted;they have stood by us like true friends, " I whispered in the excitementof our escape. 

"These insensate English, " he grumbled. .. . 

"A dead enemy would have served the turn better. If the _caballero_ hadnone other than dead friends. .. . "

His harsh, bitter mumble stopped. Then Sera-phina's voice said softly:

"It is you who are the friend, Tomas Castro. To you shall come afriend's reward. "

"Alas, Señorita!" he sighed. "What remains for me in this world--for mewho have given for two masses for the souls of that illustrious man, andof your cousin Don Carlos, my last piece of silver?"

"We shall make you very rich, Tomas Castro, " she said with decision, asif there had been bags of gold in the boat. 

He returned a high-flown phrase of thanks in a bitter, absent whisper. I knew well enough that the help he had given me was not for money, notfor love--not even for loyalty to the Riegos. It was obedience to thelast recommendation of Carlos. He ran risks for my safety, but gave menone of his allegiance. 

He was still the same tubby, murderous little man, with a steel bladescrewed to the wooden stump of his forearm, as when, swelling hisbreast, he had stepped on his toes before me like a bloodthirsty pigeon, in the steerage of the ship that had brought us from home. I heard himmumble, with almost incredible, sardonic contempt, that, indeed, the senor would soon have none but dead friends if he refrainedfrom striking at his enemies. Had the senor taken the very excellentopportunity afforded by Providence, and that any sane Christian manwould have taken--to let him stab the Juez O'Brien--we should not thenbe wandering in a little boat. What folly! What folly! One little thrustof a knife, and we should all have been now safe in our beds. .. . 

His tone was one of weary superiority, and I remained appalled by thattruth, stripped of all chivalrous pretence. It was clear, in sparingthat defenceless life, I had been guilty of cruelty for the sake ofmy conscience. There was Seraphina by my side; it was she who had tosuffer. I had let her enemy go free, because he had happened to be nearme, disarmed. Had I acted like an Englishman and a gentleman, or onlylike a fool satisfying his sentiment at other people's expense? Innocentpeople, too, like the Riego servants, Castro himself; like Seraphina, on whom my high-minded forbearance had brought all these dangers, thesehardships, and this uncertain fate. 

She gave no sign of having heard Castro's words. The silence of womenis very impenetrable, and it was as if my hold upon the world--since shewas the whole world for me--had been weakened by that shade of decencyof feeling which makes a distinction between killing and murder. Butsuddenly I felt, without her cloaked figure having stirred, her smallhand slip into mine. Its soft warmth seemed to go straight to my heartsoothing, invigorating--as it she had slipped into my palm a weapon ofextraordinary and inspiring potency. 

"Ah, you are generous, " I whispered close to the edge of the cloakovershadowing her face. 

"You must now think of yourself, Juan, " she said. 

"Of myself, " I echoed sadly. "I have only you to think of, and youare so far away--out of my reach. There are your dead--all your loss, between you and me. "

She touched my arm. 

"It is I who must think of my dead, " she whispered. "But you, you mustthink of yourself, because I have nothing of mine in this world now. "

Her words affected me like the whisper of remorse. It was true. Therewere her wealth, her lands, her palaces; but her only refuge was thatlittle boat. Her father's long aloofness from life had created such anisolation round his closing years that his daughter had no one but me toturn to for protection against the plots of her own Intendente. And, at the thought of our desperate plight, of the suffering awaiting us inthat small boat, with the possibility of a lingering death for an end, I wavered for a moment. Was it not my duty to return to the bay and givemyself up? In that case, as Castro expressed it, our throats would becut for love of the _Juez_. 

But Seraphina, the rabble would carry to the Casa on the palms of theirhands--out of veneration for the family, and for fear of O'Brien. 

"So, Señor, " he mumbled, "if to you to-morrow's sun is as little as tome let us pull the boat's head, round. "

"Let us set our hands to the side and overturn it, rather, " Seraphinasaid, with an indignation of high command. 

I said no more. If I could have taken O'Brien with me into the otherworld, I would have died to save her the pain of so much as a pinprick. But because I could not, she must even go with me; must suffer because Iclung to her as men cling to their hope of highest good--with an exaltedand selfish devotion. 

Castro had moved forward, as if to show his readiness to pull round. Meantime I heard a click. A feeble gleam fell on his misty hands underthe black halo of the hat rim. Again the flint and blade clicked, and alarge red spark winked rapidly in the bows. He had lighted a cigarette. 

CHAPTER TWO

Silence, stillness, breathless caution were the absolute conditions ofour existence. But I hadn't the heart to remonstrate with him for thedanger he caused Seraphina and myself. The fog was so thick now thatI could not make out his outline, but I could smell the tobacco veryplainly. 

The acrid odour of _picadura_ seemed to knit the events of three yearsinto one uninterrupted adventure. I remembered the shingle beach; thedeck of the old _Thames_. It brought to my mind my first vision ofSeraphina, and the emblazoned magnificence of Carlos' sick bed. It allcame and went in a whiff of smoke; for of all the power and charm thathad made Carlos so seductive there remained no such deep trace inthe world as in the heart of the little grizzled bandit who, like aphilosopher, or a desperado, puffed his cigarette in the face of thevery spirit of murder hovering round us, under the mask and cloak of thefog. And by the serene heaven of my life's evening, the spirit ofmurder became actually audible to us in hasty and rhythmical knocks, accompanied by a cheerful tinkling. 

These sounds, growing swiftly louder, at last induced Castro to throwaway his cigarette. Seraphina clutched my arm. The noise of oars rowingfast, to the precipitated jingling of a guitar, swooped down upon uswith a gallant ferocity. 

"_Caramba_, " Castro muttered; "it is the fool Manuel himself!"

I said, then: "We have eight shots between us two, Tomas. "

He thrust his brace of pistols upon my knees. 

"Dispose of them as your worship pleases, " he muttered. 

"You mustn't _give_ up, yet, " I whispered. 

"What is it that I give up?" he mumbled wearily. "Besides, there growsfrom my forearm a blade. If I shall find myself indisposed to quit thisworld alone. .. . Listen to the singing of that imbecile. "

A carolling falsetto seemed to hang muffled in upper space, above thefog that settled low on the water, like a dense and milky sediment ofthe air. The moonlight fell into it strangely. We seemed to breathe atthe bottom of a shallow sea, white as snow, shining like silver, andimpenetrably opaque everywhere, except overhead, where the yellow discof the moon glittered through a thin cloud of steam. The gay truculenceof the hollow knocking, the metallic jingle, the shrill trolling, wenton crescendo to a burst of babbling voices, a mad speed of tinkling, athundering shout, "_Altro, Amigos!_" followed by a great clatter of oarsflung in. The sudden silence pulsated with the ponderous strokes of myheart. 

To escape now seemed impossible. At least it seemed impossible whilethey talked. A dark spot in the shining expanse of fog swam into view. It shifted its place after I had first made it out, and then remainedmotionless, astern of the dinghy. It was the shadow of a big boat fullof men, but when they were silent, I was not sure that I saw anythingat all. I made no doubt, had they been aware of our nearness, there wereamongst them eyes that could have detected us in the same elusive way. But how could they even dream of anything of the kind? They talkednoisily, and there must have been a round dozen of them, at the least. 

Sometimes they would fall a-shouting all together, and then keep quietas if listening. By-and-by I began to hear answering yells, that seemedto converge upon us from all directions. 

We were in the thick of it. It was Manuel's boat, as Castro had guessed, and the other boats were rallying upon it gropingly, keeping up asuccession of yells:

"_Ohe! Ohe!_ Where, where?"

And the people in Manuel's boat howled back at them, "_Ohe! Ohe. .. E!_This way; here!"

Suddenly he struck the guitar a mighty blow, and chanted in an inspiredand grandiose strain:

"Steer--for--the--song. "

His fingers ran riot among the strings, and above the jingling hisvoice, forced to the highest pitch, declaimed, as in the midst of atempest:

 "I adore the saints in the glory of heaven And, on the dust of the earth, The print of her footsteps. "

He was improvising. Sometimes he gasped; the rill of softened tinkle ranon, and, glaring watchfully, I fancied I could detect his shape in thewhite vapour, like a shadow thrown from afar by a tallow dip upon asnowy sheet--the lank droop of his posturing, the greasy locks, theattentive poise of his head, the sentimental rolling of his lustrous andenormous eyes. 

I had not forgotten his astonishing display in the cabin of the schoonerwhen, after the confiding of his woes and his ambitions, he had favouredme with a sample of his art. As at that time, when he had been nursinghis truculent conceit, he sang, and the unsteady twanging of his guitarlurched and staggered far behind his voice, like a drunken slave in thefootsteps of a raving master. Tinkle, tinkle, twang! A headlong rush ofmuddled fingering; a sudden bang, like a heavy stumble. 

"She is the proud daughter of the old Castile! _Olà! Olà!_" he chantedmysteriously at the beginning of every stanza in a rapturous and softecstasy, and then would shriek, as though he had been suddenly cast upon the rock. The poet of Rio Medio was rallying his crew of thieves to arhapsody of secret and unrequited passion. _Twang, ping, tinkle tinkle_. He was the _Capataz_ of the valiant _Lugareños_! The true _Capataz!_The only _Capataz. Olà! Olà! Twang, twang_. But he was the slave ofher charms, the captive of her eyes, of her lips, of her hair, of hereyebrows, which, he proclaimed in a soaring shriek, were like rainbowsarched over stars. 

It was a love-song, a mournful parody, the odious grimacing of an ape tothe true sorrow of the human face. I could have fled from it, as froman intolerable humiliation. And it would have been easy to pull awayunheard while he sang, but I had a plan, the beginning of a plan, something like the beginning of a hope. And for that I should have touse the fog for the purpose of remaining within earshot. 

Would the fog last long enough to serve my turn? That was the onlyquestion, and I believed it would, for it settled lower; it settleddown denser, almost too heavy to be stirred by the fitful efforts of thebreeze. It was a true night fog of the tropics, that, born after sunset, tries to creep back into the warm bosom of the sea before sunrise. Oncein Rio Medio, taking a walk in the early morning along the sand-dunes, I had stood watching below me the heads of some people, fishing from aboat, emerge strangely in the dawn out of such a fog. It concealed theirvery shoulders more completely than water could have done. I trusted itwould not come so soon to our heads, emerging, though it seemed to methat already, by merely clambering on Castro's shoulders, I could attainto clear moonlight; see the highlands of the coast, the masts of theEnglish ship. She could not be very far off if only one could tellthe direction. But an unsteady little dinghy was not the platform foracrobatic exercises, and Castro not exactly the man. 

The slightest noise would have betrayed us, and moreover, the thingwas no good, for even supposing I had got a hurried sight of the ship'sspars, I should have to get down into the fog to pull, and there wouldbe nothing visible to keep us from going astray, unless at everydozen strokes I clambered on Castro's shoulders again to rectify thedirection--an obviously impracticable and absurd proceeding. 

"She is the proud daughter of old Castile, _Olà, Olà_, " Manuel sangconfidentially with a subdued and gallant lilt. .. Obviouslyimpracticable. But I had another idea. 

 "_Tinkle tinkle pinnnng. .. Brrroum. Brrrroum_. My soul yearns for the alms of a smile. For a forgiving glance yearns my lofty soul. .. "

he sang. Ah, if one could have added another four feet to one's stature. Four or five feet only. There seemed to be nothing but a thin veilbetween me and the moon. No more than a thin haze. But at the levelof my eyes everything was hidden. From behind the white veil camethe crying of the strings, a screeching, lugubrious and fierce in itsartificial transport, as if it were mocking my sad and ardent convictionof un-worthiness, the crowning torment, and the inward pride of purelove. In the breathless pauses I could hear the hollow bumping ofgunwales knocking against each other; faint splashings of oars; thedistant hail of some laggards groping their way on the shrouded sea. 

The note of cruel passion that runs in the blood held these cut-throatsprofoundly silent in their boats, as at home I could imagine a party ofsmugglers (they would not stick at a murder or two, either) listening, with pensive faces, to a sentimental ditty of some "sweet Nancy, " howleddismally within the walls of a wayside taproom in the smoke of pipes. Iseemed to understand profoundly the difference of races that brings withit the feeling of romance or awakens hate. My gorge rose at Manuel'ssong. I hated his lamentations. "Alas, alas; in vain, in vain. " Hestrummed with vertiginous speed, with fury, and the distracted clamourof his voice, wrestling madly with the ringing madness of the strings, ended in a piercing and supreme shriek. 

"Finished. It is finished. " A low and applauding murmur flowed tomy ears, the austere acclamations of connoisseurs. "Viva, viva, Manuele!"--a squeak of fervid admiration. "Ah, our _Manuelito_. ". .. Buta gruff voice discoursed jovially, "Care not, Manuel. What of Paquitawith the broken tooth? Is she not left to thee? And _por Dios, hombres_, in the dark all women are alike. "

"I will cram thy unclean mouth with live coals, " Manuel drawledspitefully. 

They roared with laughter at this sally. I depicted to myself theirshapes, their fierce gesticulations, their earrings, bound heads, rags, and weapons, the vile scowls on their swarthy, grimacing faces. Myanxiety beheld them as plainly as anything seen with the eyes ofthe body. And, with my sharpened hearing catching every word withpreternatural distinctness, I felt as if, the ring of Gyges on myfinger, I had sat invisible at the council of my enemies. 

It was noisy, animated, with an issue of supreme interest for us. The ship, seen at midday standing inshore with a light wind, had notapproached the bay near enough to be conveniently attacked till justafter dusk. They had waited for her all the afternoon, sleeping andgambling on the spit of sand. But something heavy in her appearance hadexcited their craven suspicions, and checked their ardour. She appearedto them dangerous. What if she were an English man-of-war disguised?Some even pretended to recognize in her positively one of the lighterfrigates of Rowley's squadron. Night had fallen whilst they squabbled, and their flotilla hung under the land, the men in a conflict ofrapacity and fear, arguing among themselves as to the ship's character, but all unanimously goading Manuel--since he _would_ call himself theironly _Capataz_--to go boldly and find out. 

It seems he had just been doing this with the help of a few choicerspirits, and under cover of the fog. They had managed to steal nearenough to hear Englishmen conversing on board, orders given, and theyo-hoing of invisible sailors, trimming the yards of the ship to thefitful airs. This last, of course, was decisive. Such sounds are notheard on a man-of-war. She was a merchant ship: she would be an easyprey. And Manuel, in a state of exaltation at his venturesome bravery, had pulled back inshore, to rally all the boats round his own, and leadthem to certain plunder. They would soon find out, he declaimed, whatit was to have at their head their own valiant Manuel, instead of thatvagabond, that stranger, that Andalusian starveling; that traitor, thatinfidel, that Castro. Hidden away, he seemed to spout all this forour ears alone, as though he could see us in our boat. .. . Patience;patience! Some day he would cut off that interloper's eyelids, and layhim on his back under a nice clear sun. Castro made a brusque movement;a little shudder of disgust escaped Seraphina. .. . Meantime, Manueldeclared, by his audacity, that ship was as good as theirs already. "_Viva el Capataz!_" they cheered. 

The cloud-like vapours resting on the sea muffled the short roar; weheard grim laughter, excited cries. He began to make a set speech, andhis voice, haranguing with vehement inflections in the shining whitenessof a cloud, had an amazing and uncorporeal character; the quality ofabstract surprise; of phenomenal emotion shouted into empty space. Andfor me it had, also, the fascination of a revealed depth. 

It was like the oration of an ambitious leader in a farce; he held hishearers with his eloquence, as much as he had done with the song of hisgrotesque and desecrating love. He vaunted his sagacity and his valour, and overwhelmed with invective all sorts of names--my own andCastro's among them. He revealed the unholy ideals of all that bandof scoundrels--ideals that he said should find fruition under hiscaptaincy. He boasted of secret conferences with O'Brien. There weremurmurs of satisfaction. 

I don't wonder at Seraphina's shudder of horror, of disgust, of dismay, and indignation. Robbed of the inexpugnable shelter of the Casa Riego, she, too, was made to look into the depths; upon the animalism, thelusts, and the reveries of that sordid, vermin-haunted crowd. I felt forher a profound and shamed sorrow. It was like a profaning touch on thesacredness of her mourning for the dead, and on her clear and passionatevision of life. 

"_Hombres de Rio Medio! Amigos! Valientes!. .. _" Manuel was beginninghis peroration. He would lead them, now, against the English ship. Theterrified heretics would surrender. There was always gold in Englishships. He stopped his speech, and then called loudly, "Let the boatskeep touch with each other, and not stray in that fog. "

"The dog, " grunted Castro. We heard a resolute bustle of preparation;oars were being shipped. 

"Make ready, Tomas, " I whispered. 

"Ready for what?" he grumbled. "Where shall your worship run from theseswine?"

"We must follow them, " I answered. 

"The madness of the senor's countrymen descends upon him, " he whisperedwith sardonic politeness. "Wherefore follow?"

"To find the English ship, " I answered swiftly. 

This, from the moment we had heard Manuel's guitar, had been myidea. Since the fog that concealed us from their sight made us, too, hopelessly blind, those wretches must guide us themselves out of theirown clutches, as it were. I don't put this forward as an inspiredconception. It was a most risky and almost hopeless expedient; but theposition was so critical that there was no other alternative to sittingstill and waiting with folded hands for discovery. Castro seemed moreinclined for the latter. 

Fortunately, the bandits wasted some time in blasphemous bickerings asto the order of the boats in the procession of attack. I urged my viewsupon Castro in hurried whispers. His assent was of importance, since hecould use an oar very well, and, if left to myself, I could not hope toscull fast enough to keep within hearing of the flotilla. 

"Of what use to us would be a ship in Manuel's power?" he arguedmorosely. On the other hand, if we waited near her till she had beenplundered and released, neither the fog nor the night would lastforever. 

"My countrymen will beat them off, " I affirmed confidently. "At anyrate, let us be on the spot. We may take a hand. And remember, Tomas, they are not led by you, this time. "

"True, " he said, mollified. "But one thing more deserves theconsideration of your worship. .. If we follow this plan, we take thesenorita among flying bullets. And lead, alas! unlike steel, is blind, or that illustrious man would not now be dead. If we wait here, thesenorita, at least, shall take no harm from these ruffians, as I havesaid. "

"Are you afraid of the bullets?" I asked Seraphina. 

Before she had answered, Castro hissed at me:

"Oh, you unspeakable English. Would you sacrifice the daughter, too, only because she is brave?"

His sinister allusion made my blood boil with rage, and suddenly runcold in my veins. Swathed in the brilliant cloud, we heard the soundsof quarrelling and scrambling die away; cries of "Ready! ready!" anunexpected and brutal laugh. Seraphina leaned forward. 

"Tomas, I wish this thing. I command it, " she whispered imperiously. "Weshall help these English on the ship. We must; I command it. For theseare now my people. "

I heard him mutter to himself, "h, dear shade of my Carlos. Her people. Where are now mine?" But he shipped his oar, and sat waiting. 

In the moment before the picaroons actually started, I became the preyof the most intense anxiety. I knew we were to seaward of the cluster. But of our position relatively to the boats, and to the English shipthey would make for, I was profoundly ignorant. The dinghy might belying right in the way. Before I could master the sort of disorder I wasthrown into by that thought--which, strange to say, had not occurred tome till then--with a shrill whistle Manuel led off. 

We are always incited to trust, our eyes rather than our ears; and suchis the conventional temper in which we receive the impression of oursenses that I had no idea they were so near us. The destruction of myillusory feeling of distance was the most startling thing in the world. Instantly, it seemed, with the second swing and plash of the oars, theboats were right upon us. They went clear. It was like being grazed by afall of rocks. I seemed to feel the wind of the rush. 

The rapid clatter of rowing, the excited hum of voices, the violentcommotion of the water, passed by us with an impetuosity that took mybreath away. They had started in a bunch. There must have been amongstthem at least one crew of negroes, because somebody was beatinga tambourine smartly, and the rowers chorused in a quick, pantingundertone, "_Ho, ho, talibambo. .. . Ho, ho, talibambo_. " One of theboats silhouetted herself for an instant, a row of heads swaying backand forth, towered over astern by a full-length figure as straight as anarrow. A retreating voice thundered, "Silence!" The sounds and the formsfaded together in the fog with amazing swiftness. 

Seraphina, her cloak off, her head bare, stared forward after thefleeting murmurs and shadows we were pursuing. Sometimes she warned us, "More to the left "; or, "Faster!" We had to put forth our best, forManuel, as if in the very wantonness of confidence, had set a tremendouspace. 

I suppose he took his first direction by the light on the point. Icannot tell what guided him after that feeble sheen had become buried inthe fog; but there was no check in the speed, no sign of hesitation. We followed in the track of the sound, and, for the most part, kept insight of the elusive shadow of the sternmost boat. Often, in a denserbelt of fog, the sounds of rowing became muffled almost to extinction;or we seemed to hear them all round and, startled, checked our speed. Dark apparitions of boats would surge up on all sides in a mostinexplicable way; to the right; to the left; even coming from behind. They appeared real, unmistakable, and, before we had time to dodge them, vanished utterly. Then we had to spurt desperately after the grind ofthe oars, caught, just in time, in an unexpected direction. 

And then we lost them. We pulled frantically. Seraphina had been urgingus, "Faster! faster!" From time to time I would ask her, "Can you seethem?" "Not yet, " she answered curtly. The perspiration poured downmy face. Castro's panting was like the wheezing of bellows at my back. Suddenly, in a despairing tone, she said:

"Stop! I can neither see nor hear anything now. "

We feathered our oars at once, and fell to listening with lowered heads. The ripple of the boat's way expired slowly. A great white stillnesshung slumbrously over the sea. 

It was inconceivable. We pulled once or twice with extreme energy fora few minutes after imaginary whistles or shouts. Once I heard thempassing our bows. But it was useless; we stopped, and the moon, fromwithin the mistiness of an immense halo, looked dreamily upon our heads. 

Castro grunted, "Here is an end of your plan, Señor Don Juan. "

The peculiar and ghastly hopelessness of our position could notbe better illustrated than by this fresh difficulty. We had losttouch--with a murderous gang that had every inducement not to spare ourlives. And positively it was a misfortune; an abandonment. I refused toadmit to myself its finality, as if it had reflected upon the devotionof tried friends. I repeated to Castro that we should become aware ofthem directly--probably even nearer than we wished. And, at any rate, we were certain of a mighty loud noise when the attack on the shipbegan. She, at least, could not be very far now. "Unless, indeed, "I admitted with exasperation, "we are to suppose that your imbecile_Lugareños_ have missed their prey and got themselves as utterly lost aswe ourselves. "

I was irritated--by his nodding plume; by his cold, perfunctory, as ifsleepy mutters, "Possibly, possibly, _puede ser_. " He retorted: "YourEnglish generosity could wish your countrymen no better luck than thatmy _Lugareños_, as your worship pleases to call them, should miss theirway. They are hungry for loot--with much fasting. And it is hunger thatmakes your wolf fly straight at the throat. "

All the time Seraphina breathed no word. But when I raised my voice, sheput out a hushing hand to my arm. And, from her intent pose, from theturn of her shadowy head, I knew that she was peering and listeningloyally. 

Minutes passed--very few, I dare say--and brought no sound. Therestlessness of waiting made us dip our oars in a haphazard stroke, without aim, without the means of judging whether we pulled to seaward, inshore, north, or south, or only in a circle. Once we went excitedlyin chase of some splashing that must have been a leaping fish. I washanging my head over my idle oar when Seraphina touched me. 

"I see!" she said, pointing over the bows. 

Both Castro and I, peering horizontally over the water, did not seeanything. Not a shadow. Moreover, if they were so near, we ought to haveheard something. 

"I believe it is land!" she murmured. "You are looking too low, Juan. "

As soon as I looked up I saw it, too, dark and beetling, like theoverhang of a low cliff. Where on earth had we blundered to? For amoment I was confounded. Fiery reflections from a light played faintlyabove that shape. Then I recognized what I was looking at. We had foundthe ship. 

The fog was so shallow that up there the upper bulk of a heavy, squarestern, the very rails and stanchions crowning it like a balustrade, jutted out in the misty sheen like the balcony of an invisible edifice, for the lines of her run, the sides of her hull, were plunged in thedense white layer below. And, throwing back my head, I traced evenher becalmed sails, pearly gray pinnacles of shadow uprising, tall andmotionless, towards the moon. 

A redness wavered over her, as from a blaze on her deck. Could she beon fire? And she was silent as a tomb. Could she be abandoned? I hadpromised myself to dash alongside, but there was a weirdness in thatfragment of a dumb ship hanging out of a fog. We pulled only a stroke ortwo nearer to the stern, and stopped. I remembered Castro's warning--theblindness of flying lead; but it was the profound stillness that checkedme. It seemed to portend something inconceivable. I hailed, tentatively, as if I had not expected to be answered, "Ship, ahoy!"

Neither was I answered by the instantaneous, "Hallo, " of usualwatchfulness, though she was not abandoned. Indeed, my hail made a goodmany men jump, to judge by the sounds and the words that came to me fromabove. "What? What? A hail?" "Boat near?" "In English, sir. "

"Dive for the captain, one of you, " an authoritative voice directed. "He's just run below for a minute. Don't frighten the missus. Call himout quietly. "

Talking, in confidential undertones, followed. 

"See him?" "Can't, sir. " "What's the dodge, I wonder. " "Astern, I think, sir. " "D------n this fog, it lies as thick as pea-soup on the water. "

I waited, and after a perplexed sort of pause, heard a stern "Keep off. "

CHAPTER THREE

They did not suspect how close I was to them. And their temper struckme at once as unsafe. They seemed very much on the alert, and, as Iimagined, disposed to precipitate action. I called out, deadening myvoice warily:

"I am an Englishman, escaping from the pirates here. We want your help. "

To this no answer was made, but by that time the captain had come ondeck. The dinghy must have drifted in a little closer, for I madeout behind the shadowy rail one, two, three figures in a row, loomingbulkily above my head, as men appear enlarged in mist. 

"'Englishman, ' he says. " "That's very likely, " pronounced a new voice. They held a hurried consultation up there, of which I caught onlydetached sentences, and the general tone of concern. "It's perfectlywell known that there _is_ an Englishman here. .. . Aye, a runaway secondmate. .. . Killed a man in a Bristol ship. .. . What was his name, now?"

"Won't you answer me?" I called out. 

"Aye, we will answer you as soon as we see you. .. . Keep your eyesskinned fore and aft on deck there. .. . Ready, boys?"

"All ready, sir"; voices came from further off. 

"Listen to me, " I entreated. 

Someone called out briskly, "This is a bad place for pretty tales ofEnglishmen in distress. We know very well where we are. "

"You are off Rio Medio, " I began anxiously; "and I-------"

"Speaks the truth like a Briton, anyhow, " commented a lazy drawl. 

"I would send another man to the pump, " a reflective voice suggested. "To make sure of the force, Mr. Sebright, you know. "

"Certainly, sir. .. . Another hand to the brakes, bo'sun. "

"I have been held captive on shore, " I said. "I escaped this evening, three hours ago. "

"And found this ship in the fog? You made a good shot at it, didn'tyou?"

"It's no time for trifling, I swear to you, " I continued. "They are outlooking for you, in force. I've heard them. I was with them when theystarted. "

"I believe you. "

"They seem to have missed the ship. "

"So you came to have a friendly chat meantime. That's kind. Beastlyweather, aint it?"

"I want to come aboard, " I shouted. "You must be crazy not to believeme. "

"But we do believe every single word you say, " bantered the Sebrightvoice with serenity. 

Suddenly another struck in, "Nichols, I call to mind, sir. "

"Of course, of course. This is the man. "

"My name's not Nichols, " I protested. 

"Now, now. You mustn't begin to lie, " remonstrated Sebright. Somebodylaughed discreetly. 

"You are mistaken, on my honour, " I said. "Nichols left Rio Medio sometime ago. "

"About three hours, eh?" came the drawl of insufferable folly in theseprecious minutes. 

It was clear that Manuel had gone astray, but I feared not for long. They would spread out in search. And now I had found this hopeless ship, it seemed impossible that anybody else could miss her. 

"You may be boarded any moment by more than a dozen boats. I warn yousolemnly. Will you let me come?"

A low whistle was heard on board. They were impressed, "Why should hetell us this?" an undertone inquired. 

"Why the devil shouldn't he? It's no great news, is it? Some scoundrellytrick. This man's up to any dodge. Why, the '_Jane_' was taken in broadday by two boats that pretended they were going to sell vegetables. "

"Look out, or by heavens you'll be taken by surprise. There's a lot ofthem, " I said as impressively as I could. 

"Look out, look out. There's a lot of them, " someone yelled in a sort ofpanic. 

"Oh, that's your game, " Sebright's voice said to me. "Frighten us, eh?Never you mind what this skunk says, men. Stand fast. We shall take alot of killing. " He was answered by a sort of pugnacious uproar, a clashof cutlasses and laughter, as if at some joke. 

"That's right, boys; mind and send them away with clean faces, yougunners. Jack, you keep a good lookout for that poor distressedEnglishman. What's that? a noise in the fog? Stand by. Now then, cook!. .. "

"All ready to dish up, sir, " a voice answered him. 

It was like a sort of madness. Were they thinking of eating? Even atthat the English talk made my heart expand--the homeliness of it. Iseemed to know all their voices, as if I had talked to each man before. It brought back memories, like the voices of friends. 

But there was the strange irrelevancy, levity, the enmity--theirrational, baffling nature of the anguishing conversation, as if withthe unapproachable men we meet in nightmares. 

We in the dinghy, as well as those on board, were listening anxiously. Aprofound silence reigned for a time. 

"I don't care for myself, " I tried once more, speaking distinctly. "Buta lady in the boat here is in great danger, too. Won't you do somethingfor a woman?"

I perceived, from the sort of stir on board, that this caused somesensation. 

"Or is the whole ship's company afraid to let one little boat comealongside?" I added, after waiting for an answer. 

A throat was cleared on board mildly, "Hem. .. You see, we don't know whoyou are. "

"I've told you who I am. The lady is Spanish. "

"Just so. But there are Englishmen and Englishmen in these days. Some ofthem keep very bad company ashore, and others afloat. I couldn't thinkof taking you on board, unless I know something more of you. "

I seemed to detect an intention of malice in the mild voice. The moreso that I overheard a rapid interchange of mutterings up there. "See himyet?" "Not a thing, sir. " "Wait, I say. "

Nothing could overcome the fixed idea of these men, who seemed to enjoyso much the cleverness of their suspicions. It was the most dangerous oftempers to deal with. It made them as untrustworthy as so many lunatics. They were capable of anything, of decoying us alongside, and stovingthe bottom out of the boat, and drowning us before they discovered theirmistake, if they ever did. Even as it was, there was danger; and yet Iwas extremely loath to give her up. It was impossible to give her up. But what were we to do? What to say? How to act?

"Castro, this is horrible, " I said blankly. That he was beginning tochafe, to fret, and shuffle his feet only added to my dismay. He mightbegin at any moment to swear in Spanish, and that was sure to bring ashower of lead, blind, fired blindly. "We have nothing to expect fromthe people of that ship. We cannot even get on board. "

"Not without Manuel's help, it seems, " he said bitterly. "Strange, isit not, Señor? Your countrymen--your excellent and virtuous countrymen. Generous and courageous and perspicacious. "

Seraphina said suddenly, "They have reason. It is well for them to besuspicious of us in this place. " She had a tone of calm reproof, and offaith. 

"They shall be of more use when they are dead, " Castro muttered. "Thesenor's other dead countrymen served us well. "

"I shall give you great, very great sums of money, " Seraphina suddenlycried towards the ship. "I am the Señorita Seraphina Riego. "

"There is a woman--that's a woman's voice, I'll swear, " I heard themexclaim on board, and I cried again:

"Yes, yes. There is a woman. "

"I dare say. But where do you come in? You are a distressed Englishman, aren't you?" a voice came back. 

"You shall let us come up on your ship, " Seraphina said. "I shall comemyself, alone--Seraphina Riego. "

"Eh, what?" the voice asked. 

I felt a little wind on the back of my head. There was desperate hurry. 

"We are escaping to get married, " I called out. They were beginning toshout orders on the ship. "Oh, you've come to the wrong shop. A churchis what you want for _that_ trouble, " the voice called back brutally, through the other cries of orders to square the yards. 

I shouted again, but my voice must have been drowned in the creakingof blocks and yards. They were alert enough for every chance of gettingaway--for every flaw of wind. Already the ship was less distinct, as ifmy eyes had grown dim. By the time a voice on board her cried, "Belay, "faintly, she had gone from my sight. Then the puff of wind passed away, too, and left us more alone than ever, with only the small disk of themoon poised vertically above the mists. 

"Listen, " said Tomas Castro, after what seemed an eternity ofcrestfallen silence. 

He need not have spoken; there could be no doubt that Manuel had losthimself, and my belief is that the ship had sailed right into the midstof the flotilla. There was an unmistakable character of surprise in thedistant tumult that arose suddenly, and as suddenly ceased for a spaceof a breath or two. "Now, Castro, " I shouted. "Ha! _bueno!_"

We gave way with a vigour that seemed to lift the dinghy out of thewater. The uproar gathered volume and fierceness. 

From the first it was a hand-to-hand contest, engaged in suddenly, as ifthe assailants had at once managed to board in a body, and, as it were, in one unanimous spring. No shots had been fired. Too far to hear theblows, and seeing nothing as yet of the ship, we seemed to be hasteningtowards a deadly struggle of voices, of shadows with leathern throats;every cry heard in battle was there--rage, encouragement, fury, hate, and pain. And those of pain were amazingly distinct. They were yells;they were howls. And suddenly, as we approached the ship, but before wecould make out any sign of her, we came upon a boat. We had to swerveto clear her. She seemed to have dropped out of the fight in utterdisarray; she lay with no oars out, and full of men who writhed andtumbled over each other, shrieking as if they had been flayed. Above thewrithing figures in the middle of the boat, a tall man, upright in thestern-sheets, raved awful imprecations and shook his fists above hishead. 

The blunt dinghy foamed past that vision within an oar's length, nomore, making straight for the clamour of the fight. The last puff ofwind must have thinned the fog in the ship's track; for, standing up, face forward to pull stroke, I saw her come out, stern-on to us, fromtruck to water-line, mistily tall and motionless, but resounding withthe most fierce and desperate noises. A cluster of empty boats clung lowto her port side, raft-like and vague on the water. 

We heard now, mingled with the fury and hate of shouts reverberatingfrom the placid sails, mighty thuds and crashes, as though it had been acombat with clubs and battle-axes. 

Evidently, in the surprise and haste of the unexpected coming together, they had been obliged to board all on the same side. As I headed for theother a big boat, full of men, with many oars, shot across our bows, and vanished round the ship's counter in the twinkling of an eye. Thedefenders, engaged on the port side, were going to be taken in the rear. We were then so close to the counter that the cries of "Death, death, "rang over our heads. A voice on the poop said furiously in English, "Stand fast, men. " Next moment, we, too, rounded the quarter only twentyfeet behind the big boat, but with a slightly wider sweep. 

I said, "Have the pistols ready, Seraphina. " And she answered quitesteadily:

"They are ready, Juan. "

I could not have believed that any handiwork of man afloat could havegot so much way through the water. To this very day I am not rid ofthe absurd impression that, at that particular moment, the dinghy wastravelling with us as fast as a cannon-ball. No sooner round than wewere upon them. We were upon them so fast that I had barely the timeto fling away my oar, and close my grip on the butt of the pistolsSeraphina pressed into my hand from behind. Castro, too, had droppedhis oar, and, turning as swift as a cat, crouched in the bows. I saw hisgood arm darting out towards their boat. 

They had cast a grapnel cleverly, and, swung abreast of the main chains, were grimly busied in boarding the undefended side in silence. One hadalready his leg over the ship's rail, and below him three more wereclambering resolutely, one above the other. The rest of them, standingup in a body with their faces to the ship, were so oblivious ofeverything in their purpose, that they staggered all together to theshock of the dinghy, heavily, as if the earth had reeled under them. 

Castro knew what he was doing. I saw his only hand hop along thegunwale, dragging our cockle-shell forward very swiftly. The totteringSpaniards turned their heads, and for a moment we looked at each otherin silence. 

I was too excited to shout; the surprise seemed to have deprived themof their senses, and they all had the same grin of teeth closed uponthe naked blades of their knives, the same stupid stare fastened upon myeyes. I pulled the trigger in the nearest face, and the terrific din ofthe fight going on above us was overpowered by the report of the pistol, as if by a clap of thunder. The man's gaping mouth dropped the knife, and he stood stiffly long enough for the thought, "I've missed him, " toflash through my mind before he tumbled clean out of the boat withouttouching anything, like a wooden dummy tipped by the heels. His headlongfall sent the water flying high over the stern of the dinghy. With thesecond barrel I took a long shot at the man sitting amazed, astride ofthe rail above. I saw him double up suddenly, and fall inboard sideways, but the fellow following him made a convulsive effort, and leapt out ofsight on to the deck of the ship. I dropped the discharged weapon, andfired the first barrel of the other at the upper of the two men clinginghalfway up the ship's side. To that one shot they both vanished as ifby enchantment, the fellow I had hit knocking off his friend below. Thecrash of their fall was followed by a great yell. 

These had been all nearly point-blank shots, and, anyhow, I had had agood deal of pistol practice. Macdonald had a little gallery at HortonPen. The _Lugareños_, huddled together in the boat, were only able tomoan with terror. They made soft, pitiful, complaining noises. Two orthree took headers overboard, like so many frogs, and then one began tosqueak exactly like a rat. 

By that time, Castro, with his fixed blade, had cut their grapnel ropeclose to the ring. As the ship kept forging ahead all the time, theboat of the pirate bumped away lightly from between the vessel and ourdinghy, and we remained alongside, holding to the end of the severedline. I sent my fourth shot after them and got in exchange a scream anda howl of "Mercy! mercy! we surrender!" She swung clear of the quarter, all hushed, and faded into the mist and moonlight, with the head andarms of a motionless man hanging grotesquely over the bows. 

Leaving Seraphina with Castro, and sticking the remaining pair ofpistols in my belt, I swarmed up the rope. The moon, the lights ofseveral lanthorns, the glare from the open doors, mingled violently inthe steamy fog between the high bulwarks of the ship. But the characterof the contest was changing, even as I paused on the rail to get mybearings. The fellow who had leapt on board to escape my shot had boltedacross the deck to his friends on the other side, yelling:

"Fly, fly! The heretics are coming, shooting from the sea. All is lost. Fly, oh fly!"

He had jumped straight overboard, but the infection of his panic wasalready visible. The cries of "_Muerte, muerte!_ Death, death!" hadceased, and the Englishmen were cheering ferociously. In a moment, undermy eyes, the seamen, who had been holding their own with difficulty ina shower of defensive blows, began to dart forward, striking out withtheir fists, catching with their hands. I jumped upon the main hatch, and found myself in the skirt ef the final rush. 

A tall _Lugareño_ had possessed himself of one of the ship's capstanbars, and, less craven than the others, was flourishing it on high, aiming at the head of a sailor engaged in throttling a negro whom heheld at the full length of his immense arms. I fired, and the _Lugareño_tumbled down with all the appearance of having knocked himself over withthe bar he had that moment uplifted. It rested across his neck as he laystretched at my feet. 

I was not able to effect anything more after this, because the sailor, after rushing his limp antagonist overboard with terrific force, turnedraging for more, caught sight of me--an evident stranger--and flew atmy throat. He was English, but as he squeezed my windpipe so hard thatI couldn't utter a word I brought the butt of my pistol upon his thickskull without the slightest compunction, for, indeed, I had to deal witha powerful man, well able to strangle me with his bare hands, and verydetermined to achieve the feat. He grunted under the blow, reeled awaya few steps, then, charging back at once, gripped me round the body, andtried to lift me off my feet. We fell together into a warm puddle. 

I had no idea spilt blood kept its warmth so much. And the quantityof it was appalling; the deck seemed to swim with gore, and we simplyweltered in it. We rolled rapidly along the reeking scuppers, amongstthe feet of a lot of men who were hopping about us in the greatestexcitement, the hearty thuds of blows, aimed with all sorts of weapons, just missing my head. The pistol was kicked out of my hand. 

The horror of my position was very great. Must I kill the man? must Idie myself in this miserable and senseless manner? I tried to shout, "Drag this maniac off me. "

He was pinning my arms to my body. I saw the furious faces bending overme, the many hands murderously uplifted. They, of course, couldn't tellthat I wasn't one of the men who had boarded them, and my life had neverbeen in such jeopardy. I felt all the fury of rage and mortification. Was I to die like this, villainously trodden underfoot, on the thresholdof safety, of liberty, of love? And, in those moments of violentstruggle I saw, as one sees in moments of wisdom and meditation, mysoul--all life, lying under the shadow of a perfidious destiny. AndSeraphina was there in the boat, waiting for me. The sea! The boat! Theywere in another land, and I, I should no more. .. . Never any more. .. . A sharp voice called, "Back there, men. Steady. Take him alive. " Theydragged me up. 

I needn't relate by what steps, from being terribly handled as acaptive, I was promoted to having my arms shaken off in the character ofa saviour. But I got any amount of praise at last, though I wasterribly out of breath--at the very last gasp, as you might say. A man, smooth-faced, well-knit, very elated and buoyant, began talking to meendlessly. He was mighty happy, and anyhow he could talk to me, becauseI was past doing anything but taking a moment's rest. He said I had comein the nick of time, and was quite the best of fellows. 

"If you had a fancy to be called the Archbishop of Canterbury, we'd'your Grace' you. I am the mate, Sebright. The captain's gone in toshow himself to the missus; she wouldn't like to have him too muchchipped. .. . Wonderful is the love of woman. She sat up a bit laterto-night with her fancy-sewing to see what might turn up. I told her attea-time she had better go in early and shut her stateroom door, becauseif any of the Dagos chanced to come aboard, I couldn't be responsiblefor the language of my crowd. We are supposed to keep clear of profanitythis trip, she being a niece of Mr. Perkins of Bristol, our owner, anda Methodist. But, hang it all, there's reason in all things. You can'thave a ship like a chapel--though _she_ would. Oh, bless you, she would, even when we're beating off these picaroons. "

I was sitting on the afterhatch, and leaning my head on my arms. 

"Feel bad? Do you? Handled you like a bag of shavings. Well, the boysgot their monkey up, hammering the Dagos. Here you, Mike, go look alongthe deck, for a double-barrelled pistol. Move yourself a bit. Feel alongunder the spars. "

There was something authoritative and knowing in his personality;boyishly elated and full of business. 

"We must put the ship to rights. You don't think they'd come back foranother taste? The blessed old deck's afloat. That's my little dodge, boiling water for these Dagos, if they come. So I got the cook to fireup, and we put the suction-hose of the fire pump into the boiler, and wefilled the coppers and the kettles. Not a bad notion, eh? But ten timesas much wouldn't have been enough, and the hose burst at the thirdstroke, so that only one boat got anything to speak of. But Lord, _she_dropped out of the ruck as if she'd been swept with langridge. Squealedlike a litter of pigs, didn't they?"

What I had taken for blood had been the water from the burst hose. Imust say I was relieved. My new friend babbled any amount of joyousinformation into me before I quite got my wind back. He rubbed his handsand clapped me on the shoulder. But his heart was kind, and he becameconcerned at my collapsed state. 

"I say, you don't think my chaps broke some of your ribs, do you? Let mefeel. "

And then I managed to tell him something of Seraphina that he wouldlisten to. 

"What, what?" he said. "Oh, heavens and earth! there's your girl. Ofcourse. .. . Hey, bo'sun, rig a whip and chair on the yardarm to take alady on board. Bear a hand. A lady! yes, a lady. Confound it, don't loseyour wits, man. Look over the starboard rail, and you will see a ladyalongside with a Dago in a small boat. Let the Dago come on board, too;the gentleman here says he's a good sort. Now, do you understand?"

He talked to me a good deal more; told me that they had made aprisoner--"a tall, comical chap; wears his hair like an old aunt ofmine, a bunch of curls flapping on each side of his face"--and then saidthat he must go and report to Captain Williams, who had gone into hiswife's stateroom. The name struck me. I said:

"Is this ship the _Lion?_"

"Aye, aye. That's her. She is, " several seamen answered together, casting curious glances from their work. 

"Tell your captain my name is Kemp, " I shouted after Sebright with whatstrength of lung I had. 

What luck! Williams was the jolly little ship's captain I was to havedined with on the day of execution on Kingston Point--the day I had beenkidnapped. It seemed ages ago. I wanted to get to the side to look afterSeraphina, but I simply couldn't remember how to stand. I sat on thehatch, looking at the seamen. 

They were clearing the ropes, collecting the lamps, picking upknives, handspikes, crowbars, swabbing the decks with squashy flaps. A bare-footed, bare-armed fellow, holding a bundle of brass-hiltedcutlasses under his arm, had lost himself in the contemplation of myperson. 

"Where are you bound to?" I inquired at large, and everybody showed afriendly alacrity in answer. 

"Havana. " "Havana, sir. " "Havana's our next port. Aye, Havana. "

The deck rang with modulations of the name. 

I heard a loud, "Alas, " sighed out behind me. A distracted, strickenvoice repeated twice in Spanish, "Oh, my greatness; oh, my greatness. "Then, shiveringly, in a tone of profound self-communion, "I have agreatly parched throat, " it said. Harshly jovial voices answered:

"Stow your lingo and come before the captain. Step along. "

A prisoner, conducted aft, stalked reluctantly into the light betweentwo short, bustling sailors. Dishevelled black hair like a damagedperuke, mournful, yellow face, enormous stag's eyes straining down onme. I recognized Manuel-del-Popolo. At the same moment he sprang back, shrieking, "This is a miracle of the devil--of the devil. "

The sailors fell to tugging at his arms savagely, asking, "What's cometo you?" and, after a short struggle that shook his tatters and hisraven locks tempestuously like a gust of wind, he submitted to be walkedup repeating:

"Is it you, Señor? Is it you? Is it _you?_"

One of his shoulders was bare from neck to elbow; at every step one ofhis knees and part of a lean thigh protruded their nakedness through alarge rent; a strip of grimy, blood-stained linen, torn right down tothe waist, dangled solemnly in front of his legs. There was a horribleraw patch amongst the roots of his hair just above his temple; there wasblood in his nostrils, the stamp of excessive anguish on his features, asort of guarded despair in his eye. His voice sank while he said again, twice:

"Is it you? Is it you?" And then, for the last time, "Is it you?" herepeated in a whisper. 

The seamen formed a wide ring, and, looking at me, he talked to himselfconfidentially. 

"Escaped--the _Inglez!_ Then thou art doomed, Domingo. Domingo, thou artdoomed. Dom. .. Señor!"

The change of tone, his effort to extend his hands towards me, surprisedus all. I looked away. 

"Hold hard! Hold him, mate!"

"Señor, condescend to behold my downfall. I am led here to theslaughter, Señor! To the slaughter, Señor! Pity! Grace! Mercy! Andonly a short while ago--behold. Slaughter. .. I. .. Manuel. Señor, I amuniversally admired--with a parched throat, Señor. I could composea song that would make a priest weep. .. . A greatly parched throat, Señor, " he added piteously. 

I could not help turning my head. I had not been used half as hardas he. It was enough to look at him to believe in the dryness of histhroat. Under the matted mass of his hair, he was grinning in amiableagony, and his globular eyes yearned upon me with a motionless andglassy lustre. 

"You have not forgotten me, Señor? Forget Manuel! Impossible! Manuel, Señor. For the love of God. Manuel. Manuel-del-Popolo. I did sing, deignto remember. I offered you my fidelity, Señor. As you are a _caballero_, I charge you to remember. Save me, Señor. Speak to those men. .. . For thesake of your honour, Señor. "

His voice was extraordinarily harsh--not his own. Apparently, hebelieved that he was going to be cut to pieces there and then by thesailors. He seemed to read it in their faces, shuddering and shrinkingwhenever he raised his eyes. But all these faces gaped with good-naturedwonder, except the faces of his two guardians, and these expressed astate of conscientious worry. They were ridiculously anxious to suppresshis sudden contortions, as one would some gross indecency. In thescuffle they hissed and swore under their breath. They were scandalizedand made unhappy by his behaviour. 

"Are you ready down there?" roared the bo'sun in the waist. 

"Olla raight! Olla raight! Waita a leetle, " I heard Castro's voicecoming, as if from under the ship. I said coldly a few words about thecertain punishment awaiting a pirate in Havana, and got on to my feetstiffly. But Manuel was too terrified to understand what I meant. Heattempted to snatch at me with his imprisoned hands, and got for hispains a severe jerking, which made his head roll about his shouldersweirdly. 

"Pity, Señor!" he screamed. And then, with low fervour, "Don't go away. Listen! I am profound. Perhaps the Señor did not know that? Mercy! Iam a man of intrigue. A _politico_. You have escaped, and I rejoice atit. ". .. He bared his fangs, and frothed like a mad dog. .. . "Señor, I ammade happy because of the love I bore you from the first--and Domingo, who let you slip out of the Casa, is doomed. He is doomed. Thou artdoomed, Domingo! But the excessive affection for your noble personinspires my intellect with a salutary combination. Wait, Señor! Amoment! An instant!. .. A combination!. .. "

He gasped as though his heart had burst. The seamen, open-mouthed, wereslowly narrowing their circle. 

"Can't he gabble!" remarked someone patiently. 

His eyes were starting out of his head. He spoke with fearful rapidity. 

". .. There's no refuge from the anger of the _Juez_ but the grave--thegrave--the grave!. .. Ha! ha! Go into thy grave, Domingo. But you, Señor--listen to my supplications--where will you go? To Havana. The_Juez_ is there, and I call the malediction of the priests on my head ifyou, too, are not doomed. Life! Liberty! Señor, let me go, and I shallrun--I shall ride, Señor--I shall throw myself at the feet of the_Juez_, and say. .. I shall say I killed you. I am greatly trusted bythe reason of my superior intelligence. I shall say, 'Domingo lethim go--but he is dead. Think of him no more--of that _Inglez_ whoescaped--from Domingo. Do not look for him. I, your own Manuel, havekilled him. ' Give me my life for yours, Señor. I shall swear I hadkilled you with this right hand! Ah!"

He hung on my lips breathless, with a face so distorted that, though itmight have been death alone he hated, he looked, indeed, as if impatientto set to and tear me to pieces with his long teeth. Men clutching atstraws must have faces thus convulsed by an eager and despairing hope. His silence removed the spell--the spell of his incredible loquacity. Iheard the boatswain's hoarse tones:

"Hold on well, ma'am. Right! Walk away steady with that whip!"

I ran limping forward. 

"High enough, " he rumbled; and I received Seraphina into my arms. 

CHAPTER FOUR

I said, "This is home, at last. It is all over"; and she stood by me onthe deck. She pushed the heavy black cloak from over her head, and herwhite face appeared above the dim black shadow of her mourning. Shelooked silently round her on the mist, the groups of rough men, thespatterings of light that were like violence, too. She said nothing, butrested her hand on my arm. 

She had her immense griefs, and this was the home I offered her. Shelooked back at the side. I thought she would have liked to be in theboat again. I said:

"The people in this ship are my old friends. You can trust them--andme. "

Tomas Castro, clambering leisurely over the side, followed. As soon ashis feet touched the deck, he threw the corner of his cloak acrosshis left shoulder, bent down half the rim of his hat, and assumed theappearance of a short, dark conspirator, overtopped by the stalwartsailors, who had abandoned Manuel to crowd, bare-armed, bare-chested, pushing, and craning their necks, round us. 

She said, "I can trust you; it is my duty to trust you, and this is nowmy home. "

It was like a definite pronouncement of faith--and of a line of policy. She seemed, for that moment, quite apart from my love, a thing verymuch above me and mine; closed up in an immense grief, but quitewhole-souledly determined to go unflinchingly into a new life, breakingquietly with all her past for the sake of the traditions of all thatpast. 

The sailors fell back to make way for us. It was only by the touchof her hand on my arm that I had any hope that she trusted me, mepersonally, and apart from the commands of the dead Carlos; the deadfather, and the great weight of her dead traditions that could be neveranything any more for her--except a memory. Ah, she stood it very well;her head was erect and proud. The cabin door opened, and a rigid femalefigure with dry outlines, and a smooth head, stood out with severesimplicity against the light of the cabin door. The light falling onSeraphina seemed to show her for the first time. A lamentable voicebellowed:

"Señorita!. .. Señorita!" and then, in an insinuating, heart-breakingtone, "Señorita!. .. "

She walked quietly past the figure of the woman, and disappeared inthe brilliant light of the cabin. The door closed. I remained standingthere. Manuel, at her disappearance, raised his voice to a tremendous, incessant yell of despair, as if he expected to make her hear. 

"_Señorita. .. Proteccion del opprimido; oh, hija de piedad. .. Señorita_. "

His lamentable noise brought half the ship round us; the sailors fellback before the mate, Sebright, walking at the elbow of a stout man inloose trousers and jacket. They stopped. 

"An unexpected meeting, Captain Williams, " was all I found to say tohim. He had a constrained air, and shook hands in awkward silence. 

"How do you do?" he said hurriedly. After a moment he added, with asort of confused, as if official air, "I hope, Kemp, you'll be able toexplain satisfactorily. .. "

I said, rather off-handedly, "Why, the two men I killed ought to becredentials enough for all immediate purposes!"

"That isn't what I meant, " he said. He spoke rather with a mumble, and apologetically. It was difficult to see in him any trace of theroystering Williams who had roared toasts to my health in Jamaica, afterthe episode at the Ferry Inn with the admiral. It was as if, now, he hada weight on his mind. I was tired. I said:

"Two dead men is more than you or any of your crew can show. And, as faras I can judge, you did no more than hold your own till I came. "

He positively stuttered, "Yes, yes. But. .. "

I got angry with what seemed stupid obstinacy. 

"You'd be having a rope twisted tight round your head, or red-hot ironsat the soles of your feet, at this very moment, if it had not been forus, " I said indignantly. 

He wiped his forehead perplexedly. "Phew, how you do talk!" heremonstrated. "What I mean is that my wife. .. " He stopped again, thenwent on. "She took it into her head to come with me this voyage. For thefirst time. .. . And you two coming alone in an open boat like this! It'swhat she isn't used to. "

I simply couldn't get at what he meant; I couldn't even hear him verywell, because Manuel-del-Popolo was still calling out to Seraphina inthe cabin. Williams and I looked at each other--he embarrassed, and Iutterly confounded. 

"Mrs. Williams thinks it's irregular, " Sebright broke in, "you andyour young lady being alone--in an open boat at night, and that sort ofthing. It isn't what they approve of at Bristol. "

Manuel suddenly bellowed out, "Señorita--save me from their barbarity. I am a victim. Behold their bloody knives ready--and their eyes whichgloat. "

He shrank convulsively from the fellow with the bundle of cutlassesunder his arm, who innocently pushed his way close to him; he threwhimself forward, the two sailors hung back on his arms, nearly sittingon the deck, and he strained dog-like in his intense fear of immediatedeath. Williams, however, really seemed to want an answer to hisabsurdity that I could not take very seriously. I said:

"What do you expect us to do? Go back to our boat, or what?"

It seemed to affect him a good deal. "Wait till you are caught by a goodwoman yourself, " he mumbled wretchedly. 

Was this the roystering Williams? The jolly good fellow? I wanted tolaugh, a little hysterically, because of the worry after great fatigue. Was his wife such a terrifying virago? "A good woman, " Williams insisted. I turned my eyes to Sebright, who looked on amusedly. 

"It's all right, " he answered my questioning look. "She's a good soul, but she doesn't see fellows like us in the congregation she worshipswith at home. " Then he whispered in my ear, "Owner's niece. Older thanthe skipper. Married him for love. Suspects every woman--every man, too, by George, except me, perhaps. She's learned life in some backchapel in Bristol. What can you expect? You go straight into the cabin, "he added. 

At that moment the cabin door opened again, and the figure of the womanI had seen before reappeared against the light. 

"I was allowed to stand under the gate of the Casa, Excellency, I wasin very truth. Oh, turn not the light of your face from me. " Manuel, whohad been silent for a minute, immediately recommenced his clamour in thehope, I suppose, that it would reach Seraphina's ears, now the door wasopened. 

"What is to be done, Owen?" the woman asked, with a serenity I thoughtvery merciless. 

She had precisely the air of having someone "in the house, " someonerather questionable that you want, at home, to get rid of, as soon as avery small charity permitted. 

"Madam, " I said rather coldly, "I appeal to your woman's compassion. .. . "

"Even thus the arch-enemy sets his snares, " she retorted on me a littletremulously. 

"Señorita, I have seen you grow, " Manuel called again. "Your father, who is with the saints, gave me alms when I was a boy. Will you let themkill a man to whom your father. .. "

"Snares. All snares. Can she be blessed in going away from her naturalguardians at night, alone, with a young man? How can we, consistentlywith our duty. .. "

Her voice was cold and gentle. Even in the imperfect light herappearance suggested something cold and monachal. The thought of whatshe might have been saying, or, in the subtle way of women, makingSeraphina feel, in there, made me violently angry, but lucid, too. 

"She comes straight from the fresh grave of her father, " I said. "I amher only guardian. "

Manuel rose to the height of his appeal. "Señorita, I worshipped yourchildhood, I threw my hat in the air many times before your coach, whenyou drove out all in white, smiling, an angel from paradise. Excellency, help me. Excel. .. "

A hand was clapped on his mouth then, and we heard only a great scufflegoing on behind us. The way to the cozy cabin remained barred. My heartwas kindled by resentment, but by the power of love my soul was madetranquil, for come what absurdity might, I had Sera-phina safe for thetime. The woman in the doorway guarded the respectable ship's cuddy fromthe un-wedded vagabondage of romance. 

"What's to be done, Owen?" she asked again, but this time a littleirresolutely, I thought. "You know something of this--but I. .. . "

"My dear, what an idea, " began Williams; and I heard his helplessmutters, "Like a hero--one evening--admiral--old Topnambo--nothing ofher--on my soul--Lord's son. .. "

Sebright spoke up from the side. "We could drive them overboardtogether, certainly, Mrs. Williams, but that wouldn't be quite proper, perhaps. Put them each in a bag, separately, and drown them one on eachside of the ship, decently. .. . "

"You will not put me off with your ungodly levity, Mr. Sebright. "

"But I am perfectly serious, Mrs. Williams. It may raise a mutinyamongst these horrid, profane sailors, but I really don't see how we areto get rid of them else. The bo'sun has cut adrift their ramshackle, oldsieve of a boat, and she's now a quarter of a mile astern, half-fullof water. And we can't give them one of the ship's boats to go and gettheir throats cut ashore. J. Perkins, Esquire, wouldn't like it. Hewould swear something awful, if the boat got lost. Now, don't say no, Mrs. Williams. I've heard him myself swear a pound's worth of oaths fora matter of tenpence. You know very well what your uncle is. A perfectTurk in that way. "

"Don't be scandalous, Mr. Sebright. "

"But I didn't begin, Mrs. Williams. It's you who are raising all thistrouble for nothing; because, as a matter of fact, they did not comealone. They had a man with them. An elderly, most respectable man. Therehe stands yonder, with a feather in his hat. Hey! You! _Señor caballero_, hidalgo, Pedro--Miguel--José--what's your particular saint? Step thisway a bit. .. "

Manuel managed to jerk a half-choked "Excellency, " and Castro, muffledup to the eyes, began to walk slowly aft, pausing after each solemnstride. The dark woman in the doorway was as effectual as an angel witha flaming sword. She paralyzed me completely. 

Sebright dropped his voice a little. "I don't see that's much worse thangoing off at six o'clock in the morning to get married on the quiet; allalone with a man in a hackney coach--you know you did--and being givenaway by a perfect stranger. "

"Mr. Sebright! Be quiet! How dare you?. .. Owen!"

Williams made a vague, growling noise, but Sebright, after mutteringhurriedly, "It's all right, sir, " proceeded with the utmost coolness:

"Why, all Bristol knows it! There are those who said that you got out ofthe scullery window into the back street. I am only telling you. .. "

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself to believe such tales, " she criedin great agitation. "I walked out at the gate!"

"Yes. And the gardener's wife said you must have sneaked the key off thenail by the side of the cradle--coming to the lodge the evening before, to see her poor, ailing baby. You ought to know what love brings thebest of us to. And your uncle isn't a bloody-handed pirate either. He's only a good-hearted, hard-swearing old heathen. And you, too, aregood-hearted. Come, Mrs. Williams. I know you're just longing to tuckthis young lady up in bed--poor thing. Think what she has gone through!You ought to be fussing with sherry and biscuits and what not--makingthat good-for-nothing steward fly round. The beggar is hiding in thelazarette, I bet. Now then--allow me. "

I got hold of the matter there again. I said--because I felt that thematter only needed making clear:

"This young lady is the daughter of a great Spanish noble. Her fatherwas killed by these pirates. I am myself of noble family, and I amher appointed guardian, and am trying to save her from a very horriblefate. "

She looked at me apprehensively. 

"You would be committing a wicked act to try to interfere with this, " Isaid. 

I suppose I carried conviction. 

"I must believe what you say, " she said. She added suddenly, with a sortof tremulous, warm feeling, "There, there. I don't mean to be unkind. Iknew nothing, and a married woman can't be too careful. For all I couldhave told, you might have been a--a libertine; one of the poor lostsouls that Satan. .. "

Manuel, as if struggling with the waves, managed to free his lips. 

"Excellency, help!" he spluttered, like a drowning man. 

"I will give the young lady every care, " Mrs. Williams said, "untillight shall be vouchsafed. "

She shut the door. 

"You will go too far, Sebright, " Williams remonstrated; "and I'll haveto give you the sack. "

"It's all right, captain. I can turn her round my little finger, " saidthe young man cheerily. "Somebody has to do it if you won't--or can't. What shall we do with that yelping Dago? He's a distressful beast tohave about the decks. "

"Put him in the coal-hole, I suppose, as far as Havana. I won't resttill I see him on his way to the gallows. The Captain-General shallbe made sick of this business, or my name isn't Williams. I'll make abreeze over it at home. You shall help in that, Kemp. You ain't afraidof big-wigs. Not you. You ain't afraid of anything. .. . "

"He's a devil of a fellow, and a dead shot, " threw in Sebright. "Andjolly lucky for us, too, sir. It's simply marvellous that you shouldturn up like this, Mr. Kemp. We hadn't a grain of powder that wasn'tcaked solid in the canisters. Nothing'll take it out of my head thatsomebody had got at the magazine while we lay in Kingston. .. . "

It did not occur to Williams to ask whether I was wounded, or tired, orhungry. And yet all through the West Indies the dinners you got on boardthe Lion were famous in shipping circles. But festive men of his stampare often like that. They do it more for the glory and romance of thehospitality, and he could not, perhaps, under the circumstances, expectme to intone "for he is a jolly good fellow" over the wine. He was byno means a bad or unfeeling man; only he was not hungry himself, andanother's mere necessity of that sort failed to excite his imagination. I know he was no worse than other men, and I have reason to remember himwith gratitude; but, at the time, I was surprised and indignant at theextraordinary way he took my presence for granted, as if I had come offcasually in a shore boat to idle away an hour or two on board. Since hiswife appeared satisfied, he did not seem to desire any explanation. Ifelt as if I had for him no independent existence. When I had ceasedto be a source of domestic difficulty, I became a precious sort ofconvenience, a most welcome person ("an English gentleman to back meup, " he repeated several times), who would help him to make "these oldwomen at the Admiralty sit up!" A burning shame, this! It had gone onlong enough, God knows, but if they were to tackle an old trader, likethe "Lion", now, it was time the whole country should hear of it. Hisowner, J. Perkins, his wife's uncle, wasn't the man to go to sleep overthe job. Parliament should hear of it. Most fortunate I was there tobe produced--eye-witness--nobleman's son. He knew I could speak up in agood cause. 

"And by the way, Kemp, " he said, with sudden annoyance, recollectinghimself, as it were, "you never turned up for that dinner--sent no word, nor anything. .. . "

Williams had been talking to me, but it was with Sebright that I feltmyself growing intimate. The young mate of the "Lion" stood by, veryquiet, listening with a capable smile. Now he said, in a tone of drycomment:

"Jolly sight more useful turning up here. "

"I was kidnapped away from Ramon's back shop, if that's a sufficientapology. It's rather a long story. "

"Well, you can't tell it on deck, that's very clear, " Sebright had toshout to me. "Not while this infernal noise--what the deuce's up? Itsounds more like a dog-fight than anything else. "

As we ran towards the main hatch I recognized the aptness of thecomparison. It was that sort of vicious, snarling, yelping clamour whicharises all at once and suddenly dies. 

"Castro! Thou Castro!"

"Malediction. .. My eyelids. .. "

"Thou! Englishman's dog!"

"Ha! _Porco_. "

The voices ceased. Castro ran tiptoeing lightly, mantled in ample folds. He assumed his hat with a brave tap, crouched swiftly inside his cloak. It touched the deck all round in a black cone surmounted by a peering, quivering head. Quick as thought he hopped and sank low again. Everybodywatched with wonder this play, as of some large and diabolic toy. Formy part, knowing the deadly purpose of these preliminaries, I was struckwith horror. Had he chosen to run on him at once, nothing could havesaved Manuel. The poor wretch, vigorously held in front of Castro, wasfar too terrified to make a sound. With an immovable sailor on eachside, he scuffled violently, and cowered by starts as if tied up betweentwo stone posts. His dumb, rapid panting was in our ears. I shouted:

"Stop, Castro! Stop!. .. Stop him, some of you! He means to kill thefellow!"

Nobody heeded my shouting. Castro flung his cloak on the deck, jumped onit, kicked it aside, all in the same moment as it seemed, dodged to theright, to the left, drew himself up, and stepped high, paunchy in histight smalls and short jacket, making all the time a low, sibilantsound, which was perfectly blood-curdling. 

"He has a blade on his forearm!" I yelled. "He's armed, I tell you!"

No one could comprehend my distress. A sailor, raising a lamp, had abroad smile. Somebody laughed outright. Castro planted himself beforeManuel, nodded menacingly, and stooped ready for a spring. I was toolate in my grab at his collar, but Manuel's guardians, acting withprecision, put out one arm each to meet his rush, and he came flyingbackwards upon me, as though he had rebounded from a wall. 

He had almost knocked me down, and while I staggered to keep my feet theair resounded with urgent calls to shoot, to fire, to bring him down!. .. "Kill him, Señor!" came in an entreating yell from Castro. And I becameaware that Manuel had taken this opportunity to wrench himself free. Iheard the hard thud of his leap. Straight from the hatch (as I was toldlater by the marvelling sailors) he had alighted with both feet on therail. I only saw him already there, sitting on his heels, jabbering andnodding at us like an enormous baboon. "Shoot, sir! Shoot!" "Kill! Kill, Señor! As you love your life--kill!"

Unwittingly, without volition, as if compelled by the suggestion of thebloodthirsty cries, my hand drew the remaining pistol out of my belt. Iraised it, and found myself covering the strange antics of an infuriatedape. He tore at his flanks with both hands in the idea, I suppose, of stripping for a swim. Rags flew from him in all directions; anastounding eruption of rags round a huddled-up figure crouching, wildlyactive, in front of the muzzle. I had him. I was sure of my shot. He wasonly an ape. A dead ape. But why? Wherefore? To what end? What could itmatter whether he lived or died. He sickened me, and I pitied him, as Ishould have pitied an ape. 

I lowered my arm an almost imperceptible fraction of a second before hesprang up and vanished. The sound of the heavy plunge was followed bya regretful clamour all over the decks, and a general rush to the side. There was nothing to be seen; he had gone through the layer of fogcovering the water. No one heard him blow or splutter. It was as if alump of lead had fallen overboard. 

Williams wouldn't have had this happen for a five-pound note. Sebrightexpressed the hope that he wouldn't cheat the gallows by drowning. Thetwo men who had held him slunk away abashed. To lower a boat forthe purpose of catching him in the water would have been useless andimprudent. 

"His friends can't be far off yet in the boats, " growled the bo'sun;"and if they don't pick him up, they would be more than likely to pickup our chaps. "

Somebody expectorated in so marked a manner that I looked behind me. Castro had resumed his cloak, and was draping himself with deliberatedignity. When this undertaking had been accomplished, he came up veryclose to me, and without a word looked up balefully from the heavy foldsthrown across his mouth and chin under the very tip of his hooked nose. 

"I could not do it, " I said. "I could not. It would have been useless. Too much like murder, Tomas. "

"Oh! the inconstancy, the fancifulness of these English, " hegeneralized, with suppressed passion, right into my face. "I don't knowwhat's worse, their fury or their pity. The childishness of it! Thechildishness. .. . Do you imagine, Señor, that Manuel or the Juez O'Brienshall some day spare you in their turn? If I didn't know the courage ofyour nation. .. "

"I despise the _Juez_ and Manuel alike, " I interrupted angrily. Idespised Castro, too, at that moment, and he paid me back with interest. There was no mistaking his scathing tone. 

"I know you well. You scorn your friends, as well as your foes. I haveseen so many of you. The blessed saints guard us from the calamity ofyour friendship. .. . "

"No friendship could make an assassin of me, Mr. Castro. .. . "

". .. Which is only a very little less calamitous than your enmity, " hecontinued, in a cold rage. "A very little less. You let Manuel go. .. . Manuel!. .. Because of your mercy. .. . Mercy! Bah! It is all your pride--yourmad pride. You shall rue it, Señor. Heaven is just. You shall rue it, Señor. "

He denounced me prophetically, wrapped up with an air of midnightsecrecy; but, after all, he had been a friend in the act, if not inthe spirit, and I contented myself by asking, with some pity for hisimbecile craving after murder:

"Why? What can Manuel do to me? He at least is completely helpless. "

"Did the Señor Don Juan ever ask himself what Manuel could do tome--Tomas Castro? To me, who am poor and a vagabond, and a friend ofDon Carlos, may his soul rest with God. Are all you English like princesthat you should never think of anybody but yourselves?"

He revolted and provoked me, as if his opinion of the English couldmatter, or his point of view signify anything against the authority ofmy conscience. And it is our conscience that illumines the romantic sideof our life. His point of view was as benighted and primitive as thepoint of view of hunger; but, in his fidelity to the dead architect ofmy fortunes, he reflected dimly the light of Carlos' romance, and I hadtaken advantage of it, not so much for the saving of my life as for theguarding of my love. I had reached that point when love displaces one'spersonality, when it becomes the only ground under our feet, the onlysky over our head, the only light of vision, the first condition ofthought--when we are ready to strive for it, as we fight for the breathof our body. Brusquely I turned my back on him, and heard the repeatedclicking of flint against his blade. He lighted a cigarette, and crossedthe deck to lean cloaked against the bulwark, smoking moodily under hisslouched hat. 

CHAPTER FIVE

Manuel's escape was the last event of that memorable night. Nothing morehappened, and nothing more could be done; but there remained much talkand wonderment to get through. I did all the talking, of course, underthe cuddy lamps. Williams, red and stout, sat staring at me across thetable. His round eyes were perfectly motionless with astonishment--thestory of what had happened in the Casa Riego was not what he hadexpected of the small, badly reputed Cuban town. 

Sebright, who had all the duties of the soiled ship and chipped mento attend to, came in from the deck several times, and would standlistening for minutes with his fingers playing thoughtfully about hisslight moustache. The dawn was not very far when he led me into hisown cabin. I was half dead with fatigue, and troubled by an inwardrestlessness. 

"Turn in into my berth, " said Sebright. 

I protested with a stiff tongue, but he gave me a friendly push, andI tumbled like a log on to the bedclothes. As soon as my head felt thepillow the fresh colouring of his face appeared blurred, and an arm, mistily large, was extended to put out the light of the lamp screwed tothe bulkhead. 

"I suppose you know there are warrants out in Jamaica against you--forthat row with the admiral, " he said. 

An irresistible and unexpected drowsiness had relaxed all my limbs. 

"Hang Jamaica!" I said, with difficult animation. "We are going home. "

"Hang Jamaica!" he agreed. Then, in the dark, as if coming after meacross the obscure threshold of sleep, his voice meditated, "I am sorry, though, we are bound for Havana. Pity. Great pity! Has it occurred toyou, Mr. Kemp, that. .. "

It is very possible that he did not finish his sentence; no morepenetrated, at least, into my drowsy ear. I awoke slowly from atrance-like sleep, with a confused notion of having to pick up thethread of a dropped hint. I went up on deck. 

The sun shone, a faint breeze blew, the sea sparkled freshly, and thewet decks glistened. I stood still, touched by the new glory of lightfalling on me; it was a new world--new and familiar, yet disturbinglybeautiful. I seemed to discover all sorts of secret charms that I hadnever seen in things I had seen a hundred times. The watch on deckwere busy with brooms and buckets; a sailor, coiling a rope over apin, paused in his work to point over the port-quarter, with a massivefore-arm like a billet of red mahogany. 

I looked about, rubbing my eyes. The "Lion", close hauled, was headingstraight away from the coast, which stood out, not very far yet, outlined heavily and flooded with light. Astern, and to leeward of us, against a headland of black and indigo, a dazzling white speck resembleda snowflake fallen upon the blue of the sea. 

"That's a schooner, " said the seaman. 

They were the first words I heard that morning, and their friendlyhoarseness brushed away whatever of doubt might seem to mar theinexplicability of my new glow of my happiness. It was because we weresafe--she and I--and because my undisturbed love let my heart open tothe beauty of the young day and the joyousness of a splendid sea. I tookdeep breaths, and my eyes went all over the ship, embracing, like anaffectionate contact, her elongated shape, the flashing brasses, the tall masts, the gentle curves of her sails soothed into perfectstillness by the wind. I felt that she was a shrine, for was notSeraphina sleeping in her, as safe as a child in its cradle? Andpresently the beauty, the serenity, the purity, and the splendour of theworld would be reflected in her clear eyes, and made over to me by herglance. 

There are times when an austere and just Providence, in its marchalong the inscrutable way, brings our hearts to the test of their ownunreason. Which of us has not been tried by irrational awe, fear, pride, abasement, exultation? And such moments remain marked by indeliblephysical impressions, standing out of the ghostly level of memorylike rocks out of the sea, like towers on a plain. I had many of theseunforgettable emotions--the profound horror of Don Balthasar's death;the first floating of the boat, like the opening of wings in space; thefirst fluttering of the flames in the fog--many others afterwards, morecruel, more terrible, with a terror worse than death, in which the verysuffering was lost; and also this--this moment of elation in the clearmorning, as if the universe had shed its glory upon my feelings as thesunshine glorifies the sea. I laughed in very lightness of heart, in aprofound sense of success; I laughed, irresponsible and oblivious, asone laughs in the thrilling delight of a dream. 

"Do I look so confoundedly silly?" asked Sebright, speaking as thoughhe had a heavy cold. "I am stupid--tired. I've been on my feet thistwenty-four hours--about the liveliest in my life, too. You haven'tslept very long either--none of us have. I'm sure I hope your young ladyhas rested. "

He put his hands in his pockets. He might have been very tired, butI had never seen a boy fresh out of bed with a rosier face. The blackpin-points of his pupils seemed to bore through distance, exploring thehorizon beyond my shoulder. The man called Mike, the one I had had thetussle with overnight, came up behind the indefatigable mate, and shylyoffered me my pistol. His head was bound over the top, and under thechin, as if for toothache, and his bronzed, rough-hewn face looked outastonishingly through the snowy whiteness of the linen. Only a few hoursbefore, we had been doing our best to kill each other. In my cordialglow, I bantered him light-heartedly about his ferocity and hisstrength. 

He stood before me, patiently rubbing the brown instep of one thick footwith the horny sole of the other. 

"You paid me off for that bit, sir, " he said bashfully. "It was in theway of duty. "

"I'm uncommon glad you didn't squeeze the ghost out of me, " I said; "amorning like this is enough to make you glad you can breathe. "

To this day I remember the beauty of that rugged, grizzled, hairyseaman's eyelashes. They were long and thick, shadowing the eyes softlylike the lashes of a young girl. 

"I'm sure, sir, we wish you luck--to you and the young lady--all of us, "he said shamefacedly; and his bass, half-concealed mutter was quite assweet to my ears as a celestial melody; it was, after all, the sanctionof simple earnestness to my desires and hopes--a witness that he and hislike were on my side in the world of romance. 

"Well, go forward now, Mike, " Sebright said, as I took the pistol. 

"It's a blessing to talk to one's own people, " I said, expansively, tohim. "He's a fine fellow. " I stuck the pistol in my belt. "I trust Ishall never need to use barrel or butt again, as long as I live. "

"A very sensible wish, " Sebright answered, with a sort of reserve ofmeaning in his tone; "especially as on board here we couldn't find you asingle pinch of powder for a priming. Do you notice the consort we havethis morning?"

"What do I want with powder?" I asked. "Do you mean that?" I pointedto the white sail of the schooner. Sebright, looking hard at me, noddedseveral times. 

"We sighted her as soon as day broke. D'you know what she means?"

I said I supposed she was a coaster. 

"It means, most likely, that the fellow with the curls that made methink of my maiden aunt, has managed to keep his horse-face abovewater. " He meant Manuel-del-Popolo. "What mischief he may do yet beforehe runs his head into a noose, it's hard to say. The old Spaniard youbrought with you thinks he has already been busy--for no good, you maybe sure. "

"You mean that's one of the Rio schooners?" I asked quickly. 

That, with all its consequent troubles forme, was what he did mean. Hesaid I might take his word for it that, with the winds we had had, nocraft working along the coast could be just there now unless she cameout of Rio Medio. There was a calm almost up to sunrise, and it lookedas if they had towed her out with boats before daylight. .. . "Seems arather unlikely bit of exertion for the lazy brutes; but if they are asmuch afraid of that confounded Irishman as you say they are, that wouldaccount for their energy. "

They would steal and do murder simply for the love of God, but it wouldtake the fear of a devil to make them do a bit of honest work--andpulling an oar _was_ honest work, no matter why it was done. This wasthe combined wisdom of Sebright and of Tomas Castro, with whom he hadbeen in consultation. As to the fear of the devil, O'Brien was very muchlike a devil, an efficient substitute. And there was certainly somebodyor something to make them bestir themselves like this. .. . 

Before my mind arose a scene: Manuel, the night before, pulled out ofthe water into a boat--raging, half-drowned, eloquent, inspired. Thecontemptible beast _was_ inspired, as a politician is, a demagogue. He could sway his fellows, as I had heard enough to know. And I felta slight chill on the warmth of my hope, because that bright sail, brilliantly and furtively dodging along in our wake, must be the productof Manuel's inspiration, urged to perseverance by the fear of O'Brien. The mate continued, staring knowingly at it:

"You know I am putting two and two together, like the old maids thatcome to see my aunt when they want to take away a woman's character. The Dagos are out and no mistake. The question is, Why? You must knowwhether those schooners can sail anything; but don't forget the old_Lion_ is pretty smart. Is it likely they'll attempt the ship again?"

I negatived that at once. I explained to Sebright that the store ofammunition in Rio Medio would not run to it; that the _Lugareños_ werecowardly, divided by faction, incapable, by themselves, of combiningfor any length of time, and still less of following a plan requiringperseverance and hardihood. 

"They can't mean anything in the nature of open attack, " I affirmed. "They may have attempted something of the sort in Nichols' time, but itisn't in their nature. "

Sebright said that was practically Castro's opinion, too--except thatCastro had emphasized his remarks by spitting all the time, "like an oldtomcat. He seems a very spiteful man, with no great love for you, Mr. Kemp. Do you think it safe to have him about you? What are all thesegrievances of his?"

Castro seemed to have spouted his bile like a volcano, and had ratherconfused Sebright. He had said much about being a friend of the Spanishlord--Carlos; and that now he had no place on earth to hide his head. 

"As far as I could make out, he's wanted in England, " said Sebright, "for some matter of a stolen watch, years ago in Liverpool, I think. Andyour cousin, the grandee, was mixed up in that, too. That sounds funny;you didn't tell us about that. Damme if he didn't seem to imply thatyou, too. .. But you have never been in Liverpool. Of course not. .. . "

But that had not been precisely Castro's point. He had affirmed he hadenemies in Spain; he shuddered at the idea of going to France, and nowmy English fancifulness had made it impossible for him to live in RioMedio, where he had had the care of a good _pad-rona_. 

"I suppose he means a landlady, " Sebright chuckled. "Old but good, hesays. He expected to die there in peace, a good Christian. And what'sthat about the priests getting hold of his very last bit of silver? Imust say that sounded truest of all his rigmarole. For the salvation ofhis soul, I suppose?"

"No, my cousin's soul, " I said gloomily. 

"Humbugs. I only understood one word in three. "

Just then Tomas himself stalked into sight among the men forward. Cominground the corner of the deck-house, he stopped at the galley door likea crow outside a hut, waiting. We watched him getting a light for hiscigarette at the galley door with much dignified pantomime. The negrocook of the _Lion_, holding out to him in the doorway a live coal ina pair of tongs, turned his Ethiopian face and white ivories towardsa group of sailors lost in the contemplation of the proceedings. ' And, when Castro had passed them, spurting jets of smoke, they swung aboutto look after his short figure, upon whose draped blackness the sunlightbrought out reddish streaks as if bucketfuls of rusty water had beenthrown over him from hat to toe. The end of his broken plume hungforward aggressively. 

"Look how the fellow struts! Night and thunder! Hey, Don Tenebroso!Would your worship hasten hither. .. . " Sebright hailed jocularly. 

Castro, without altering his pace, came up to us. 

"What do you think of her now?" asked Sebright, pointing to the strangesail. "She's grown a bit plainer, now she is out of the glare. "

Castro, wrapping his chin, stood still, face to the sea. After a longwhile:

"Malediction, " he pronounced slowly, and without moving his head shot asidelong glance at me. 

"It's clear enough how _he_ feels about our friends over there. Malediction. Just so. Very proper. But it seems as though he had a boneto pick with all the world, " drawled Sebright, a little sleepily. Then, resuming his briskness, he bantered, "So you don't want to go toEngland, Mr. Castro? No friends there? _Sus. Per col. _, and that sort ofthing?"

Castro, contemptuous, staring straight away, nodded impatiently. 

"But this gentleman you are so devoted to is going to England--to hisfriends. "

Castro's arms shook under the mantle falling all round him straight fromthe neck. His whole body seemed convulsed. From his puckered dark lipsissued a fiendish and derisive squeal. 

"Let his friends beware, then. _Por Dios!_ Let them beware. Let thempray and fast, and beg the intercession of the saints. Ha! ha! ha!. .. "

Nothing could have been more unlike his saturnine self-centredtruculence of restraint. He impressed me; and even Sebright's steady, cool eyes grew perceptibly larger before this sarcastic fury. Castrochoked; the rusty, black folds encircling him shook and heaved. Unexpectedly he thrust out in front of the cloak one yellow, dirtylittle hand, side by side with the bright end of his fixed blade. 

"What do I hear? To England! Going to England! Ha! Then let him hastenthere straight! Let him go straight there, I say--I, Tomas Castro!"

He lowered his tone to impress us more, and the point of the knife, asit were an emphatic forefinger, tapped the open palm forcibly. Did wethink that a man was not already riding along the coast to Havana ona fast mule?--the very best mule from the stables of Don Balthasarhimself--that murdered saint. The Captain-General had no such mules. His late excellency owned a sugar estate halfway between Rio Medio andHavana, and a relay of riding mules was kept there for quickness whenHis Excellency of holy memory found occasion to write his commands tothe capital. The news of our escape would reach the _Juez_ next day atthe latest. Manuel would take care of that--unless he were drowned. Buthe could swim like a fish. Malediction!

"I cried out to you to kill!" he addressed me directly; "with all mysoul I cried. And why? Because he had seen you and the senorita, too, alas! He should have been made dumb--made dumb with your pistol, Señor, since those two stupid English mariners were too much for an old manlike me. Manuel should have been made dumb--dumb forever, I say. Whatmattered he--that gutter-born offspring of an evil _Gitana_, whom I haveseen, Señor! I, myself, have seen her in the days of my adversity inMadrid, Señor--a red flower behind the ear, clad in rags that did notcover all her naked skin, looking on while they fought for her withknives in a wine-shop full of beggars and thieves. Si, senor. That's hismother. _Improvisador--politico--capataz_. Ha. .. . Dirt!"

He made a gesture of immense contempt. 

"What mattered he? The coach would have returned from the cathedral, andthe Casa Riego could have been held for days--and who could have knownyou were not inside. I had conversed earnestly with Cesar themajor-domo--an African, it is true, but a man of much character andexcellent sagacity. Ah, Manuel! Manuel! If I------But the devil himselffathers the children of such mothers. I am no longer in possession of myfirst vigour, and you, Señor, have all the folly of your nation. .. . "

He bared his grizzled head to me loftily. 

". .. And the courage! Doubtless, that is certain. It is well. You maywant it all before long, Señor. .. And the courage!"

The broken plume swept the deck. For a time he blinked his creased, brown eyelids in the sun, then pulled his hat low down over his brows, and, wrapping himself up closely, turned away from me to look at thesail to leeward. 

"What an old, old, wrinkled, little, puffy beggar he is!" observedSebright, in an undertone. .. 

"Well, and what is your worship's opinion as to the purpose of thatschooner?"

Castro shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows?". .. He released the gatheredfolds of his cloak, and moved off without a look at either of us. 

"There he struts, with his wings drooping like a turkey-cock gone intodeep mourning, " said Sebright. "Who knows? Ah, well, there's no hurry toknow for a day or two. I don't think that craft could overhaul the Lion, if they tried ever so. They may manage to keep us in sight perhaps. "

He yawned, and left me standing motionless, thinking of Seraphina. Ilonged to see her--to make sure, as if my belief in the possession ofher had been inexplicably weakened. I was going to look at the door ofher cabin. But when I got as far as the companion I had to stand asidefor Mrs. Williams, who was coming up the winding stairs. 

From above I saw the gray woollen shawl thrown over her narrowshoulders. Her parting made a broad line on her brown head. She mountedbusily, holding up a little the front of her black, plain skirt. Herglance met mine with a pale, searching candour from below. 

Overnight she had heard all my story. She had come out to the saloonwhilst I had been giving it to Williams, and after saying reassuringly, "The young lady, I am thankful, is asleep, " she had sat with her eyesfixed upon my lips. I had been aware of her anxious face, and ofthe slight, nervous movements of her hands at certain portions of mynarrative under the blazing lamps. We met now, for the first time, inthe daylight. 

Hastily, as if barring my road to Seraphina's cabin, "Miss Riego, Iwould have you know, " she said, "is in good bodily health. I have thismoment looked upon her again. The poor, superstitious young lady is onher knees, crossing herself. "

Mrs. Williams shuddered slightly. It was plain that the sight of thatpopish practice had given her a shock--almost a scare, as if she hadseen a secret and nefarious rite. I explained that Seraphina, being aCatholic, worshipped as her lights enjoined, as we did after ours. Mrs. Williams only sighed at this, and, making an effort, proposed that Ishould walk with her a little. We began to pace the poop, she glidingwith short steps at my side, and drawing close the skimpy shawl abouther. The smooth bands of her hair put a shadow into the slight hollowsof her temples. No nun, in the chilly meekness of the habit, had evergiven me such a strong impression of poverty and renunciation. 

But there was in that faded woman a warmth of sentiment. She flusheddelicately whenever caught (and one could not help catching hercontinually) following her husband with eyes that had an expression ofmaternal uneasiness and the captivated attention of a bride. And aftershe had got over the idea that I, as a member of the male Britisharistocracy, was dissolute--it was an article of faith with her--thatwarmth of sentiment would bring a faint, sympathetic rosiness to hersunken cheeks. 

She said suddenly and trembling, "Oh, young sir, reflect upon thesethings before it is too late. You young men, in your luxurious, worldly, ungoverned lives. .. "

I shall never forget that first talk with her on the poop--her hurried, nervous voice (for she was a timid woman, speaking from a sense ofduty), and the extravagant forms her ignorance took. With the emotionsof the past night still throbbing in my brain and heart, with the sightof the sea and the coast, with the Rio Medio schooner hanging on ourquarter, I listened to her, and had a hard task to believe my ears. She was so convinced that I was "dissolute, " because of my class--as anearl's grandson. 

It is difficult to imagine how she arrived at the conviction; it musthave been from pulpit denunciations of the small Bethel on the outskirtof Bristol. Her uncle, J. Perkins, was a great ruffian, certainly, and Williams was dissolute enough, if one wished to call his festiveimbecilities by a hard name. But these two could, by no means, be saidto belong to the upper classes. And these two, apart from her favouritepreacher, were the only two men of whom she could be said to have morethan a visual knowledge. 

She had spent her best years in domestic slavery to her bachelor uncle, an old shipowner of savage selfishness; she had been the deplorablemistress of his big, half-furnished house, standing in a damp gardenfull of trees. The outrageous Perkins had been a sailor in histime--mate of a privateer in the great French war, afterwards masterof a slaver, developing at last into the owner of a small fleet of WestIndiamen. Williams was his favourite captain, whom he would bring homein the evening to drink rum and water, and smoke churchwarden pipes withhim. The niece had to sit up, too, at these dismal revels. Old Perkinswould keep her out of bed to mix the grogs, till he was ready to climbthe bare stone staircase, echoing from top to bottom with his stumbles. However, it seems he dozed a good deal in snatches during theevening, and this, I suppose, gave their opportunity to the pale, spiritual-looking spinster with the patient eyes, and to the thick, staring Williams, florid with good living, and utterly unused to thecompany of women of that sort. But in what way these two unsimilarbeings had looked upon each other, what she saw in him, what he imaginedher to be like, why, how, wherefore, an understanding arose betweenthem, remains inexplicable. It was her romance--and it is even possiblethat he was moved by an unselfish sentiment. Sebright accounted for thematter by saying that, as to the woman, it was no wonder. Anything toget away from a bullying old ruffian, that would use bad language incold blood just to horrify her--and then burst into a laugh and jeer;but as to Captain Williams (Sebright had been with him from a boy), heought to have known he was quite incapable of keeping straight after allthese free-and-easy years. 

He used to talk a lot, about that time, of good women, of settling downto a respectable home, of leading a better life; but, of course, he couldn't. Simply couldn't, what with old friends in Kingston andHavana--and his habits formed--and his weakness for women who, asSebright put it, could not be called good. Certainly there did not seemto have been any sordid calculation in the marriage. Williams fullyexpected to lose his command; but, as it turned out, the old beast, Perkins, was quite daunted by the loss of his niece. He found them outin their lodgings, came to them crying--absolutely whimpering about hiswhite hairs, talking touchingly of his will, and promising amendment. Inthe end it was arranged that Williams should keep his command; and Mrs. Williams went back to her uncle. That was the best of it. Actually wentback to look after that lonely old rip, out of pure pity and goodness ofheart. Of course old Perkins was afraid to treat her as badly as before, and everything was going on fairly well, till some kind friend senther an anonymous letter about Williams' goings on in Jamaica. Sebrightstrongly suspected the master of another regular trading ship, with whomWilliams had a difference in Kingston the voyage before last--Sebrightsaid--about a small matter, with long hair--not worth talking about. Shesaid nothing at first, and nearly worried herself into a brain-fever. Then she confessed she had a letter--didn't believe it--but wanted achange, and would like to come for one voyage. Nothing could be said tothat. 

The worst was, the captain was so knocked over at the idea of his littlesins coming to light, that he--Sebright--had the greatest difficulty inpreventing him from giving himself away. 

"If I hadn't been really fond of her, " Sebright concluded, "I would havelet everything go by the board. It's too difficult. And mind, the wholeof Kingston was on the broad grin all the time we were there--but it'sno joke. She's a good woman, and she's jealous. She wants to keep herown. Never had much of her own in this world, poor thing. She can't helpherself any more than the skipper can. Luckily, she knows no more oflife than a baby. But it's a most cruel set out. "

Sebright had exposed the domestic situation on board the _Lion_ with aforce of insight and sympathy hardly to be expected from his years. Nodoubt his attachment to the disparate couple counted for not a little. He seemed to feel for them both a sort of exasperated affection; butI have no doubt that in his way he was a remarkable young man withhis contrasted bringing up first at the hands of an old maiden lady;afterwards on board ship with Williams, to whom he was indentured at theage of fifteen, when as he casually mentioned--"a scoundrelly attorneyin Exeter had run off with most of the old girl's money. " Indeed, looking back, they all appear to me uncommon; even to the round-eyedWilliams, cowed simply out of respect and regard for his wife, and asif dazed with fright at the conventional catastrophe of being found outbefore he could get her safely back to Bristol. As to Mrs. Williams, I must confess that the poor woman's ridiculous and genuine misery, inducing her to undertake the voyage, presented itself to me simply as ablessing, there on the poop. She had been practically good to Seraphina, and her talking to me mattered very little, set against that. .. . Andsuch talk!

It was like listening to an earnest, impassioned, tremulousimpertinence. She seemed to start from the assumption that I wascapable of every villainy, and devoid of honour and conscience; onlyone perceived that she used the words from the force of unworldlyconviction, and without any real knowledge of their meaning, as aprecocious child uses terms borrowed from its pastors and masters. 

I was greatly disconcerted at first, but I was never angry. What of it, if, with a sort of sweet absurdity, she talked in great agitation ofthe depravity of hearts, of the sin of light-mindedness, of theself-deception which leads men astray--a confused but purposeful jumble, in which occasional allusions to the errors of Rome, and to the want ofseriousness in the upper classes, put in a last touch of extravagance?

What of it? The time was coming when I should remember the frail, homely, as if starved, woman, and thank heaven for her generous heart, which was gained for us from that moment. Far from being offended, Iwas drawn to her. There is a beauty in the absolute conscience of thesimple; and besides, her distrust was for me, alone. I saw that sheerected* herself not into a judge, but into a guardian, against thedangers of our youth and our romance. She was disturbed by its origin. 

There was so much of the unusual, of the unheard of in its beginning, that she was afraid of the end. I was so inexperienced, she said, andso was the young lady--poor motherless thing--wilful, no doubt--sovery taking--like a little child, rather. Had I comprehended all myresponsibility? (And here one of the hurried side-allusions to theerrors of Rome came in with a reminder, touching the charge of anotherimmortal soul beside my own. ) Had I reflected?. .. 

It seems to me that this moment was the last of my boyishness. It was asif the contact with her earnestness had matured me with a power greaterthan the power of dangers, of fear, of tragic events. She wanted to knowinsistently whether I were sure of myself, whether I had examined myfeelings, and had measured my strength, and had asked for guidance. I had done nothing of this. Not till brought face to face with herunanswerable simplicity did I descend within myself. It seemed I haddescended so deeply that, for a time, I lost the sound of her voice. Andagain I heard her. 

"There's time yet, " she was saying. "Think, young sir (she had addressedme throughout as 'young sir. ') My husband and I have been talking itover most anxiously. Think well before you commit the young ladyfor life. You are both so young. It looks as if we had been sentprovidentially. .. . "

What was she driving at? Did she doubt my love? It was rather horrible;but it was too startling and too extravagant to be met with anger. Welooked at each other, and I discovered that she had been, in reality, tremendously excited by this adventure. This was the secret of heraudacity. And I was also possessed by excitement. We stood there liketwo persons meeting in a great wind. Without moving her hands, sheclasped and unclasped her fingers, looking up at me with solicitingeyes; and her lips, firmly closed, twitched. 

"I am looking for the means of explaining to you how much I love her, " Iburst out. "And if I found a way, you could not understand. What do youknow?--what can you know?. .. "

I said this not in scorn, but in sheer helplessness. I was at a lossbefore the august magnitude of my feeling, which I saw confronting melike an enormous presence arising from that blue sea. It was no longera boy-and-girl affair; no longer an adventure; it was an immense andserious happiness, to be paid for by an infinity of sacrifice. 

"I am a woman, " she said, with a fluttering dignity. "And it is becauseI know how women suffer from what men say. .. . "

Her face flushed. It flushed to the very bands of her hair. She wasrosy all over the eyes and forehead. Rosy and ascetic, with somethingoutraged and inexpressibly sweet in her expression. My great emotion wasbetween us like a mist, through which I beheld strange appearances. Itwas as if an immaterial spirit had blushed before me. And suddenly I sawtears--tears that glittered exceedingly, falling hard and round, likepellets of glass, out of her faded eyes. 

"Mrs. Williams, " I cried, "you can't know how I love her. No one in theworld can know. When I think of her--and I think of her always--it seemsto me that one life is not enough to show my devotion. I love her likesomething unchangeable and unique--altogether out of the world; becauseI see the world through her. I would still love her if she had made memiserable and unhappy. "

She exclaimed a low "Ah!" and turned her head away for a moment. 

"But one cannot express these things, " I continued. "There are no words. Words are not meant for that. I love her so that, were I to die thismoment, I verily believe my soul, refusing to leave this earth, wouldremain hovering near her. .. . "

She interrupted me with a sort of indulgent horror. "Sh! sh!" I mustn'ttalk like that. I really must not--and inconsequently she declared shewas quite willing to believe me. Her husband and herself had not slept awink for thinking of us. The notion of the fat, sleepy Williams, sittingup all night to consider, owlishly, the durability of my love, cooledmy excitement. She thought they had been providentially thrown into ourway to give us an opportunity of reconsidering our decision. There werestill so many difficulties in the way. 

I did not see any; her utter incomprehension began to weary me, whileshe still twined her fingers, wiped her eyes by stealth, as it were, andtalked unflinchingly. She could not have made herself clearly understoodby Seraphina. Moreover, women were so helpless--so very helpless insuch matters. That is why she was speaking to me. She did not doubt mysincerity at the present time--but there was, humanly speaking, a longlife before us--and what of afterwards? Was I sure of myself--lateron--when all was well?

I cut her short. Seizing both her hands:

"I accept the omen, Mrs. Williams!" I cried. "That's it! When allis well! And all must be well in a very short time, with you and yourhusband's help, which shall not fail me, I know. I feel as if the worstof our troubles were over already. .. . "

But at that moment I saw Seraphina coming out on deck. She emerged fromthe companion, bare-headed, and looked about at her new surroundingswith that air of imperious and childlike beauty which made her charm. The wind stirred slightly her delicate hair, and I looked at her; Ilooked at her stilled, as one watches the dawn or listens to a sweetstrain of music caught from afar. Suddenly dropping Mrs. Williams' hand, I ran to her. .. . 

When I turned round, Williams had joined his wife, and she had slippedher arm under his. Her hand, thin and white, looked like the hand of aninvalid on the brawny forearm of that man bursting with health and goodcondition. By the side of his lustiness, she was almost ethereal--andyet I seemed to see in them something they had in common--somethingsubtle, like the expression of eyes. It _was_ the expression of theireyes. They looked at us with commiseration; one of them sweetly, theother with his owlish fixity. As we two, Seraphina and I, approachedthem together, I heard Williams' thick, sleepy voice asking, "And sohe says he won't?" To which his wife, raising her tone with a shade ofindignation, answered, "Of course not. " No, I was not mistaken. In theirdissimilar persons, eyes, faces, there was expressed a common trouble, doubt, and commiseration. This expression seemed to go out to meet ussadly, like a bearer of ill-news. And, as if at the sight of adowncast messenger, I experienced the clear presentiment of some fatalintelligence. 

It was conveyed to me late in the afternoon of that 'same day out ofWilliams' own thick lips, that seemed as heavy and inert as his voice. 

"As far as we can see, " he said, "you can't stay in the ship, Kemp. Itwould do no one any good--not the slightest good. Ask Sebright here. "

It was a sort of council of war, to which we had been summoned in thesaloon. Mrs. Williams had some sewing in her lap. She listened, herhands motionless, her eyes full of desolation. Seraphina's attitude, leaning her cheek on her hand, reminded me of the time when I had seenher absorbed in watching the green-and-gold lizard in the back room ofRamon's store, with her hair falling about her face like a veil. Castrowas not called in till later on. But Sebright was there, leaning hisback negligently against the bulkhead behind Williams, and looking downon us seated on both sides of the long table. And there was present, too, in all our minds, the image of the Rio Medio schooner, hull down onour quarter. In all the trials of sailing, we had not been able to shakeher off that day. 

"I don't want to hide from you, Mr. Kemp, " Sebright began, "that it wasI who pointed out to the captain that you would be only getting the shipin trouble for nothing. She's an old trader and favourite with shippers;and if we once get to loggerheads with the powers, there's an end of hertrading. As to missing Havana this trip, even if you, Mr. Kemp, couldgive a pot of money, the captain could never show his nose in thereagain after breaking his charter-party to help steal a young lady. Andit isn't as if she were nobody. She's the richest heiress in the island. The biggest people in Spain would have their say in this matter. Isuppose they could put the captain in prison or something. Anyway, good-by to the Havana business for good. Why, old Perkins would havea fit. He got over one runaway match. .. . All right, Mrs. Williams, notanother word. .. . What I meant to say is that this is nothing else buta love story, and to knock on the head a valuable old-establishedconnection for it. . Don't bite your lip, Mr. Kemp. I mean no disrespectto your feelings. Perkins would start up to break things--let alone hisheart. I am sure the captain and Mrs. Williams think so, too. "

The festive and subdued captain of the _Lion_ was staring straightbefore him, as if stuffed. Mrs. Williams moved her fingers, compressedher lips, and looked helplessly at all of us in turn. "Besides alteringhis will, " Sebright breathed confidentially at the back of my head. Iperceived that this old Perkins, whom I had never seen, and was neverto see in the body, whose body no one was ever to see any more (he diedsuddenly on the echoing staircase, with a flat candlestick in his hand;was already dead at the time, so that Mrs. Williams was actually sittingin the cabin of her very own ship)--I perceived that old Perkinswas present at this discussion with all the power of a malignant, bad-tempered spirit. Those two were afraid of him. They had defied himonce, it is true--but even that had been done out of fear, as it were. 

Dismayed, I spoke quickly to Seraphina. With her head resting on herhand, and her eyes following the aimless tracings of her finger on thetable, she said:

"It shall be as God wills it, Juan. "

"For Heaven's sake, don't!" said Sebright, coughing behind me. Heunderstood Spanish fairly well. "What I've said is perfectly true. Nevertheless the captain was ready to risk it. "

"Yes, " ejaculated Williams profoundly, out of almost still lips, andotherwise so motionless all over that the deep sound seemed to have beenproduced by some person under the table. Mrs. Williams' fingers wereclasped on her lap, and her eyes seemed to beg for belief all round ourfaces. 

"But the point is that it would have been no earthly good for you two, "continued Sebright. "That's the point I made. If O'Brien knows anything, he knows you are on board this ship. He reckons on it as a deadcertainty. Now, it is very evident that we could refuse to give _you_up, Mr. Kemp, and that the admiral (if the flagship's off Havana, as Ithink she must be by now) would have to back us up. How you would get onafterwards with old Groggy Rowley, I don't know. It isn't likely hehas forgotten you tried to wipe the floor with him, if I am to take thecaptain's yarn as correct. "

"A regular hero, " Williams testified suddenly, in his concealed, from-under-the-table tone. "He's not afraid of any of them;not he. Ha! ha! Old Topnambo must have. .. . " He glanced athis wife, and bit his tongue--perhaps at the recollectionof his unsafe conjugal position--ending in disjointed words, "In his chaise--warrant--separationist--rebel, " and all this withoutmoving a limb or a muscle of his face, till, with a low, throatychuckle, he fluttered a stony sort of wink to my address. 

Sebright had paused only long enough for this ebullition to be over. The cool logic of his surmise appalled me. He didn't see why O'Brien oranybody in Havana should want to interfere with me personally. But ifI wanted to keep my young lady, it was obvious she must not arrive inHavana on board a ship where they would be sure to look for her the veryfirst thing. It was even worse than it looked, he declared. His firmconviction was that if the _Lion_ did not turn up in Havana pretty soon, there would be a Spanish man-of-war sent out to look for her--or elseMr. O'Brien was not the man we took him for. There was lying in harboura corvette called the _Tornado_, a very likely looking craft. I didn'texpect them to fight a corvette. No doubt there would be a fuss madeabout stopping a British ship on the high seas; but that would be a coldcomfort after the lady had been taken away from me. She was a person ofso much importance that even our own admiral could be induced--say, bythe Captain-General's remonstrances--to sanction such an action. Therewas no saying what Rowley would do if they only promised to present himwith half a dozen pirates to take home for a hanging. Why! that was thevery identical thing the flagship was kept dodging off Havana for! AndO'Brien knew where to lay his hands on a gross of such birds, for thatmatter. 

"No, " concluded Sebright, overwhelming me from behind, as I satlooking, not at the uncertainties of the future, but at the paralyzinghopelessness of the bare to-morrow. "The _Lion_ is no place for you, whether she goes into Havana or not. Moreover, into Havana she must gonow. There's no help for it. It's the deuce of a situation. "

"Very well, " I gasped. I tried to be resolute. I felt, suddenly, asif all the air in the cabin had gone up the open skylight. I couldn'tremain below another moment; and, muttering something about coming backdirectly, I jumped up and ran out without looking at any one lest Ishould give myself away. I ran out on deck for air, but the great blueemptiness of the open staggered me like a blow over the heart. I walkedslowly to the side, and, planting both my elbows on the rail, staredabroad defiantly and without a single clear thought in my head. I had avague feeling that the descent of the sun towards the waters, going onbefore my eyes with changes of light and cloud, was like some gorgeousand empty ceremonial of immersion belonging to a vast barren faithremote from consolation and hope. And I noticed, also, small thingswithout importance--the hirsute aspect of a sailor; the end of a ropetrailing overboard; and Castro, so different from everybody else onboard that his appearance seemed to create a profound solitude roundhim, lounging before the cabin door as if engaged in a deep conspiracyall by himself. I heard voices talking loudly behind me, too. 

I noted them distinctly, but with perfect indifference. A long timeafter, with the same indifference, I looked over my shoulder. Castro hadvanished from the quarter-deck. And I turned my face to the sea again asa man, feeling himself beaten in a fight with death, might turn his faceto the wall. 

I had fought a harder battle with a more cruel foe than death, withthe doubt of myself; an endless contest, in which there is no peace ofvictory or of defeat. The open sea was like a blank and unscalable wallimprisoning the eternal question of conduct. Right or wrong? Generosityor folly? Conscience or only weak fear before remorse? The magnificentritual of sunset went on palpitating with an inaudible rhythm, with slowand unerring observance, went on to the end, leaving its funeral fireson the sky and a great shadow upon the sea. Twice I had honourablystayed my hand. Twice. .. To this end. 

In a moment, I went through all the agonies of suicide, which left mealive, alas, to burn with the shame of the treasonable thought, andterrified by the revolt of my soul refusing to leave the world in whicha young girl lived! The vast twilight seemed to take the impress of herimage like wax. What did Seraphina think of me? I knew nothing of herbut her features, and it was enough. Strange, this power of a woman'sface upon a man's heart--this mastery, potent as witchcraft andmysterious like a miracle. I should have to go and tell her. I didnot suppose she could have understood all of Sebright's argumentation. Therefore, it was for me to explain to what a pretty pass I had broughtour love. 

I was so greatly disinclined to stir that I let Sebright's voice go oncalling my name half a dozen times from the cabin door. At last I facedabout. 

"Mr. Kemp! I say, Kemp! Aren't you coming in yet?"

"To say good-by, " I said, approaching him. 

It had fallen dark already. 

"Good-by? No. The carpenter must have a day at least. "

Carpenter! What had a carpenter to do in this? However, nothingmattered--as though I had managed to spoil the whole scheme of creation. 

"You didn't think of making a start to-night, did you?" Sebrightwondered. "Where would be the sense of it?"

"Sense, " I answered contemptuously. "There is no sense in anything. There is necessity. Necessity. "

He remained silent for a time, peering at me. 

"Necessity, to be sure, " he said slowly. "And I don't see why you shouldbe angry at it. "

I was thinking that it was easy enough for him to keep cool--thenecessity being mine. He continued to philosophize with what seemed tome a shocking freedom of mind. 

"Must try to put some sense into it. That's what we are here for, Iguess. Anyhow, there's some room for sense in arranging the way a thingis to be done, be it as hard as it may. And I don't see any sense, either, in exposing a woman to more hardship than is absolutelynecessary. We have talked it out now, and I can do no more. Do go insidefor a bit. Mrs. Williams is worrying the Señorita, rather, I'm afraid. "

I paused a moment to try and regain the command of my faculties. But itwas as if a bombshell had exploded inside my skull, scattering allmy wits to the four winds of heaven. Only the conviction of failureremained, attended by a profound distress. 

I fancy, though, I presented a fairly bold front. The lamp was lit, andsmall changes had occurred during my absence. Williams had turned hisbulk sideways to the table. Mrs. Williams had risen from her place, and was now sitting upright close to Seraphina, holding one littlehand inclosed caressingly between her frail palms, as if she had theresomething alive that needed cherishing. And in that position she lookedup at me with a strange air of worn-out youth, cast by a rosy flushover her forehead and face. Seraphina still leaned her head on herother hand, and I noted, through the soft shadow of falling hair, theheightened colour on her cheek and the augmented brilliance of her eye. 

"'How I wish she had been an English girl, " Mrs. Williams sighedregretfully, and leaned forward to look into Seraphina's half-avertedface. 

"My dear, did you quite, quite understand what I have been saying toyou?"

She waited. 

"_Si Señora_, " said Seraphina. None of us moved. Then, after a time, turning to me with sudden animation, "This woman asked me if I believedin your love, " she cried. "She is old. Oh, Juan, can the years changethe heart? your heart?" Her voice dropped. "How am I to know that?" shewent on piteously. "I am young--and we may not live so long. I believein mine. .. . "

The corners of her delicate lips drooped; but she mastered her desireto cry, and steadied her voice which, always rich and full of womanlycharm, took on, when she was deeply moved, an imposing gravity oftimbre. 

"But I am a Spaniard, and I believe in my lover's honour; in your--yourEnglish honour, Juan. "

With the dignity of a supreme confidence she extended her hand. It wasone of the culminating moments of our love. For love is like a journeyin mountainous country, up through the clouds, and down into the shadowsto an unknown destination. It was a moment rapt and full of feeling, inwhich we seemed to dwell together high up and alone--till she withdrewher hand from my lips, and I found myself back in the cabin, as ifprecipitated from a lofty place. 

Nobody was looking at us. Mrs. Williams sat with downcast eyelids, withher hands reposing on her lap: her husband gazed discreetly at a goldmoulding on the deck-beam; and the upward cast of his eyes investedhis red face with an air of singularly imbecile ecstasy. And there wasCastro, too, whom I had not seen till then, though I must have brushedagainst him on entering. He had stood by the door a mute, and, as itwere, a voluntarily unmasked conspirator with the black round of thehat lying in front of his feet. He, alone, looked at us. He looked fromSeraphina to me--from me to Seraphina. He looked unutterable things, rolling his crow-footed eyes in pious horror and glowering in turns. When Seraphina addressed him, he hastened to incline his head with hisusual deference for the daughter of the Riegos. 

She said, "There are things that concern this _caballero_, and that youcan never understand. Your fidelity is proved. It has sunk deep here. .. . It shall give you a contented old age--on the word of Seraphina Riego. "

He looked down at his feet with gloomy submission. 

"There is a proverb about an enamoured woman, " he muttered to himself, loud enough for me to overhear. Then, stooping deliberately to pick uphis hat, he flourished it with a great sweep lower than his knees. Hisdumpy black back flitted out of the cabin; and almost directly we heardthe sharp click of his flint and blade outside the door. 

CHAPTER SIX

How often the activity of our life is the least real part of it! Life, looked upon as a whole, presents itself to my fancy as a pursuit withopen arms of a winged and magnificent dream, hovering just over ourheads and casting its glory upon our hopes. It is in this simple vision, which is one and enduring, and not in the changing facts, that we mustlook for meaning and for truth. The three quiet days we spent togetheron board the _Lion_ remain to me memorable and full of import, eventlessand containing the very quintessence of existence. We shared thesunshine, always together, very close, turning hand in hand to the sea, whose unstained blueness continued under our feet the blue above ourheads, as though we had been snatched up into the sky. The insignificantwords we exchanged seemed informed by a sustaining certitude and anadmirable gravity, as though there had been some quality of unerringwisdom in the blind love of man and woman. From the inexhaustibletreasure of her feelings she drew words, glances, gestures that appeasedevery uneasiness of my heart. In some brief moment of illumination whoseadvent my man's eyes had utterly missed, she had learned all at onceeverything there was to know. She knew. She no longer needed to surveymy actions, my words, my thoughts; but she accorded me the sincereflattery of spell-bound attention, and it was made intoxicating by hersmile. In those short days of a pause, when, like a swimmer turning onhis back, we lived in the trustful confidence of the sustaining depths, instead of struggling with the agitation of the surface--in these dayswe had the time to look at each other profoundly; and I saw her smilecome back again a little changed, more meaning and a little lessmirthful, as if her lips had been made stiff by sorrow. But she wasyoung; and youth, the time of softness, of tenderness, of enthusiasm, and of pity, presents a surface as hard as marble to the finality ofdeath. 

Breathing side by side, drinking in the sunshine, and talking ofourselves not at all, but casting the sense of our love like amagnificent garment over the wide significance of a world alreadyconquered, we could not help being made aware of the currents ofexcitement and sympathy that converged upon our essential isolation fromthe life of the ship. It was the excitement of the adventure brewing forour drinking according to Sebright's recipe. People approached us--spoketo us. We attended to them as if called down from an elevation; wewere aware of the kind tone; and, remaining indistinct, they retreated, leaving us free to regain the heights of the lovers' paradise--a regionof tender whispers and intense silences. Suddenly there would be ashort, throaty laugh behind our backs, and Williams would begin, "Isay, Kemp; do you call to mind so-and-so?" Invariably some planter ormerchant in Jamaica. I never could. 

Williams would grunt, "No? I wonder how you passed your time away thesetwo years or more. The place isn't that big. " His purpose was to cheerme up by some gossip, if only he could find a common acquaintance totalk over. I believe he thought me a queer fish. He told me once thateverybody he knew in Jamaica had that precise opinion of me. Then with àchuckle and muttering, "Warrants--assault--Top--nambo--ha, ha!" he wouldleave us to ourselves, and continue his waddle up and down the poop. He wore loose silk trousers, and the round legs inside moved like acontrivance made out of two gate-posts. 

He was absurd. They all were that before our sweet reasonableness. Butthis atmosphere, full of interest and good will, was good to breathe. The very steward--the same who had been hiding in the lazarette duringthe fight--a hunted creature, displaying the most insignificant anatomyever inhabited by a quailing spirit, devoted himself to the manufactureof strange cakes, which at tea-time he would deposit smoking hot infront of Seraphina's place. After each such exploit, he appeared amazedat his audacity in taking so much upon himself. The carpenter took morethan a day, tinkering at an old ship's boat. He was a Shetlander--asort of shaggy hyperborean giant with a forbidding face, an appraising, contemplative manner, and many nails in his mouth. At last the time camewhen he, too, approached our oblivion from behind, with a large hammerin his hand; but instead of braining us with one sweep of his mightyarm, he remarked simply in uncouth accents, "There now; I am thinkingshe will do well for what ye want her. I can do no more for ye. "

We turned round, arm-in-arm, to look at the boat. There she was, lyingcareened on the deck, with patched sides, in a belt of chips, shavings, and sawdust; a few pensive sailors stood about, gazing down at her withserious eyes. Sebright, bent double, circled slowly on a prowl of minuteinspection. Suddenly straightening himself up, he pronounced a curt"She'll do"; and, without looking at us at all, went off busily with hisrapid stride. 

A light sigh floated down upon our heads. Williams and his wife appearedon the poop above us like an allegorical couple of repletion andstarvation, conceived in a fantastic vein on a balcony. A cigarsmouldered in his stumpy red fingers. She had slipped a hand under hisarm, as she would always do the moment they came near each other. Shenever looked more wasted and old-maidish than when thus affirming herwifely rights. But her eyes were motherly. 

"Ah, my dears!" (She usually addressed Seraphina as "miss, " and myselfas "young sir. ") "Ah, my dears! It seems so heartless to be sending youoff in such a small boat, even for your own good. "

"Never fear, Mary. Repaired. Carry six comfortably, " reassured Williamsin a tremendous mutter, like a bull. 

"But why can't you give them one of the others, Owen? That big onethere?"

"Nonsense, Mary. Never see boat again. Wouldn't grudge it. Only Sebrightis quite right. Didn't you hear what Sebright said? Very sensible. AskSebright. He will explain to you again. "

It was Sebright, with his asperity and his tact, with fits ofbrusqueness subdued by an almost affectionate contempt, who conductedall their affairs, as I have seen a trustworthy and experienced oldnurse rule the infinite perplexities of a room full of children. His clear-sightedness and mental grip seemed independent of age andexperience, like the ability of genius. He had an imaginative eye fordetail, and, starting from a mere hint, would go scheming onwards withastonishing precision. His plan, to which we were committed--committedhelplessly and without resistance--was based upon the necessity of ourleaving the ship. 

He had developed it to me that evening, in the cabin, directly Castrohad gone out. He had already got Williams and his wife to share his viewof our situation. He began by laying it down that in every desperateposition there was a loophole for escape. Like other great men, he wasconscious of his ability, and was inclined to theorize at large for awhile. You had to accept the situation, go with it in a measure, and asyou had walked into trouble with your eyes shut, you had only tocontinue with your eyes open. Time was the only thing that could defeatone. If you had no time, he admitted, you were at a dead wall. In thiscase he judged there would be time, because O'Brien, warned already, would sit tight for a few days, being sure to get hold of us directlythe _Lion_ came into port. It was only if the _Lion_ failed to turn upwithin a reasonable term in Havana, that he would take fright, and takemeasures to hunt her up at sea. But I might rest assured that the _Lion_was going to Havana as fast as the winds would allow her. 

What was, then, the situation? he continued, looking at me piercinglyabove Williams' cropped head. I had run away for dear life from Cuba(taking with me what was best in it, to be sure, he interjected, witha faint smile towards Seraphina). I had no money, no friends (except myfriends in this cabin, he was good enough to say); warrants out againstme in Jamaica; no means to get to England; no safety in the ship. It wasno use shirking that little fact. We must leave the _Lion_. This was ahopeless enough position. But it was hopeless only because it wasnot looked upon in the right way. We assumed that we had to leave herforever, while the whole secret of the trick was in this, that we needonly leave her for a time. After O'Brien's myrmidons had gone throughher, and had been hooted away empty-handed, she became again, if notabsolutely safe, then at least possible--the only possible refugefor us--the only decent means of reaching England together, where, heunderstood, our trouble would cease. Williams nodded approval heavily. 

"The friends of Miss Riego would be glad to know she had made thepassage under the care of a respectable married lady, " Sebrightexplained, in that imperturbable manner of his, which reflectedfaintly all his inner moods--whether of recklessness, of jocularityor anxiety--and often his underlying scorn. His gravity grew perfectlyportentous. "Mrs. Williams, " he continued, "was, of course, very anxiousto do her part creditably. As it happened, the _Lion_ was chartered forLondon this voyage; and notwithstanding her natural desire to rejoin, assoon as possible, her home and her aged uncle in Bristol, she intendedto go with the young lady in a hackney coach to the very door. "

I had previously told them that the lately appointed Spanish ambassadorin London was a relation of the Riegos, and personally acquainted withSeraphina, who, nearly two years before, had been on a short visit toSpain, and had lived for some months with his family _in_ Madrid, Ibelieve. No trouble or difficulty was to be apprehended as to properrecognition, or in the mattei of rights and inheritance, and so on. Theambassador would make that his own affair. And for the rest I trustedthe decision of her character and the strength of her affection. I wasnot afraid she would let any one talk her out of an engagement, thedying wish of her nearest kinsman, sealed, as it were, with the blood ofher father. This matter of temporary absence from the _Lion_, however, seemed to present an insuperable difficulty. We could not, obviously, beleft for days floating in an open boat outside Havana harbour, waitingtill the ship came out to pick us up. Sebright himself admitted that atfirst he did not see how it could be contrived. He didn't see at all. He thought and thought. It was enough to sicken one of every sort ofthinking. Then, suddenly, the few words Castro had let drop about thesugar estate and the relay of mules came into his head--providentially, as Mrs. Williams would say. He fancied that the primitive and grandiosemanner for a gentleman to keep a relay of mules--any amount of mules--incase he should want to send a letter or two, caused the circumstance tostick in his mind. At once he had "our little _hidalgo_" in, and put himthrough an examination. 

"He turned fairly sulky, and tried constantly to break out against you, till Dona Seraphina here gave him a good talking to, " Sebright said. 

Otherwise it was most satisfactory. The place was accessible from thesea through a narrow inlet, opening into a small, perfectly shelteredbasin at the back of the sand-dunes. The little river watering theestate emptied itself into that basin. One could land from a boat there, he understood, as if in a dock--and it was the very devil if I and MissRiego could not lie hidden for a few days on her own property, the moreso that, as it came out in the course of the discussion, while I had"rushed out to look at the sunset, " that the manager, or whatever theycalled him--the fellow in charge--was the husband of Dona Seraphina'sold nurse-woman. Of course, it behoved us to make as little fuss aspossible--try to reach the house along by-paths early in the morning, when all the slaves would be out at work in the fields. Castro, whoprofessed to know the locality very well indeed, would be of use. Meantime, the _Lion_ would make her way to Havana, as if nothing was thematter. No doubt all sorts of confounded _alguazils_ and custom-househounds would be ready to swarm on board in full cry. They would be madevery welcome. Any strangers on board? Certainly not. Why should therebe?. .. Rio Medio? What about Rio Medio? Hadn't been within miles andmiles of Rio Medio; tried this trip to beat up well clear of the coast. Search the ship? With pleasure--every nook and cranny. He didn't supposethey would have the cheek to talk of the pirates; but if they didventure--what then? Pirates? That's very serious and dishonourable tothe power of Spain. Personally, had seen nothing of pirates. Thoughtthey had all been captured and hanged quite lately. Rumours ofthe _Lion_ having been attacked obviously untrue. Some other ship, perhaps. .. . That was the line to take. If it didn't convince them, itwould puzzle them altogether. Of course, Captain Williams, in his greatregard for me, had abandoned the intention of making an affair of stateof the outrage committed on his ship. He would not lodge any complaintin Havana--nothing at all. The old women of the Admiralty wouldn't bemade to sit up this time. No report would be sent to the admiral either. Only, if the ship were interfered with, and bothered under any pretencewhatever, once they had been given every facility to have one goodlook everywhere, the admiral would be asked to stop it. And the Spanishauthorities would have not a leg to stand on either, for this simplereason, that they could not very well own to the sources of theirinformation. Meantime, all hands on board the _Lion_ had to be takeninto confidence; that could not be avoided. He, Sebright, answered fortheir discretion while sober, anyhow; and he promised me that no leaveor money would be given in Havana, for fear they should get on a spree, and let out something in the grogshops on shore. We all knew what asailor-man was after a glass or two. So that was settled. Now, as to ourrejoining the _Lion_. This, of necessity, must be left to me. Countingfrom the time we parted from her to land on the coast, the _Lion_ wouldremain in Havana sixteen days; and if we did not turn up in that time, and the cargo was all on board by then, Captain Williams would try toremain in harbour on one pretence or another a few days longer. Butsixteen days should be ample, and it was even better not to hurry up toomuch. To arrive on the fifteenth day would be the safest proceeding in away, but for the cutting of the thing too fine, perhaps. With all thesemules at our disposal, Sebright didn't see why we should not make ourway by land, pass through the town at night, or in the earliest morning, and go straight on board the _Lion_--perhaps use some sort of disguise. He couldn't say. He was out of it there. Blackened faces or something. Anyway, we would be looked out for on board night and day. 

Later on, however, we had learned from Castro that the estate possesseda sailing craft of about twenty tons, which made frequent trips toHavana. These sugar _droghers_ belonging to the plantations (everyestate on the coast had one or more) went in and out of the harbourwithout being taken much notice of. Sometimes the battery at the water'sedge on the north side or a custom-house guard would hail them, butnot often--and even then only to ask the name, where from, and for thenumber of sugar-hogsheads on board. "By heavens! That's the very thing!"rejoiced Sebright. And it was agreed that this would be our best way. We should time our arrival for early morning, or else at dusk. The craftthat brought us in should be made, by a piece of unskillful management, to fall aboard the _Lion_, and remain alongside long enough to give ustime to sneak in through an open deck-port. 

The whole occurrence must be so contrived as to wear the appearance ofa pure accident to the onlookers, should there be any. Shouting andan exchange of abuse on both parts should sound very true. Then the_drogher_, getting herself clear, would proceed innocently to thecustom-house steps, where all such coasters had to report themselves onarrival. "Never fear. We shall put in some loud and scandalous cursing, "Sebright assured me. "The boys will greatly enjoy that part, I daresay. "

Remained to consider the purpose of the schooner that had come out ofRio Medio to hang on our skirts. It was doubtful whether it was in ourpower to shake her off. Sebright was full of admiration for her sailingqualities, coupled with infinite contempt for the "lubberly gang onboard. "

"If I had the handling of her, now, " he said, "I would take my positionas near as I liked, and stick there. It seems almost as if she would doit of herself, if those imbeciles would only let her have her own way. Inever yet saw a Spaniard, good or bad, that was anything of a sailor. Asit is, we may maintain a distance that would make it difficult for themto see what we are about. And if not, then--why, you must take yourleave of us at night. "

He didn't know that, but for the dismalness of such a departure, it werenot just as well. Who could tell what eyes might be watching on shore?

"You know I never pretended my plan was quite safe. But have you gotanother?"

I made no answer, because I had no other, and could not think of one. Incredible as it may appear, not only my heart, but my mind, also, in the awakened comprehension of my love, refused to grapple withdifficulties. My thoughts raced ahead of ships and pursuing men, intoa dream of cloudless felicity without end. And I don't think Sebrightexpected any suggestion from me. This took place during one of our busytalks--only he and I--alone in his cabin. He had been washing his hands, making ready for tea. 

"Do you know, " he said, turning full on me, and wiping his fingerscarefully with a coarse towel--"do you know, I shouldn't wonder if thatschooner were not keeping watch on us, in suspicion of just some suchmove on our part. 'Tis extraordinary how clever the greatest fool mayshow himself sometimes. Only, with their lubberly Spanish seamanship, they would expect us, probably, to make a whole ceremony of yourlanding: ship hove to for hours close in shore, a boat going off to landand returning, and all such pother. 'We are sure to see their littleshow, ' they think to themselves. Eh? What? Whereas we shall keep wellclear of the land when the time comes, and drop you in the dark withoutas much check on our way as there is in the wink of an eye. Hey?. .. Mind, Mr. Kemp, you take the boat out of sight up that little river, incase they should have a fancy, as they go along after us, to peep intothat inlet. As I have said it wouldn't do to trust too much in anyfool's folly. "

And now the time was approaching; the time to awake and step forth outof the temple of sunshine and love--of whispers and silences. It hadcome. The night before both Williams and Sebright had been on deck, working the ship with an anxious care to take the utmost advantage ofevery favouring flaw in the contrary breeze. In the morning I was toldthere was a norther brewing. A norther is a tempestuous gale. I saw nosigns of it. The realm of the sun, like the vanished one of the stars, appeared to my senses to be profoundly asleep, and breathing as gentlyas a child upon the ship. The _Lion_, too, seemed to lie wrapped in anenchanted slumber from the water-line to the tops of her upright masts. And yet she moved with the breath of the world, but so imperceptiblythat it was the coast that seemed to be nearing her like a line oflow vapour blown along the water. Between Williams and Sebright Castropointed with his one arm, and a splutter of guttural syllables fell likehail out of his lips. The other two seemed incredulous. He stamped withboth his feet angrily. Finally they went below together, to look at thechart, I suppose. They came up again very fast, one after another, andstood in a row, looking on as before. Three more dissimilar human beingsit would have been difficult to imagine. 

Dazzling white patches, about the size of a man's hand, came out betweensky and water. They grew in width, and ran together with a hummockyoutline into a continuous undulation of sand-dunes. Here and there thisrampart had a gap like a breach made by guns. Mrs. Williams, behind me, blew her nose faintly; her eyes were red, but she did not look at us. No eye was turned our way, and the spell of the coast was on her, too. Alow, dark headland broke out to view through the dunes, and stoodthere conspicuous amongst the heaps of dazzling sand, like a small manfrowning. A voice on deck pronounced:

"That's right. Here's his landmark. The fellow knew very well what hewas talking about. "

It was Sebright's voice, and Castro, strolling away triumphantly, affected to turn his back on the land. He had recognized the formationof the coast about the inlet long before anybody else could distinguishthe details. His word had been doubted. He was offended, and passed usby, wrapping himself up closely. One of Seraphina's locks blew againstmy cheek, and this last effort of the breeze remained snared in thesilken meshes of her hair. 

"There's not enough wind to fill the sail of a toy boat, " grumbledSebright; "and you can't pull this heavy gig ashore with only thatone-armed man at the other oar. " He was sorry he could not send us offwith four good rowers. The norther might be coming on before they couldreturn to the ship, and--apart from the presence of four English sailorson the coast being sure to get talked about--there was the difficultyin getting them back on board in Havana. We could, no doubt, smuggleourselves in; but six people would make too much of a show. On the otherhand, the absence of four men out of the ship's company could not beaccounted for very well to the authorities. "We can't say they all died, and we threw them overboard. It would be too startling. No; you must goalone, and leave us at the first breath of wind; and that, I fear, 'llbe the first of the norther, too. "

He threw his head back, and hailed, "Do you see anything of thatschooner from aloft there?"

"Nothing of her, sir, " answered a man perched, with dangling feet, astride the very end of the topsail yard-arm. He paused, scannedthe space from under the flat of his hand, and added, shouting withdeliberation, "There's--a--haze--to seaward, sir. " The ship, with herdecks sprinkled over with men in twos and threes, sent up to his ears amurmur of satisfaction. 

If we could not see her, she could not see us. This was a favourablecircumstance. To the infinite gratification of everyone on board, ithad been discovered at daylight that the schooner had lost touch withus during the hours of darkness--either through unskillful handling, or from some accidental disadvantage of the variable wind. I had beeninformed of it, directly I showed myself on deck in the morning, byseveral men who had radiant grins, as if some great piece of luck hadbefallen them, one and all. They shared their unflagging attentionbetween the land and the sea-horizon, pointing out to each other, with their tattooed arms, the features of the coast, nodding knowinglytowards the open. At midday most of them brought out their dinners ondeck, and could be seen forward, each with a tin plate in the left hand, gesticulating amicably with clasp knives. A small white handkerchiefhung from Mrs. Williams' fingers, and now and then she touched her eyeslightly, one after the other. Her husband and Sebright, with a gravemien, stamped busily around the binnacle aft, changing places, makingway for each other, stooping in turns to glance carefully along thecompass card at the low bluff, like two gunners laying a piece ofheavy ordnance for an important shot. The steward, emerging out of thecompanion, rang a handbell violently, and remained scared at the failureof that appeal. After waiting for a moment, he produced a further feebletinkle, and sank down out of sight, with resignation. 

A white sun, as if blazing with the pallor of fury, swung past thezenith in a profound and universal stillness. There was not a wrinkle onthe sea; it presented a lustrous and glittering level, like thepolished facet of a gem. In the cabin we sat down to the meal, not evenpretending a desire to eat, exchanging vague phrases, hanging our headsover the empty plates. But the regular footsteps of the boatswainleft in charge hesitated, stopped near the skylight. He said in animperfectly assured voice, "Seems as if there was a steadier draughtcoming now. " At this we rose from the table impetuously, as though hehad shouted an alarm of fire, and Mrs. Williams, with a little cry, ranround to Seraphina. Leaving the two women locked in a silent embrace, the captain, Sebright and myself hurried out on deck. 

Every man in the ship had done the same. Even the shiny black cook hadcome out of his galley, and was already comfortably seated on the rail, baring his white teeth to the sunshine. 

"Just about enough to blow out a farthing dip, " said Sebright, in adisappointed mutter. 

He thought, however, we had better not wait for more. There would be toomuch presently. Some sailors hauled the boat alongside, the rest linedthe rail as for a naval spectacle, and Williams stared blankly. We werewaiting for Seraphina, who appeared, attended by Mrs. Williams, lookingmore kind, bloodless, and ascetic than ever. But my girl's cheeksglowed; her eyes sparkled audaciously. She had done up her hair in someway that made it fit her head like a cap. It became her exceedingly, andthe decision of her movements, the white serenity of her brow, dazzledme as if I had never seen her before. She seemed less childlike, older, ripe for this adventure in a new development of strength and courage. She inclined her head slowly at the gaping sailors, who had taken theircaps off. 

As soon as she appeared, Castro, who had been leaning against thebulwark, started up, and with a muttered "_Adios, Señores_, " went downthe overside ladder and ensconced himself in the bow of the boat. Theleave-taking was hurried over. Williams gave no sign of feeling, except, perhaps, for the greater intensity of his stare, which passed beyond ourshoulders in the very act of handshaking. Sebright helped Seraphina downinto the boat, and ran up again nimbly. Mrs. Williams, with her slimhand held in both mine, uttered a few incoherent words--about men'spromises and the happiness of women, as I thought; but, truth to say, my own suppressed excitement was too considerable for close attention. I only knew that I had given her my confidence, that complete and utterconfidence which neither wisdom nor power alone, can command. And, suddenly, it occurred to me that the heiress of a splendid name andfortune, down in the boat there, had no better friend in the world thanthis woman, who had come to us out of the waste of the sea, opening hersimple heart to our need, like a pious and naive hermit in a wildernessthrowing open the door of his cell to strange wayfarers. 

"Mrs. Williams, " I stammered. "If we--if I--there's no saying what mayhappen to any of us. If she ever comes to you--if she ever is in want ofhelp. .. . "

"Yes, yes. Always, always--like my own daughter. "

And the good woman broke down, as if, indeed, I were taking her owndaughter away. 

"Nonsense, Mary!" Williams advanced, muttering tremendously. "They arenot going round the world. Dare say get ashore in time for supper. "

He stared through her without expression, as if she had been thin air, but she seized his arm, of course, and he gave me, then, an amazinglyrapid wink which, I suppose, meant that I should go. .. . 

"All right there?" asked Sebright from above, as soon as I had taken myseat in the stern sheets by the side of Seraphina. He was standing onthe poop deck ready with a sign for letting go the end of our painteron deck; but before I could answer in the affirmative, Castro, ensconcedforward under his hat, drew his ready blade across the rope, as it werea throat. 

At once a narrow strip of water opened between the boat and the ship, and our long-prepared departure, hastened thus by half a second, seemedto strike everybody dumb with surprise, as if we had taken wings toourselves to fly away. Hastily I grasped the tiller to give the boat asheer, and heard a sort of loud gasp in the air above. A row of heads, posed on chins all along the rail, stared after us with unanimousfixity. Mrs. Williams averted her face on her husband's shoulder. Behindthe couple, Sebright raised his cap gravely. 

Our little sail filled to a breeze which was much too feeble to producea perceptible effect on the ship, and we left behind us her toweringform, as one recedes from a tall white spire on a plain. I laid theboat's head straight for the dwarf headland, marking the mouth of theinlet on the interminable range of sand-dunes. We drove on with a smartripple, but before we felt sufficiently settled to exchange a few wordsthe animated sound languished suddenly, paused altogether, and, witha renewed murmur under our feet seemed to lose itself below the glassywaters. 

CHAPTER SEVEN

The calm had returned. The sea, changing from the warm glitter of agem, and attuned to the grays and blacks of space, resembled a monstrouscinder under a sky of ashes. 

The sun had disappeared, smothered in these clouds that had formedthemselves all at once and everywhere, like some swift corruption ofthe upper air. For the best part of the afternoon the ship and the boatremained lying at right angles, within half a mile of each other. Whatlight was left in the world, cut off from the source of life, seemed tosicken with a strange decay. The long stretch of sands and the sails ofthe motionless vessel stood out lividly pale in universal gloom. Andyet the state of the atmosphere was such that we could see clear-cut thevery folds in the steep face of the dunes, and the figures of the peoplemoving on the poop of the _Lion_. There was always somebody there thathad the aspect of watching us. Then, with some excitement, we saw themon board haul up the mainsail and lower the gig. 

The four oars beat the sombre water, rising and falling apparentlyin the same place. She was an interminable time coming on, but as sheneared us I was surprised at her dashing speed. Sebright, who steered, laid her alongside smartly, and two of his men, clambering over withouta word, lowered our lug at once. 

"We came to reef your sail for you. You couldn't manage that very wellwith a one-armed crew, " said the young mate quietly in the enormousstillness. In his opinion, we couldn't expect now any wind till thefirst squall came down. This flurry, as he called it, would send us insmoking, and he was sure it would help the ship, as well, into Havana, in about twenty-four hours. He didn't think that it would come _very_heavy at first; and, once landed, we need not care how hard it blew. 

He tendered me over the gunwale a pocket-flask covered with leather, and with a screwed silver stopper in the shape of a cup. It was from thecaptain; full of prime rum. We were pretty sure to get wet. He thrust, also, into my hands a gray woollen shawl. Mrs. Williams thought my younglady might be glad of it at night. "The dear old woman has shut herselfup inside their stateroom, and is praying for you now, " he concluded. "Look alive, boys. "

His men did not answer him, but at some words he addressed to Castro, the latter, in the bows and looking at the coast, growled with a surlyimpatience. He was perfectly sure of the entrance. Had been in and outseveral times. Yes. At night, too. Sebright then turned to me. Afterall, it was not so difficult. The inlet bore due south from us, and thewind would come true from the north. Always did in these bursts. I hadonly to keep dead before it. "The clouds will light you in at the last, "he added meaningly, glancing upwards. 

The two sailors, having finished reefing, hoisted, lowered, and hoistedagain the yard to see that the gear ran clear, and without one lookat us, stepped back into the gig, and sat down in their places. For amoment longer we lay together, touching sides. Sebright extended hishand from boat to boat. 

"You are in God's care now, Kemp, " he said, looking up at me, and withan unexpected depth of feeling in his tone. "Take no turn with the sheeton any account, and if you feel it coming too heavy, let fly and chanceit. Did I tell you we have sighted the schooner from aloft? No? We canjust make her out from the main-yard away astern under the land. Thatdon't matter now. .. . Señorita, I kiss your hands. " He liked to air hisSpanish. .. . "Keep cool whatever happens. Dead before it--mind. And counton sixteen days from to-morrow. Well. No more. Give way, boys. "

He never looked back. We watched the boat being hoisted and secured. Shortly afterwards, as we were observing the Lion shortening sail, thefirst of the rain descended between her and us like a lowered veil. For a time she remained mistily visible, dark and gaunt with her baredspars. The downpour redoubled; she disappeared; and our hearts werestirred to a faster beat. 

The shower fell on us, around us, descending perpendicularly, with asteady force; and the thunder rolled far off, as if coming from underthe sea. Sometimes the muffled rumbling stopped, and let us hear plainlythe gentle hiss and the patter of the drops falling upon a vast expanse. Suddenly, mingled with a loud detonation right over our heads, a burstof light outlined under the bellying strip of our sail the pointed crownof Castro's hat, reposing on a heap of black clothing huddled in thebows. The darkness swallowed it all. I swung Seraphina in front of me, and made her sit low on the stern sheets beneath my feet. A lot of foamboiled up around the boat, and we had the sensation of having been sentflying from a catapult. 

Everything was black--perfectly black. At intervals, headlong gusts ofrain swept over our heads. I suppose I did keep sufficiently cool, butin every flash of lightning the wind, the sea, the clouds, the rain, andthe boat appeared to rush together thundering upon the coast. The lineof sands, bordered with a belt of foam, zigzagged dazzlingly upon anearth as black as the clouds; only the headland, with every vision, remained sombre and unmoved. At last it rose up right before the boat. Blue lightning streamed on a lane of tumbling waters at its foot. Wasthis the entrance? With the vague notion of shortening sail, I let thesheet go from my hand. There was a jerk, the crack of snapped wood, and the next flash showed me Castro emerging from the ruins of mast andsail. He uprose, hurling the wreck from him overboard, then flickeredout of sight with his arm waving to the left, and I bore accordinglyon the tiller. In a moment I saw him again, erect forward, with the armpointing to the right, and I obeyed his signal. The clouds, strainingwith water and fire, were, indeed, lighting us on our way. A waveswelled astern, chasing us in; rocking frightfully, we glanced past astationary mass of foam--a sandbar--breakers. .. . It was terrible. .. . Suddenly, the motion of the boat changed, and the flickers of lightningfell into a small, land-locked basin. The wind tore deep furrows init, howling and scuffling behind the dunes. Spray flew from the wholesurface, the entire pool of a bay seemed to heave bodily upwards, andI saw Castro again, with his face to me this time. His black cloak wasblowing straight out from his throat, his mouth yawned wide; heshouted directions, but in an instant darkness sealed my eyes with itsimpenetrable impress. It was impossible to steer now; the boat swung andreeled where she listed; a violent shock threw me sideways off my seat. I felt her turning over, and, gathering Seraphina in my arms, I leapedout before she capsized. I leaped clear out into shallow water. 

I should never in my life have thought myself capable of such a feat, and yet I did it with assurance, with no effort that I can remember. More than that--I managed, after the leap, to keep my feet in theclinging, staggering clutch of water charged with sand, which swirledheavily about my knees. It kept on hurling itself at my legs frombehind, while I waded across the narrow strip of sand with an inspiredfirmness of step defying all the power of the elements. I felt theharder ground at last, but not before I had caught a momentary glimpseof a black and bulky object tumbling over and over in the advancing andwithdrawing liquid flurry of the beach. 

"Sit still here on the ground, " I shouted to Seraphina, though flightsof spray enveloped us completely. "I am going back for Castro. "

I faced about, putting my head down. He had been undoubtedly knockedover; and an old man, with only one hand to help himself with, ran avery serious risk of being buffeted into insensibility, and thus comingto his death in some four feet of water. The violent glare disclosed abody, entangled in a cloak, rolling about helplessly between land andwater, as it were. I dashed on in the dark; a wave went over my headas I stooped, nearly waist-deep, groping. His rotary motion, in thatsmother, made it extremely difficult to obtain any sort of hold. Alittle more, and he would have knocked my legs from under me, but itwas as if my grim determination were by itself of a saving nature. Hesubmitted to being hauled up the beach, passively, like a sack. It wasa heavy drag on the sand; I felt him bump behind me on the edge of theharder ground, and a deluge fell uninterruptedly from above. He layprone on his face, like a corpse, between Seraphina and myself. We couldnot remain there, however. 

But where to go? What to do? In what direction to look for a refuge? Wasthere any shelter near by? How were we to reach it? How were we tomove at all? No doubt he had expired; and the earth, swept, deluged, glimmering fiercely and devastated with an awful uproar, appeared nolonger habitable. A thunder-clap seemed to crash new life into him;the world flared all round, as if turning to a spark, and he was seensitting up dazedly, like one called up from the dead. Through it all hehad preserved his hat. 

It was fixed firmly down under his chin with a handkerchief, theside rims over his ears like flaps, and, for the rest, presenting theappearance of a coal-scuttle bonnet behind, as well as in front. Wefollowed its peculiar aspect. Driving on under this indestructibleheadgear, he flickered in and out of the world, while, with entwinedarms and leaning back against the wind with all our might, Seraphinaand myself were borne along in his train. He knew of a shelter; and thisknowledge, perhaps, and also his evident familiarity with the topographyof the country, made him appear indomitably confident in the storm. 

A small plain of coarse grass was bounded by the steep spur of a rise. To the left a little river would burst, all at once, in all its windingsinto a bluish sulphurous glow; and between the crashes of thunder therewas heard the long-drawn, whistling swish of the rushes and cane-brakesspringing on the boggy ground. We skirted the rise. The rain beatagainst it; the lightning showed its streaming and furrowed surface. We stumbled in the gusts. We felt under our feet, mud, sand, rockyinequalities of the ground, and the moving stones in the bed of atorrent, which broke headlong against our ankles. The entrance of a deepravine opened. 

Its lower sides palpitated with the ceaseless tossing of dwarf treesand bushes; and, motionless above the sombre tumult of the slopes, themonumental stretch of bare rock rose on high, level at the top, andemitting a ghastly yellow sheen in the flashes. The thunderclaps rolledponderously between the narrowing walls of that chasm, that was allaflame one moment, and all black the next. A torrent springing at itshead, and dashing with inaudible fury along the bottom, seemed to gleamplacidly amongst the rounded forms of inky bushes and pale bouldersbelow our path. Enormous eddies of wind from above made us stop shortand totter breathless, clinging to each other. 

Castro sustained Seraphina on the other side; but frequently he hadto leave us and move ahead, looking for the way. There was, in fact, ahalf-obliterated path winding along the less steep of the two sides; andwe struggled after our guide with the unthinking fortitude of despair. He was being disclosed to us so suddenly, extinguished so swiftly, thathe appeared, always, as if motionless and posturing in a variety ofclimbing attitudes. The rise of the bottom was very steep, and the lasthundred yards really stiff. We did them practically on our hands andknees. The dislodged stones bounded away from under our feet, unheard, like puff-balls. 

At the top I tried to make of my body a shelter for Seraphina. The windhowled and roared over us. "Up! _Vamos!_ The worst is yet before us, "shrieked Castro in my ear. 

What could he mean by this? The play of lightning opened to view onlya vast and rolling upland. Fire flowed in sheets undulating with theexpanses of long grass amongst the trees, here and there, in coal-blackclumps, and flashed violently against a low edge of forests very darkand far away. 

"Let us go!" he cried. "Courage, Señorita!"

Courage! The populace said of her that she had never needed to puther foot to the ground. If courage consists, for a being so tender, intoiling and enduring without faltering and plaint, --even to the verylimit of physical power, --then she was the most courageous woman in theworld, as she was the most charming, most faithful, most generous, andthe most worthy of love. I tried not to think of her racked limbs, forthe very pain and pity of it. We retraced our steps, but now followingthe edge of that precipice out of which we had emerged. I hadperemptorily insisted on carrying her. She put her arms round my neckand, to my uplifted heart, she weighed no heavier than a feather. Castro, grasping my arm, guided my steps and gave me support against thewind. 

There was a distinct lull. Even the thunder had rolled away, dwindlingto a deep mutter. Castro fell on his knees in front of me. 

"It is here, " I heard him scream. 

I set Seraphina down. A hooked dart of fire tore in two the thick canopyof clouds. I started back from the edge. 

"What! Here?" I yelled. 

"Señor--_Si!_ There is a cavern below. .. . "

I had seen a ledge clinging to the face of the rock. 

It was a cornice inclining downwards upon the wall of the precipice, asyou see, sometimes, a flight of stairs built against the outside wall ofa house. And it resembled a stair roughly, with long, sloping steps, wetwith rain. 

"_Por Dios_, Señor, do not let us stay to think here, or we shall perishin this tempest. "

He howled, gesticulated, shrieked with all the strength of his lungs. He knew these tornadoes. Brute beasts would be found lying dead in thefields in the morning. This was the beginning only. The lightningshowed his kneeling form, the eager upturned face, and a finger pointingurgently into the abyss. The wind was nothing! Nothing to what wouldcome after. As he shrieked these words I was feeling the crust of theearth vibrate, absolutely vibrate, under the soles of my feet, with thesound of thunder. 

He unfastened his cloak, and was seen to struggle above his head withthe hovering and flapping cloth, as though he had captured a black andpugnacious bird. We mastered at last a corner each, and then we startedto twist the whole, as if to wring the water out. We produced, thus, asort of short rope, the thickness of a cable, and the descent began. 

"Do not look behind you. Do not look, " Castro screeched. 

The first downward steps were terrible, but as soon as our heads hadsunk below the level of the plain it was better, for we had turned aboutto the rock, moving sideways, cautiously, one step at a time, asif inspecting its fractured roughness for traces of a mysteriousinscription. Castro, with one end of the twisted cloak in his hand, went first; I held the other; and between us, Seraphina, the rope at herback, imitated our movements, with her loosened hair flying high inthe wind, and her pale, rigid head as if deaf to the crashes. I sawthe drawn stillness of her face, her dilated eyes staring within threeinches of the strata. The strain on our prudence was tremendous. Theknowledge of the precipice behind must have affected me. Explain it asyou will, several times during that descent I felt my brain slip awayfrom my control, and suggest a desire to fling myself over backwards. The twigs of the bushes, growing a little below the outer edge of thepath, swished at my calves. Castro stopped. The cornice ended as abroken stairway hangs upon nothing. A tall, narrow arch stood back inthe rock, with a sill three feet high at least. Castro clambered over;his head and torso, when he turned about, were lighted up blindinglybetween the inner walls at every flash. Seeing me lay hold of Seraphina, he yelled:

"Señor, mind! It's death if you stagger back. "

I lifted her up, and put her over like a child; and, no sooner inmyself, felt my strength leave all my limbs as water runs out of anoverturned vessel. I could not have lifted up a child's doll then. Directly, with a wild little laugh, she said to me:

"Juan--I shall never dare come out. "

I hugged her silently to my breast. 

Castro went ahead. It was a narrow passage; our elbows touched the sidesall the way. He struck at his flint regularly, sparks streamed down fromhis hand; we felt a freshness, a sense of space, as though we had comeinto another world. His voice directed us to turn to the left, thencried in the dark, "Stand still. " A blue gleam darted after us, andretired without having done anything against the tenebrous body ofgloom, and the thunder rolled far in, unobstructed, in leisurely, organ-like peals, as if through an amazingly vast emptiness of a temple. But where was Castro? We heard snappings, rustlings, mutters; sparksstreamed, now here, now there. We dared not move. There might have beensteep ridges--deep holes in that cavern. And suddenly we discovered himon all-fours, puffing out his cheeks above a small flame kindled in aheap of dry sticks and leaves. 

It was an abode of darkness, enormous, without sonority. Feeble currentsof air, passing on our faces, gave us a feeling of being in the open airon a night more black than any known night had been before. One's voicelost itself in there without resonance, as if on a plain; the smoke ofour blaze drove aslant, scintillating with red sparks, and went trailingafar, as if under the clouds of a starless sky. Ultimately, it must haveescaped through some imperceptible crevices in the roof of rock. Inone place, only, the light of the fire illuminated a small part of therugged wall, where the shadows of our bodies would surge up, repeatingour movements, and suddenly be gone from our sight. Everywhere else, pressing upon the reflection of the flames, the blind darkness of thevault might have extended away for miles and miles. 

Castro thought it probable. He made me observe the incline of the floor. It sloped down deep and far. For miles, no doubt. Nobody could tell;no one had seen the end of it. This cavern had been known of old. This brushwood, these dead leaves, that would make a couch for herExcellency, had been stored for years--perhaps by men who had diedlong ago. Look at the dry rot. These large piles of branches were foundstacked up when he first beheld this place. _Caramba!_ What toil! Whatfatigue! Let us thank the saints, however. 

Nevertheless, he shook his head at the strangeness of it. His cloak, spread out wide, was drying in the light, while he busied himself withhis hat, turning it before the blaze in both hands, tenderly; and histight little figure, lit up in front from head to foot, steamed fromevery limb. His round, plump shoulders and gray-shock head smokedquietly at the top. Suddenly, the fine mesh of wrinkles on his face rantogether, shrinking like a torn cobweb; a spasmodic sound, quite new tome, was heard. He had laughed. 

The warmth of the fire had penetrated our chilled bodies with a feelingof comfort and repose. Williams' flask was empty; and this was a newCastro, mellowed, discoursive, almost genial. It was obvious to me that, had it not been for him, we two, lost and wandering in the storm, shouldhave died from exposure and exhaustion--from some accident, perhaps. On the other hand I had indubitably saved his life, and he had alreadythanked me in high-flown language; very grave, but exaggerating thehorrors of his danger, as a woman might have done for the betterexpression of gratitude. He had been greatly shocked. Spaniards, as arace, have never, for all their conquests, been on intimate terms withthe sea. As individuals I have often observed in them, especially in thelower classes, a sort of dread, a dislike of salt water, mingled withcontempt and fear. 

Castro, lifting up his right arm, protested that I had given a proofof very noble devotion in rushing back for an old man into that blackwater. Ough! He shuddered. He had given himself up--_por Dios!_ Hehinted that, at his age, he could not have cared much for life; butthen, drowning in the sea was a death abhorrent to an old Christian. Youdied brutally--without absolution, and unable, even, to think of yoursins. He had had his mouth filled with horrid, bitter sand, too. Tfui!He gave me a thousand thanks. But these English were wonderful in theirway. .. . Ah! _Caramba!_ They were. .. . 

A large protuberance of the rocky floor had been roughly chipped intothe semblance of a seat, God only knows by what hands and in whatforgotten age. Seraphina's inclined pose, her torn dress, the wettresses lying over her shoulders, her homeless aspect, made me think ofa beautiful and miserable gipsy girl drying her hair before a fire. Alittle foot advanced, gleamed white on the instep in front of the ruddyglare; her clasped fingers nursed one raised knee; and, shivering nolonger, her head drooping in still profile, she listened to us, frowningthoughtfully upon the flames. 

In the guise of a beggar-maid, and fair, like a fugitive princess ofromance, she sat concealed in the very heart of her dominions. Thiscavern belonged to her, as Castro remarked, and the bay of the sea, andthe earth above our heads, the rolling upland, herds of cattle, fieldsof sugar-cane--even as far as the forest away there; the forest itself, too. And there were on that estate, alone, over two hundred Africans, he was able to tell us. He boasted of the wealth of the Riegos. HerExcellency, probably, did not know such details. Two hundred--certainly. The estate of Don Vincente Salazar was on the other side of the river. Don Vincente was at present suffering the indignity of a prison fora small matter of a quarrel with another _caballero_--who had diedlately--and all, he understood, through the intrigues of the prior ofa certain convent; the uncle, they said, of the dead _caballero_. Bah!There was something to get. These fat friars were like the lean wolvesof Russia--hungry for everything they could see. Never enough, _Cuerpode Bios!_ Never enough! Like their good friend who helped them in theiriniquities, the Juez O'Brien, who had been getting rich for years on thesublime generosity of her Excellency's blessed father. In the greatnessof his nobility, Don Balthasar of holy memory had every right to beobstinate. .. . _Basta!_ He would speak no more; only there is a saying inCastile that fools and obstinate people make lawyers rich. .. . 

"_Vuestra Señoria_, " he cried, checking himself, slapping his breastpenitently, "deign to forgive me. I have been greatly exalted by thefamiliarity of the two last men of your house--allowed to speak freelybecause of my fidelity. .. . Alas! Alas!"

Seraphina, on the other side of the fire, made a vague gesture, and tookher chin in her hand without looking at him. 

"Patience, " he mumbled to himself very audibly. "He is rich, thispicaro, O'Brien. But there is, also, a proverb--that no riches shallavail in the day of vengeance. "

Noticing that we had begun to whisper together, he threw himself beforethe fire, and was silent. 

"Promise me one thing, Juan, " murmured Seraphina. 

I was kneeling by the side of her seat. 

"By all that's holy, " I cried, "I shall force him to come out and fightfair--and kill him as an English gentleman may. "

"Not that! Not that!" she interrupted me. She did not mean me to dothat. It was what she feared. It would be delivering myself into thatman's hands. Did I think what that meant? It would be delivering her, too, into that man's power. She would not survive it. And if I desiredher to live on, I must keep out of O'Brien's clutches. 

"In my thoughts I have bound my life to yours, Juan, so fast that thestroke which cuts yours, cuts mine, too. No death can separate us. "

"No, " I said. 

And she took my head in her hands, and looked into my eyes. 

"No more mourning, " she whispered rapidly. "No more. I am too young tohave a lover's grave in my life--and too proud to submit. .. . "

"Never, " I protested ardently. "That couldn't be. "

"Therefore look to it, Juan, that you do not sacrifice your life whichis mine, either to your love--or--or--to revenge. " She bowed her head;the falling hair concealed her face. "For it would be in vain. "

"The cloak is perfectly dry now, Señorita, " said Castro, reclining onhis elbow on the edge of the darkness. 

We two stepped out towards the entrance, leaving her on her knees, in silent prayer, with her hands clasped on her forehead, and leaningagainst the rugged wall of rock. Outside, the earth, enveloped in fireand uproar, seemed to have been given over to the fury of a devil. 

Yes. She was right. O'Brien was a formidable and deadly enemy. I wishedourselves on board the _Lion_ chaperoned by Mrs. Williams, and in themiddle of the Atlantic. Nothing could make us really safe from hishatred but the vastness of the ocean. Meantime we had a shelter, forthat night, at least, in this cavern that seemed big enough to contain, in its black gloom of a burial vault, all the dust and passions andhates of a nation. .. . 

Afterwards Castro and I sat murmuring by the diminished fire. He hadmuch to say about the history of this cave. There was a tradition thatthe ancient buccaneers had held their revels in it. The stone on whichthe senorita had been sitting was supposed to have been the throne oftheir chief. A ferocious band they were, without the fear of God ordevil--mostly English. The Rio Medio picaroons had used this cavern, occasionally, up to a year or so ago. But there were always ugly affairswith the people on the estate--the _vaqueros_. In his younger days DonBalthasar, having whole leagues of grass land here, had introduced aherd of cattle; then, as the Africans are useless for that work, hehad ordered some peons from Mexico to be brought over with theirfamilies--ignorant men, who hardly knew how to make the sign of thecross. The quarrels had been about the cattle, which the _Lugareños_killed for meat. The peons rode over them, and there were many woundson both sides. Then, the last time a Rio Medio schooner was lying here(after looting a ship outside), there was some gambling going on (theyplayed round this very stone), and Manuel--(_Si, Señor_, this sameManuel the singer--_Bestia!_)--in a dispute over the stakes, killed apeon, striking him unexpectedly with a knife in the throat. No vengeancewas taken for this, because the _Lugareños_ sailed away at once; but thewidow made a great noise, and some rumours came to the ears of DonBalthasar himself--for he, Castro, had been honoured with a mission tovisit the estate. That was even the first occasion of Manuel's hate forhim--Castro. And, as usual, the Intendente after all settled the matteras he liked, and nothing was done to Manuel. Don Balthasar was old, and, besides, too great a noble to be troubled with the doings of suchvermin. .. . And Castro began to yawn. 

At daybreak--he explained--he would start for the _hacienda_ early, andreturn with mules for Seraphina and myself. The buildings of the estatewere nearly three leagues away. All this tract of the country on theside of the sea was very deserted, the sugar-cane fields worked by theslaves lying inland, beyond the habitations. Here, near the coast, there were only the herds of cattle ranging the _savannas_ and the peonslooking after them, but even they sometimes did not come in sight of thesea for weeks together. He had no fear of being seen by anybody on hisjourney; we, also, could start without fear in daylight, as soon as hebrought the mules. For the rest, he would make proper arrangements forsecrecy with the husband of Seraphina's nurse--Enrico, he called him: asilent Galician; a graybeard worthy of confidence. 

One of his first cares had been to grub out of his soaked clothesa handful of tobacco, and now he turned over the little drying heapcritically. He hunted up a fragment of maize leaf somewhere upon hisbosom. His face brightened. "_Bueno_, " he muttered, very pleased. 

"Señor--good-night, " he said, more humanized than I had supposedpossible; or was it only that I was getting to know him better? "Andthanks. There's that in life which even an old tired man. .. . Here I, Castro. .. Old and sad, Señor. Yes, Señor--nothing of mine in all theworld--and yet. .. . But what a death! Ouch! the brute water. .. _Caramba!_Altogether improper for a man who has escaped from a great many battlesand the winter of Russia. .. . The snow, Señor. .. . "

He drowsed, garrulous, with the blackened end of his cigarette hangingfrom his lower lip, swayed sideways--and let himself go over gently, pillowing his head on the stump of his arm. The thin, viperish blade, stuck upwards from under his temple, gleamed red before the sinkingfire. 

I raised a handful of flaring twigs to look at Sera-phina. A terriblenight raged over the land; the inner arch of the opening growled, winking bluishly time after time, and, like an enchanted princessenveloped in a beggar's cloak, she was lying profoundly asleep in theheart of her dominions. 

CHAPTER EIGHT

The first thing I noted, on opening my eyes, was that Castro hadgone already; I was annoyed. He might have called me. However, we hadarranged everything the evening before. The broad day, penetratingthrough the passage, diffused a semicircle of twilight over theflooring. It extended as far as the emplacement of the fire, black andcold now with a gray heap of ashes in the middle. Farther away in thedarkness, beyond the reach of light, Seraphina on her bed of leaves didnot stir. But what was that hat doing there? Castro's hat. It assertedits existence more than it ever did on the head of its master; black andrusty, like a battered cone of iron, reposing on a wide flange near theashes. Then he was not gone. He would not start to walk three leagues, bare-headed. He would appear presently; and I waited, vexed at the lossof time. But he did not appear. "Castro, " I cried in an undertone. Theleaves rustled; Seraphina sat up. 

We were pleased to be with each other in an inexpugnable retreat, tohear our voices untinged by anxiety; and, going to the outer end of theshort passage, we breathed with joy the pure air. The tops of the bushesbelow glittered with drops of rain, the sky was clear, and the sun, tous invisible, struck full upon the face of the rock on the other sideof the ravine. A great bird soared, all was light and silence, and weforgot Castro for a time. I threw my legs over the sill, and sitting onthe stone surveyed the cornice. The bright day robbed the ravine of halfits horrors. The path was rather broad, though there was a frightfulsheer drop of ninety feet at least. Two men could have walked abreast onthat ledge, and with a hand-rail one would have thought nothing of it. The most dangerous part yet was at the entrance, where it ended in arounded projection not quite so wide as the rest. I bantered Seraphinaas to going out. She said she was ready. She would shut her eyes, andtake hold of my hand. Englishmen, she had heard, were good at climbing. Their heads were steady. Then we became silent. There were no signsof Castro. Where could he have gone? What could he be doing? It wasunimaginable. 

I grew nervous with anxiety at last, and begged Seraphina to go in. She obeyed without a word, and I remained just within the entrance, watching. I had no means to tell the time, but it seemed to me that anhour or two passed. Hadn't we better, I thought, start at once on footfor the _hacienda?_ I did not know the way, but by descending the ravineagain to the sea, and walking along the bank of the little river, I wassure to reach it. The objection to this was that we should miss Castro. Hang Castro! And yet there was something mysterious and threatening inhis absence. Could he--could he have stepped out for some reason in thedark, perhaps, and tumbled off the cornice? I had seen no traces of aslip--there would be none on the rock; the twigs of the growth below theedge would spring back, of course. But why should he fall? The footingwas good--however, a sudden attack of vertigo. .. . I tried to look at itfrom every side. He was not a somnambulist, as far as I knew. And therewas nothing to eat--I felt hungry already--or drink. The want of waterwould drive us out very soon to the spring bubbling out at the headof the ravine, a mile in the open. Then why not go at once, drink, andreturn to our lair as quickly as possible?

But I did not like to think of her going up and down the cornice. Iremembered that we had a flask, and went in hastily to look for it. First, I looked near the hat; then, Seraphina and I, bent double withour eyes on the ground examined every square inch of twilight; we evenwandered a long way into the darkness, feeling about with our hands. It was useless! I called out to her, and then we desisted, and comingtogether, wondered what might have become of the thing. He had takenit--that was clear. 

But if, as one might suppose, he had taken it away to get some waterfor us, he ought to have been back long before. I was beginning to feelrather alarmed, and I tried to consider what we had better do. It wasnecessary to learn, first, what had become of him. Staring out of theopening, in my perplexity, I saw, on the other side of the ravine, thelower part of a man from his waist to his feet. 

By crouching down at once, I brought his head into view. This was notCastro. He wore a black sombrero, and on his shoulder carried a gun. Heturned his back on the ravine, and began to walk straight away, sinkingfrom my sight till only his hat and shoulders remained visible. Helifted his arm then--straight up--evidently as a signal, and waited. Presently another head and shoulders joined him, and they glided acrossmy line of sight together. But I had recognized their bandit-like aspectwith infinite consternation. _Lu-garenos!_

I caught Seraphina's hand. My first thought was that we should have tosteal out of the cavern with the first coming of darkness. Castro mustbe lying low in hiding somewhere above. The thing was plain. We must tryto make our way to the _hacienda_ under the cover of the night, unseenby those two men. Evidently they were emissaries sent from Rio Medio towatch this part of the coast against our possible landing. I was tobe hunted down, it seems: and I reproached myself bitterly with thehardships I was bringing upon her continually. Thinking of the fatiguesshe had undergone--(I did not think of dangers--that was anotherthing--the romance of dying together like all the lovers in thetradition of the world)--I shook with rage and exasperation. The firmpressure of her hands calmed me. She was content. But what if they tookit into their heads to come into the cavern?

The emptiness of the blue sky above the sheer yellow rock opposite wasfrightful. It was a mere strip, stretched like a luminous bandage overour eyes. They were, perhaps, even now on their way round the head ofthe ravine. I had no weapon except the butt of my pistol. The chargeshad been spoilt by the salt water, of course, and I had been tempted tofling it out of my belt, but for the thought of obtaining some powdersomewhere. And those men I had seen were armed. At once we abandoned theneighbourhood of the entrance, plunging straight away into the profoundobscurity of the cave. The rocky ground under our feet had a gentleslope, then dipped so sharply as to surprise us; and the entrance, diminishing at our backs, shone at last no larger than the entrance ofa mouse-hole. We made a few steps more, gropingly. The bead oflight disappeared altogether when we sat down, and we remained therehand-in-hand and silent, like two frightened children placed at thecentre of the earth. There was not a sound, not a gleam. Sera-phina borethe crushing strain of this perfect and black stillness in an almostheroic immobility; but, as to me, it seemed to lie upon my limbs, toembarrass my breathing like a numbness full of dread; and to shake thatfeeling off I jumped up repeatedly to look at that luminous bead, thatpoint of light no bigger than a pearl in the infinity of darkness. Andonce, just as I was looking, it shut and opened at me slowly, like thedeliberate drooping and rising of the lid upon a white eyeball. 

Somebody had come in. 

We watched side by side. Only one. Would he go out? The point oflight, like a white star setting in a coal-black firmament, remaineduneclipsed. Whoever had entered was in no haste to leave. Moreover, wehad no means of telling what another obscuring of the light might mean;a departure or another arrival. There were two men about, as we knew;and it was even possible that they had entered together in one winkof the light, treading close upon each other's heels. We both felt thesudden great desire to know for certain. But, especially, we needed tofind out if perchance this was not Castro who had returned. We couldnot afford to lose his assistance. And should he conclude, we wereout--should he risk himself outside again, in order to find us and bediscovered himself, and thus lost to us when we felt him so necessary?And the doubt came. If this man was Castro, why didn't he penetratefurther, and shout our names? He ought to have been intelligent enoughto guess. .. . And it was this doubt that, making suspense intolerable, put us in motion. 

We circled widely in that subterranean darkness, which, unlike thedarkest night on the surface of the earth, had no suggestion of shape, no horizon, and seemed to have no more limit than the darkness ofinfinite space. On this floor of solid rock we moved with noiselesssteps, like a pair of timid phantoms. The spot of light grew in size, developed a shape--stretching from a pearly bead to a silvery thread;and, approaching from the side, we scanned from afar the circumscribedregion of twilight about the opening. There was a man in it. Wecontemplated for a time his rounded back, his drooping head. It wasgray. The man was Castro. He sat rocking himself sorrowfully overthe ashes. He was mourning for us. We were touched by this silentfaithfulness of grief. 

He started when I put my hand on his shoulder, looked up, then, insteadof giving any signs of joy, dropped his head again. 

"You managed to avoid them, Castro?" I said. 

"Señor, behold. Here I am. I, Castro. "

His tone was gloomy, and after sitting still for a while under our gaze, he slapped his forehead violently. He was in his tantrums, I judged, and, as usual, angry with me--the cause of every misfortune. He wasupset and annoyed beyond reason, as I thought, by this new difficulty. It meant delay--a certain measure of that sort of danger of which we hadthought ourselves free for a time--night travelling for Seraphina. ButI had an idea to save her this. We did not all want to go. Castro couldstart, alone, for the _hacienda_ after dark, and bring, besides themules, half a dozen peons with him for an escort. There was nothingreally to get so upset about. The danger would have been if he had lethimself be caught. But he had not. As to his temper, I knew my man;he had been amiable too long. But by this time we were so sure ofhis truculent devotion that Seraphina spoke gently to him, saying howanxious we had been--how glad we were to see him safe with us. .. . He would not be conciliated easily, it seemed, and let out only ablood-curdling dismal groan. Without looking at her, he tried hastilyto make a cigarette. He was very clever at it generally, rolling itwith one hand on his knee somehow; but this time all his limbs seemedto shake, he lost several pinches of tobacco, dropped the piece of maizeleaf. Seraphina, stooping over his shoulder, took it up, twisted thething swiftly. "Take, _amigo_, " she said. 

He was looking up at her, as if struck dumb, roiling his eye wildly. Hejumped up. 

"You--Señorita! For a miserable old man! You break my heart. "

And with long strides he disappeared in the darkness, leaving uswondering. 

We sat side by side on the couch of leaves. With Castro there I feltwe were quite equal to dealing with the two Lugareños if they had theunlucky idea of intruding upon us. Indeed, a vigilant man, posted on oneside of the end of the passage, could have disputed the entrance againstten, twenty, almost any number, as long as he kept his strength and hadsomething heavy enough to knock them over. Faint sounds reached me, asif at a great distance Castro had been shouting to himself. I called tohim. He did not answer, but unexpectedly his short person showed itselfin the brightest part of the light. 

"Señor!" he called out with a strange intonation. I got up and wentto him. He seemed to be listening intently with his ear turned to theopening. Then suddenly:

"Look at me, Señor. Am I Castro--the same Castro? old and friendless?"

He stood biting his forefinger and looking up at me from under hisknitted eyebrows. I didn't know what to say. What was this nonsense?

He ejaculated a sort of incomprehensible babble, and, passing by me, rushed towards Seraphina; she sat up, startled, on her couch of leaves. Falling before her on his plump knees, he seized her hand, pressed itagainst his ragged moustache. 

"Excellency, forgive me! No--no forgiveness! Ha! old man! Ha--thou oldman. .. . "

He bowed before her shadowy figure, that sustained the pale oval ofthe face, till his forehead struck the rock. Plunging his hand into theashes, he poured a fistful with inarticulate low cries over his grayhairs; and the agitation of that obese little body on its knees had alamentable and grotesque inconsequence, as inexplicable in itself asthe sorrow of a madman. Full of wonder before his abject collapse, shemurmured:

"What have you done?"

He tried to fling himself upon her feet, but my hand was in his collar, and after an unmerciful shaking, I sat him down by main force. Hegulped, blinked the whites of his eyes, then, in a whisper full of rage:

"Horror, shame, misery, and malediction; I have betrayed you. "

At once she said soothingly, "Tomasr I do not believe this"; while Ithought to myself: How? Why? For what reason? In what manner betrayed?How was it possible? And, if so, why did he come back to us? But, asthings stood, he would never dare approach a Lugareño. If he had, theywould never have let him go again. 

"You told them we were here?" I asked, so perfectly incredulous that Iwas not at all surprised to hear him protest, by all the saints, thathe never did--never would do. Never. Never. .. . But why should he? Was hethe prey of some strange hallucination? Rocking himself, he struck hisbreast with his clenched hand, then suddenly caught at his hair andremained perfectly motionless. Minutes passed; this despairingstillness inspired in me a feeling of awe at last--the awe of somethinginconceivable. My head buzzed so with the effort to think that I had theillusions of faint murmurs in the cave, the very shadows of murmurs. And all at once a real voice--his voice--burst out fearfully rapid andvoluble. 

He had really gone out to get a provision of water. Waking up early, he saw us sleeping, and felt a great pity for the senorita. As to the_caballero_--his saviour from drowning, alas!--the senorita would needevery ounce of his strength. He would let us sleep till his return fromthe spring; and, there being a blessed freshness in the air, he caughtup the flask and started bare-headed. The sun had just risen. Would toGod he had never seen it! After plunging his face in the running water, he remained on his knees and busied himself in rinsing and filling theflask. The torrent, gushing with force, made a loud noise, and after hehad done screwing the top on, he was about to rise, when, glancing aboutcarelessly, he saw two men leaning on their _escopetas_ and looking athim in perfect silence. They were standing right over him; he knewthem well; one they called El Rubio; the other, the little one, wasJosé--squinting José. They said nothing; nothing at all. With a suddenand mighty effort he preserved his self-command, affected unconcern and, instead of getting up, only shifted his pose to a sitting position, tookoff his shoes and stockings, and proceeded to bathe his feet. But it wasas if a blazing fire had been kindled in his breast, and a tornado hadbeen blowing in his head. 

He could not tell whence these two had come, with what object, or howmuch they knew. They might have been only messengers from Rio Medio toHavana. They generally went in couples. If Manuel had escaped aliveout of the sea, everything was known in Rio Medio. From where he sat hebeheld the empty, open sea over the dunes, but the edge of the upland, cleft by many ravines (of which the one we had ascended was thedeepest), concealed from him the little basin and the inlet. He wascertain these men had not come up that way. They had approached him overthe plain. But there was more than one way by which the upland couldbe reached from below. The thoughts rushed round and round his head. He remembered that our boat must be floating or lying stranded in thelittle bay, and resolved, in case of necessity, to say that we two weredead, that we had been drowned. 

It was El Rubio who put the very question to him, in an insolent tone, and sitting on the ground out of his reach, with his gun across hisknees. His long knife ready in his hand, squinting José remainedstanding over Castro. Those two men nodded to each other significantlyat the intelligence. He perceived that they were more than half disposedto credit his story. They had nearly been drowned themselves pursuingthat accursed heretic of an Englishman. When, from their remarks, helearned that the schooner was in the bay, he began putting on his shoes, though the hope of making a sudden dash for his life down the ravineabandoned him. 

The schooner had been run in at night during the gale, and in suchdistress that they let her take the ground. She was not injured, however, and some of them were preparing to haul her off. Our boat, asI conceived, after bumping along the beach, had drifted within theinfluence of the current created by the little river, or else by thewater forced into the basin by the tempest, seeking to escape, and hadbeen carried out towards the inlet. She was seen at daylight, knockingabout amongst the breakers, bottom up, and in such shallow water thatthree or four men wading out knee-deep managed to turn her over. Theyhad found Mrs. Williams' woollen shawl and my cap floating underneath. At the same time the broken mast and sail were made out, tossing uponthe waves, not very far off to seaward. That the boat had been in thebay at all did not seem to have occurred to them. It had been concludedthat she had capsized outside the entrance. It was very possible thatwe had been drowned under her. Castro hastened to confirm the idea byrelating how he had been clinging to the bottom of the boat for a longtime. Thus he had saved himself, he declared. 

"Manuel will be glad, " observed El Rubio then, with an evil laugh. Andfor a long time nobody said a word. 

El Rubio, cross-legged, was observing him with the eyes of a basilisk, but Castro swore a great oath that, as to himself, he showed no signsof fear. He looked at the water gushing from the rock, bubbling up, sparkling, running away in a succession of tiny leaps and falls. Whyshould he fear? Was he not old, and tired, and without any hope of peaceon earth? What was death? Nothing. It was absolutely nothing. It comesto all. It was rest after much vain trouble--and he trusted that, through his devotion to the Mother of God, his sins would be forgivenafter a short time in purgatory. But, as he had made up his mind notto fall into Manuel's hands, he resolved that presently he would stabhimself to the heart, where he sat--over this running water. For itwould not be like a suicide. He was doomed, and surely God did not wanthis body to be tormented by such a devil as Manuel before death. 

He would lean far over before he struck his faithful blade into hisbreast, so as to fall with his face in the water. It looked deliciouslycool, and the sun was heavy on his bare head. Suddenly, El Rubio sprangto his feet, saying:

"Now, José. "

It is clear that these ruffians stood in awe of his blade. In theircowardly hearts they did not think it quite safe (being only two to one)to try and disarm that old man. They backed away a step or two, and, levelling their pieces, suddenly ordered him to get up and walk before. He threw at them an obscene word. He thought to himself, "_Bueno!_ Theywill blow my head off my shoulders. " No emotion stirred in him, as ifhis blood had already ceased to run in his veins. They remained, allthree, in a state of suspended animation, but at last El Rubio hissedthrough his teeth with vexation, and grunted:

"Attention, José. Take aim. We will break his legs and take away thesting of this old scorpion. "

Castro's blood felt chilly in his limbs, but instead of plantinghis knife in his breast, he spoke up to ask them where, supposing heconsented, they wished to conduct him. 

"To Manuel--our captain. He would like to embrace you before you die, "said El Rubio, advancing a stride nearer, his gun to his shoulder. "Getup! March!"

And Castro found himself on his feet, looking straight into the blackholes of the barrels. 

"Walk!" they exclaimed together, stepping upon him. 

The time had come to die. 

"Ha! _Canalla!_" he said. 

They made a menacing clamour, "Walk _viejo_, traitor; walk. "

"Señorita--I walked. " The heartrending effort of the voice, thetrembling of this gray head, the sobs under the words, oppressed ourbreast with dismay and dread. Ardently he would have us believe thatat this juncture he was thinking of us only--of us wondering, alone, ignorant of danger, and hidden blindly under the earth. His purpose wasto provoke the two _Luga-reños_ to shoot, so that we should be warned bythe reports. Besides, an opportunity for escape might yet present itselfin some most unlikely way, perhaps at the very last moment. Had he nothis own life in his own hands? He cared not for it. It was in his powerto end it at any time. And there would be dense thickets on the way;long grass where one could plunge suddenly--who knows! And overgrownravines where one could hide--creep under the bushes--escape--and returnwith help. .. . But when he faced the plains its greatness crushed hispoor strength. The uncovered vastness imprisoned him as effectually asa wall. He knew himself for what he was: an old man, short of breath, heavy of foot; nevertheless he walked on hastily, his eyes on theground. The footsteps of his captors sounded behind him, and he tried toedge towards the ravine. When nearly above the opening of the cavern hewould, he thought, swerve inland, and dash off as fast as he was able. Then they would have to fire at him; we would be sure to hear the shots, the warning would be clear. .. And suddenly, looking up, he saw that asmall band of _Lugareños_, having just ascended the brow of the upland, were coming to meet him. Now was the time to get shot; he turnedsharply, and began to run over that great plain towards a distant clumpof trees. 

Nobody fired at him. He heard only the mingled jeers and shouts of thetwo men behind, "Quicker, Castro; quicker!" They followed him, holdingtheir sides. Those ahead had already spread themselves out over theplain, yelling to each other, and were converging upon him. That wasthe time to stop, and with one blow fall dead at their feet. He doubledround in front of Manuel, who stood waving his arms and screechingorders, and ran back towards the ravine. The plain rang with furiousshouts. They rushed at him from every side. He would throw himself over. It was a race for the precipice. He won it. 

I suppose he found it not so easy to die, to part with the warmth ofsunshine, the taste of food; to break that material servitude to life, contemptible as a vice, that binds us about like a chain on the limbs ofhopeless slaves. He showered blows upon his chest, sitting before us, hebattered with his fist at the side of his head till I caught his arm. Wecould always sell our lives dearly, I said. He would have to defend theentrance with me. We two could hold it till it was blocked with theircorpses. 

He jumped up with a derisive shriek; a cloud of ashes flew from underhis stumble, and he vanished in the darkness with mad gesticulations. 

"Their corpses--their corpses--their. .. Ha! ha! ha!"

The snarling sound died away; and I understood, then, what meant thisillusion of ghostly murmurs that once or twice had seemed to tremblein the narrow region of gray light around the arch. The sunshine of theearth, and the voices of men, expired on the threshold of the eternalobscurity and stillness in which we were imprisoned, as if in a gravewith inexorable death standing between us and the free spaces of theworld. 

CHAPTER NINE

For it meant that. Imprisoned! Castro's derisive shriek meant that. AndI had known it before. He emerged back out of the black depths, withlivid, swollen features, and foam about his mouth, to splutter:

"Their corpses, you say. .. . Ha! Our corpses, " and retreated again, whereI could only hear incoherent mutters. 

Seraphina clutched my arm. "Juan--together--no separation. "

I had known it, even as I spoke of selling our lives dearly. They couldonly be surrendered. Surrendered miserably to these wretches, or to theeverlasting darkness in which Castro muttered his despair. I needed notto hear this ominous and sinister sound--nor yet Seraphina's cry. Sheunderstood, too. They would never come down unless to look upon uswhen we were dead. I need not have gone to the entrance of the caveto understand all the horror of our fate. The _Lugareños_ had alreadylighted a fire. Very near the brink, too. 

It was burning some thirty feet above my head; and the sheer wall on theother side caught up and sent across into my face the crackling ofdry branches, the loud excited talking, the arguments, the oaths, thelaughter; now and then a very shriek of joy. Manuel was giving orders. Some advanced the opinion that the cursed _Inglez_, the spy who camefrom Jamaica to see whom he could get for a hanging without a priest, was down there, too. So that was it! O'Brien knew how to stir theirhate. I should get a short shrift. "He was a fiend, the _Inglez_: lookhow many of us he has killed!" they cried; and Manuel would have lovedto cut my flesh, in small pieces, off my bones--only, alas! I was nowbeyond his vengeance, he feared. However, somebody was left. 

He must have thrown himself flat, with his head over the brink, for hisyell of "Castro!" exploded, and rolled heavily between the rocks. 

"Castro! Castro! Castro!" he shouted twenty times, till he set the wholeravine in an uproar. He waited, and when the clamour had quieted downamongst the bushes below, called out softly, "Do you hear me, Castro, myvictim? Thou art my victim, Castro. "

Castro had crept into the passage after me. He pushed his head beyond myshoulder. 

"I defy thee, Manuel, " he screamed. 

A hubbub arose. "He's there! He is there!"

"Bravo, Castro, " Manuel shouted from above. "I love thee because thouart my victim. I shall sing a song for thee. Come up. Hey! Castro!Castro! Come up. .. . No? Then the dead to their grave, and the living totheir feast. "

Sometimes a little earth, detached from the layer of soil covering therock, would fall streaming from above. The men told off to guard thecornice walked to and fro near the edge, and the confused murmur ofvoices hung subdued in the air of the cleft, like a modulated tremor. Castro, moaning gently, stumbled back into the cave. 

Seraphina had remained sitting on the stone seat. The twilight restedon her knees, on her face, on the heap of cold ashes at her feet. ButCastro, who had stood stock-still, with a hand to his forehead, turnedto me excitedly:

"The peons, _for Dios!_" Had I ever thought of the peons belonging tothe _estancia?_

Well, that was a hope. I did not know exactly how matters stood betweenthem and the _Lugareños_. There was no love lost. A fight was likely;but, even if no actual collision took place, they would be sure to visitthe camp above in no very friendly spirit; a chance might offer to makeour position known to these men, who had no reason to hate either meor Castro--and would not be afraid of thwarting the miserable band ofghouls sitting above our grave. How our presence could be made knownI was not sure. Perhaps simply by shouting with all our might from themouth of the cave. We could offer rewards--say who we were, summon themfor the service of their own Señorita. But, probably, they had neverheard of her. No matter. The news would soon reach the _hacienda_, andEnrico had two hundred slaves at his back. One of us must always remainat the mouth of the cave listening to what went on above. There wouldbe the trampling of horses' hoofs--quarrelling, no doubt--anyway, muchtalk--new voices--something to inform us. Only, how soon would theycome? They were not likely to be riding where there were no cattle. HadCastro seen any signs of a herd on the uplands near by?

His face fell. He had not. There were many _savannas_ within the beltof forests, and the herds might be miles away, stampeded inland by thestorm. Sitting down suddenly, as if overcome, he averted his eyes andbegan to scratch the rock between his legs with the point of his blade. 

We were all silent. How long could we wait? How long could peoplelive?. .. I looked at Seraphina. How long could she live?. .. Thethought seared my heart like a hot iron. I wrung my hands stealthily. 

"Ha! my blade!" muttered Castro. "My sting. .. . Old scorpion! They didnot take my sting away. .. . Only--bah!"

He, a man, had not risen to the fortitude of a venomous creature. He wasdefeated. He groaned profoundly. Life was too much. It clung to one. Ascorpion--an insect--within a ring of flames, would lift its stingand stab venom into its own head. And he--Castro--a man--a man, _porDios_--had less firmness than a creeping thing. Why--why, did he notstab this dishonoured old heart?

"Señorita, " he cried agonizingly, "I swear I did shout to them tofire--so--in to my breast--and then. .. "

Seraphina leaned over him pityingly. 

"Enough, Castro. One lives because of hope. And grieve not. Thy deathwould have done no good. "

Her face had a splendid pallor, the radiant whiteness and majesty ofmarble; it had never before appeared to me more beautiful: and her hairunrolling its dark undulations, as if tinged deep with the funerealgloom of the background, covered her magnificently right down to herelbows. Her eyes were incredibly profound. Her person had taken on anindefinable beauty, a new beauty, that, like the comeliness that comesfrom joy, love, or success, seemed to rise from the depths of her being, as if an unsuspected and sombre quality of her soul had responded to thehorror of our situation. The fierce trials had gradually developed her, as burning sunshine opens the bud of a flower; and I beheld her now inthe plenitude of her nature. From time to time Castro would raise up toher his blinking old eyes, full of timidity and distress. 

He had not been young enough to throw himself over--he had worn thechain for too many years, had lived well and softly too long, was tooold a slave. And yet--if he had had the courage of the act! Who knows?I rejected the thought far from me. It returned, and I caught myselflooking at him with irritated eyes. But this first day passed notintolerably. We ignored our sufferings. Indeed, I felt none for my part. We had kept our thoughts bound to the slow blank minutes. And if weexchanged a few words now and then, it was to speak of patience, ofresolution to endure and to hope. 

At night, from the hot ravine full of shadows, came the cool frettingof the stream. The big blaze they kept up above crackled distinctly, throwing a fiery, restless stain on the face of the rock in front of thecave, high up under the darkness and the stars of the sky--and a pairof feet would appear stamping, the shadow of a pair of ankles and feet, fantastic, sustaining no gigantic body, but enormous, tramping slowly, resembling two coffins leaping to a slow measure. I see them in mydreams now, sometimes. They disappeared. 

Manuel would sing; far in the night the monotonous staccato of theguitar went on, accompanying plaintive murmurs, outbursts of anger andcries of pain, the tremulous moans of sorrow. My nerves vibrated, Ibroke my nails on the rock, and seemed to hear once more the parody ofall the transports and of every anguish, even to death--a tragic andignoble rendering of life. He was a true artist, powerful and scorned, admired with derision, obeyed with jeers. It was a song of mourning; hesat on the brink with his feet dangling over the precipice that sent himback his inspired tones with a confused noise of sobs and desolation. .. . His idol had been snatched from the humility of his adoring silence, like a falling star from the sight of the worm that crawls. .. . Hestormed on the strings; and his voice emerged like the crying of acastaway in the tumult of the gale. He apostrophized his instrument. .. . Woe! Woe! No more songs. He would break it. Its work was done. Hewould dash it against the rock. .. . His palm slapped the hollow woodfuriously. .. . So that it should lie shattered and mute like his ownheart!

A frenzied explosion of yells, jests, and applause covered the finale. 

A complete silence would follow, as if in the acclamations they hadexhausted at once every bestial sound. Somebody would cough pitifullyfor a long time--and when he had done spluttering and cursing, the worldoutside appeared lost in an even more profound stillness. The red stainof the fire wavered across to play under the dark brow of the rock. Theirritated murmur of the torrent, tearing along below, returned timidlyat first, expanded, filled the ravine, ran through my ears in an angrybabble. The deadened footfalls on the brink sometimes dislodged apebble: it would start with a feeble rattle and be heard no more. 

In the daytime, too, there were silences up there, perfect, profound. Noprowl of feet disturbed them; the sun blazed between the rocks, and eventhe hum of insects could be heard. It seemed impossible not to believethat they had all died by a miracle, or else had been driven away by asilent panic. But two or more were always on the watch, directly above, with their heads over the edge; and suddenly they would begin to talktogether in drowsy tones. It was as if some barbarous somnambulists hadmumbled in the daytime the bizarre atrocity of their thoughts. 

They discussed Williams' flask, which had been picked up. Was the cupmade of silver, they wondered. Manuel had appropriated it for his ownuse, it seems. Well--he was the _capataz_. The _Inglez_, should heappear by an impossible chance, was to be shot down at once; but Castromust be allowed to give himself up. And they would snigger ferociously. Sometimes quarrels arose, very noisy, a great hubbub of bickeringstouching their jealousies, their fears, their unspeakable hopes ofmurder and rapine. They did not feel very safe where they were. Somewould maintain that Castro could not have saved himself, alone. The_Inglez_ was there, and even the senorita herself. .. Manuel scouted theidea with contempt. He advanced the violence of the storm, the fury ofthe waves, the broken mast, the position of the boat. How could theyexpect a woman!. .. . No. It was as his song had it. And he defended hispoint of view angrily, as though he could not bear being robbed of thatsource of poetical inspiration. He emitted profound sighs and superbdeclamations. 

Castro and I listened to them at the mouth of the cave. Our tongues weredry and swollen in our mouths, there was the pressure of an iron clutchon our windpipes, fire in our throats, and the pangs of hunger that toreat us like iron pincers. But we could hear that the bandits above wereanxious to be gone; they had but very few charges for their guns, and itwas apparent that they were afraid of a collision with the peons of the_hacienda_. Glaring at each other with bloodshot, uncertain eyes, Castroand I imagined longingly a vision of men in _ponchos_ spurring madly outof the woods, bent low, and swinging _riatas_ over the necks of theirhorses--with the thunder of the galloping hoofs in the cave. Seraphinahad withdrawn further into the darkness. And, with a shrinking fear, Iwould join her, to eat my heart out by the side of her tense and mutecontemplation. 

Sometimes Manuel would begin again, "Castro! Castro! Castro!" till heseemed to stagger the rocks and disturb the placid sunshine with animmense wave of sound. He called upon his victim to drink once morebefore he died. Long shrieks of derision rent the air, as if torn outof his breast by far greater torments than any his fancy delighted toinvent. There was something terrible and weird in the abundance of wordsscreeched continuously, without end, as if in desperation. No wonderCastro fled from the passage. And Seraphina and I, within, would bestartled out of our half-delirious state by the sudden appearance ofthat old man, disordered, sordid, with a white beard sprouting, whowandered, weeping aloud in the twilight. 

More than once I would stagger off far away into the depths of thecavern in an access of rage, fling myself on the floor, bite my arms, beat my head on the rock. I would give myself up. She must be saved fromthis tortured death. She had said she would throw herself over if I lefther. But would she have the strength? It was impossible to know. Fordays it seemed she had been lying perfectly still, on her side, one handunder her wan cheek, and only answering "Juan" when I pronounced hername. There was something awful in our dry whispers. They were lifeless, like the tones of the dead, if the dead ever speak to each other acrossthe earth separating the graves. The moral suffering, joined to thephysical torture of hunger and thirst, annihilated my will in a measure, but also kindled a vague, gnawing feeling of hostility against her. Sheasked too much of me. It was too much. And I would drag myself back tosit for hours, and with an aching heart look towards her couch from adistance. 

My eyes, accustomed to obscurity, traced an indistinct and recumbentform. Her forehead was white; her hair merged into the darkness whichwas gathering slowly upon her eyes, her cheeks, her throat. She wasperfectly still. It was cruel, it was odious, it was intolerable to beso still. This must end. I would carry her out by main force. She saidno word, but there was in the embrace of those arms instantly thrownaround my neck, in the feel of those dry lips pressed upon mine, inthe emaciated face, in the big shining eyes of that being as light as afeather, a passionate mournfulness of seduction, a tenacious clinging tothe appointed fate, that suddenly overawed my movement of rage. I laidher down again, and covered my face with my hands. She called out toCastro. He reeled, as if drunk, and waited at the head of her couch, with his chin dropped on his breast. "_Vuestra, Señoria_, " he muttered. 

"Listen well, Castro. " Her voice was very faint, and each word camealone, as if shrunk and parched. "Can my gold--the promise of muchgold--you know these men--save the lives. .. ?"

He uttered a choked cry, and began to tremble, groping for her hand. 

"_Si, Señorita_. Excellency, _si_. It would. Mercy. Save me. I am tooold to bear this. Gold, yes; much gold. Manuel. .. . "

"Listen, Castro. .. . And Don Juan?" His head fell again. "Speak thetruth, Castro. "

He struggled with himself; then, rattling in his throat, shrieked "No!"with a terrible effort. "No. Nothing can save thy English lover. " "Why?"she breathed feebly. He raged at her in his weakness. Why? Because theorder had gone forth; because they dared not disobey. Because she hadonly gold in the palm of her hand, while Señor O'Brien held all theirlives in his. The accursed _Juez_ was for them like death itself thatwalks amongst men, taking this one, leaving another. 

He was their life, and their law, and their safety, and their death--andthe _caballero_ had not killed him. .. . 

His voice seemed to wither and dry up gradually in his throat. Hecrawled away, and we heard him chuckling horribly somewhere, like amadman. Seraphina stretched out her hand. 

"Then, Juan--why not together--like this?"

If she had the courage of this death, I must have even more. It was apoint of honour. I had no wish, and no right, to seek for some easierway out of life. But she had a woman's capacity for passive endurance, a serenity of mind in this martyrdom confessing to something sinister inthe power of love that, like faith, can move mountains and order cruelsacrifices. She could have walked out in perfect safety--and it wasthat thought that maddened me. And there was no sleep; there were onlyintervals in which I could fall into a delirious reverie of still lakes, of vast sheets of water. I waded into them up to my lips. Neverfurther. They were smooth and cold as ice; I stood in them shivering andstraining for a draught, burning within with the fire of thirst, whilea phantom all pale, and with its hair streaming, called to me "Courage!"from the brink in Seraphina's voice. As to Castro, he was going mad. Hewas simply going mad, as people go mad for want of food and drink. And yet he seemed to keep his strength. He was never still. It was afactitious strength, the restlessness of incipient insanity. Once, whileI was trying to talk with him about our only hope--the peons--he gaveme a look of such sombre distraction that I left off, intimidated, to wonder vaguely at this glimpse of something hidden and excessivespringing from torments which surely could be no greater than mine. 

He had the strength, and sometimes he could find the voice, to hurlabuse, curses, and imprecations from the mouth of the cave. Great shoutsof laughter exploded above, and they seemed to hold their breath tohear more; or Manuel, hanging over, would praise in mocking, mellifluousaccents the energy of his denunciations. I tried to pull him away fromthere, but he turned upon me fiercely; and from prudence--for all hopewas not dead in me yet--I left him alone. 

That night I heard him make an extraordinary sound chewing; at the sametime he was sobbing and cursing stealthily. He had found something toeat, then! I could not believe my ears, but I began to creep towardsthe sound, and suddenly there was a short, mad scuffle in the darkness, during which I nearly spitted myself on his blade. At last, trembling inevery limb, with my blood beating furiously in my ears, I scrambled tomy feet, holding a small piece of meat in my hands. Instantly, withouthesitating, without thinking, I plunged my teeth into it only to flingit far away from me with a frantic execration. This was the first sounduttered since we had grappled. Lying prone near me, Castro, with arattle in his throat, tried to laugh. 

This was a supreme touch of Manuel's art; they were pressed for time, and he had hit upon that deep and politic invention to hasten thesurrender of his beloved victim. I nearly cried with the fiery painon my cracked lips. That piece of half-putrid flesh was salt--horriblysalt--salt like salt itself. Whenever they heard him rave and mutter atthe mouth of the cave, they would throw down these prepared scraps. Itwas as if I had put a live coal into my mouth. 

"Ha!" he croaked feebly. "Have you thrown it away? I, too; the firstpiece. No matter. I can no more swallow anything, now. "

His voice was like the rustling of parchment at my feet. 

"Do not look for it, Don Juan. The sinners in hell. .. . Ha! Fiend. Icould not resist. "

I sank down by his side. He seemed to be writhing on the floormuttering, "Thirst--thirst--thirst. " His blade clicked on the rock; thenall was still. Was he dead? Suddenly he began with an amazingly animatedutterance. 

"Señor! For this they had to kill cattle. "

This thought had kept him up. Probably, they had been firing shots. Butthere was a way of hamstringing a stalked cow silently; and the plainswere vast, the grass on them was long; the carcasses would lie hiddenout of sight; the herds were rounded up only twice every year. Hisdespairing voice died out in a mournful fall, and again he was as stillas death. 

"No! I can bear this no longer, " he uttered with force. He refused tobear it. He suffered too much. There was no hope. He would overwhelmthem with maledictions, and then leap down from the ledge. "_Adios, Señor_. "

I stretched out my arm and caught him by the leg. It seemed to me Icould not part with him. It would have been disloyal, an admission thatall was over, the beginning of the end. We were exhausting ourselves bythis sort of imbecile wrestling. Meantime, I kept on entreating him tobe a man; and at last I managed to clamber upon his chest. "A man!" hesighed. I released him. For a space, unheard in the darkness, he seemedto be collecting all his remaining strength. 

"Oh, those strange _Inglez!_ Why should I not leap? and whom do you lovebest or hate more, me or the senorita? Be thou a man, also, and prayGod to give thee reason to understand men for once in thy life. Ha!Enamoured woman--he is a fool! But I, Castro. .. . "

His whispering became appallingly unintelligible, then ceased, passinginto a moan. My will to restrain him abandoned me. He had brought thison us. And if he really wished to give up the struggle. .. . 

"Señor, " he mumbled brokenly, "a thousand thanks. Br-r-r! Oh, the uglywater--water--water--water--salt water--salt! You saved me. Why? Let Godbe the Judge. I would have preferred a malignant demon for a friend. Iforgive you. _Adios!_ And---Her Excellency--poor Castro. .. . Ha! Thou oldscorpion, encircled by fire--by fire and thirst. No. No scorpion, alas!Only a man--not like you--therefore--a Mass--or two--perhaps. .. . "

The freshness of the night penetrated through the arch, as far as thefaint twilight of the day. I heard his tearful muttering creep away frommy side. "Thirst--thirst--thirst. " I did not stir; and an incredulity, a weariness, the sense of our common fate, mingled with an unconfesseddesire--the desire of seeing what would come of it--a desire thatstirred my blood like a glimmer of hope, and prevented me from making amovement or uttering a whisper. If his sufferings were so great, who wasI to. .. Mine, too. I almost envied him. He was free. 

As if an inward obscurity had parted in two I looked to the very bottomof my thoughts. And his action appeared like a sacrifice. It couldliberate us two from this cave before it was too late. He, he alone, wasthe prey they had trapped. They would be satisfied, probably. Nay! Therecould be no doubt. Directly he was dead they would depart. Ah! he wantedto leap. He must not be allowed. Now that I understood perfectly whatthis meant, I had to prevent him. There was no choice. I must stop himat any cost. 

The awakening of my conscience sent me to my feet; but before I hadstumbled halfway through the passage I heard his shout in the open air, "Behold me!"

A man outside cried excitedly, "He is out!"

An exulting tumult fell into the arch, the clash of twenty voicesyelling in different keys, "He is out--the traitor! He is out!" I wastoo late, but I made three more hesitating steps and stood blinded. The flaming branches they were holding over the precipice showered amultitude of sparks, that fell disappearing continuously in the luridlight, shutting out the night from the mouth of the cave. And in thislight Castro could be seen kneeling on the other side of the sill. 

With his fingers clutching the edge of the slab, he hung outwards, hishead falling back, his spine arched tensely, like a bow; and the redsparks coming from above with the dancing whirl of snowflakes, vanishedin the air before they could settle on his face. 

"Manuel! Manuel!"

They answered with a deep, confused growl, jostling and crowding on theedge to look down into his eyes. Meantime I stared at the convulsiveheaving of his breast, at his upturned chin, his swelling throat. Hedefied Manuel. He would leap. Behold! he was going to leap--to his owndeath--in his own time. He challenged them to come down on the ledge;and the blade of the maimed arm waved to and fro stiffly, point up, likea red-hot weapon in the light. He devoted them to pestilence, to Englishgallows, to the infernal powers: while all the time commentingmurmurs passed over his head, as though he had extorted their sinisterappreciation. 

"_Canalla!_ dogs, thieves, prey of death, vermin of hell--I spit onyou--like this!"

He had not the force, nor the saliva, and remained straining mutelyupwards while they laughed at him all together, with something sombre, and as if doomed in their derision. .. . "He will jump! No, he will not!""Yes! Leap, Castro! Spit, Castro!" "He will run back into the cave!_Maladetta!_". .. Manuel's voiced cooed lovingly on the brink:

"Come to us and drink, Castro. "

I waited for his leap with doubt, with disbelief, in the helplessagitation of the weak. Gradually he seemed to relax all over. 

"Drink deep; drink, and drink, and drink, Castro. Water. Clear water, cool water. Taste, Castro!"

He called on him in tones that were almost tender in their urgency, tocome and drink before he died. His voice seemed to cast a spell, likean incantation, upon the tubby little figure, with something yearning inthe upward turn of the listening face. 

"Drink!" Manuel repeated the word several times; then, suddenly hecalled, "Taste, Castro, taste, " and a descending brightness, as of acrystal rod hurled from above, shivered to nothing on the upturned face. The light disappearing from before the cave seemed scared away by theinhuman discord of his shriek; and I flung myself forward to lickthe splash of moisture on the sill. I did not think of Castro, I hadforgotten him. I raged at the deception of my thirst, exploring with mytongue the rough surface of the stone till I tasted my own blood. Onlythen, raising my head to gasp, and clench my fists with a baffled andexasperated desire, I noticed how profound was the silence, in which thewords, "Take away his sting, " seemed to pronounce themselves over theravine in the impersonal austerity of the rock, and with the tone of atremendous decree. 

CHAPTER TEN

He had surrendered to his thirst. What weakness! He had not thrownhimself over, then. What folly! One splash of water on his face had beenenough. He was contemptible; and lying collapsed, in a sort of tormentedapathy, at the mouth of the cave, I despised and envied his goodfortune. It could not save him from death, but at least he drank. Iunderstood this when I heard his voice, a voice altogether altered--afirm, greedy voice saying, "More, " breathlessly. And then he drankagain. He was drinking. He was drinking up there in the light of thefire, in a circle of mortal enemies, under Manuel's gloating eyes. Drinking! O happiness! O delight! What a miserable wretch! I clawed thestone convulsively; I think I would have rushed out for my share if Ihad not heard Manuel's cruel and caressing voice:

"How now? You do not want to throw yourself over, my Castro?"

"I have drunk, " he said gloomily. 

I think they must have given him something to eat then. In my mind thereare many blanks in the vision of that scene, a vision built upon a fewwords reaching me, suddenly, with great intervals of silence between, asthough I had been coming to myself out of a dead faint now and then. A ferocious hum of many voices would rise sometimes impatiently, thescrambling of feet near the edge; or, in a sinister and expectantstillness, Manuel the artist would be speaking to his "beloved victimCastro" in a gentle and insinuating voice that seemed to trembleslightly with eagerness. Had he eaten and drunk enough? They had kepttheir promises, he said. They would keep them all. The water had beencool--and presently he, Manuel-del-Popolo, would accompany with hisguitar and his voice the last moments of his victim. Bursts of laughterpunctuated his banter. Ah! that Manuel, that Manuel! Some actually sworein admiration. But was Castro really at his ease? Was it not good to eatand drink? Had he quite returned to life? But, _Caramba, amigos_, whatneglect! The _caballero_ who has honoured us must smoke. They shoutedin high glee: "Yes. Smoke, Castro. Let him smoke. " I suppose he did; andManuel expounded to him how pleasant life was in which one could eat, and drink, and smoke. His words tortured me. Castro remained mute--fromdisdain, from despair, perhaps. Afterwards they carried him along clearof the cornice, and I understood they formed a half-circle round him, drawing their knives. Manuel, screeching in a high falsetto, ordered thebonds of his feet to be cut. I advanced my head out as far as I dared;their voices reached me deadened; I could only see the profound shadowof the ravine, a patch of dark clear sky opulent with stars, and theplay of the firelight on the opposite side. The shadow of a pair ofmonumental feet, and the lower edge of a cloak, spread amply like askirt, stood out in it, intensely black and motionless, right in frontof the cave. Now and then, elbowed in the surge round Castro, the guitaremitted a deep and hollow resonance. He was tumultuously ordered tostand up and, I imagine, he was being pricked with the points oftheir knives till he did get on his feet. "Jump!" they roared alltogether--and Manuel began to finger the strings, lifting up his voicebetween the gusts of savage hilarity, mingled with cries of death. Heexhorted his followers to close on the traitor inch by inch, presentingtheir knives. 

"He runs here and there, the blood trickling from his limbs--but invain, this is the appointed time for the leap. .. . "

It was an improvisation; they stamped their feet to the slow measure;they shouted in chorus the one word "Leap!" raising a ferocious roar;and between whiles the song of voice and strings came to me from adistance, softened and lingering in a voluptuous and pitiless cadencethat wrung my heart, and seemed to eat up the remnants of my strength. But what could I have done, even if I had had the strength of a giant, and a most fearless resolution? I should have been shot dead before Ihad crawled halfway up the ledge. A piercing shriek covered the guitar, the song, and the wild merriment. 

Then everything seemed to stop--even my own painful breathing. AgainCastro shrieked like a madman:

"Señorita--your gold. Señorita! Hear me! Help!"

Then all was still. 

"Hear the dead calling to the dead, " sneered Manuel. 

An awestruck sort of hum proceeded from the Spaniards. Was the senoritaalive? In the cave? Or where?

"Her nod would have saved thee, Castro, " said Manuel slowly. I got up. Iheard Castro stammer wildly:

"She shall fill both your hands with gold. Do you hear, hombres? I, Castro, tell you--each man--both hands------"

He had done it. The last hope was gone now. And all that there remainedfor me to do was to leap over or give myself up, and end this horriblebusiness. 

"She was a creature born to command the moon and the stars, " Manuelmused aloud in a vibrating tone, and suddenly smote the strings withemphatic violence. She could even stay his vengeance. But was itpossible! No, no. It could not be--and yet. .. . 

"Thou art alive yet, Castro, " he cried. "Thou hast eaten and drunk; lifeis good--is it not, old man?--and the leap is high. "

He thundered "Silence!" to still the excited murmurs of his band. If shelived Castro should live, too--he, Manuel, said so; but he threatenedhim with horrible tortures, with two days of slow dying, if he dared todeceive. Let him, then, speak the truth quickly. 

"Speak, 'viejo'. Where is she?"

And at the opening, fifty yards away, I was tempted to call out, asthough I had loved Castro well enough to save him from the shame andremorse of a plain betrayal. That the moment of it had come I could haveno doubt. And it was I myself, perhaps, who could not face the certitudeof his downfall. If my throat had not been so compressed, so dry withthirst and choked with emotion, I believe I should have cried out andbrought them away from that miserable man with a rush. Since we werelost, he at least should be saved from this. I suffered from hisspasmodic, agonized laugh away there, with twenty knives aimed at hisbreast and the eighty-foot drop of the precipice at his back. Why did hehesitate?

I was to learn, then, that the ultimate value of life to all of us isbased on the means of self-deception. Morally he had his back againstthe wall, he could not hope to deceive himself; and after Manuel hadcried again at him, "Where are they?" in a really terrible tone, I heardhis answer:

"At the bottom of the sea. "

He had his own courage after all--if only the courage not to believe inManuel's promises. And he must have been weary of his life--weary enoughnot to pay that price. And yet he had gone to the very verge, calling upon Seraphina as if she could hear him. Madness of fear, nodoubt--succeeded by an awakening, a heroic reaction. And yet sometimesit seems to me as if the whole scene, with his wild cries for help, hadbeen the outcome of a supreme exercise of cunning. For, indeed, he couldnot have invented anything better to bring the conviction of our deathto the most sceptical of those ruffians. All I heard after his words hadbeen a great shout, followed by a sudden and unbroken silence. It seemedto last a very long time. He had thrown himself over! It is like theblank space of a swoon to me, and yet it must have been real enough, because, huddled up just inside the sill, with my head reposing wearilyon the stone, I watched three moving flames of lighted branches carriedby men follow each other closely in a swaying descent along the path onthe other side of the ravine. They passed on downwards, flickering outof view. Then, after a time, a voice below, to the left of the cave, ascended with a hooting and mournful effect from the depths. 

"Manuel! Manuel! We have found him!. .. _Es muerte!_"

And from above Manuel's shout rolled, augmented, between the rocks. 

"_Bueno!_ Turn his face up--for the birds!"

They continued calling to each other for a good while. The men belowdeclared their intention of going on to the sea shore; and Manuelshouted to them not to forget to send him up a good rope early in themorning. Apparently, the schooner had been refloated some time before;many of the _Lugareños_ were to sleep on board. They purposed to setsail early next day. 

This revived me, and I spent the night between Seraphina's couch and themouth of the cave, keeping tight hold of my reason that seemed to loseitself in this hope, in this darkness, in this torment. I touched hercheek, it was hot--while her forehead felt to my fingers as cold asice. I had no more voice, but I tried to force out some harsh whispersthrough my throat. They sounded horrible to my own ears, and sheendeavoured to soothe me by murmuring my name feebly. I believe shethought me delirious. I tried to pray for my strength to last till Icould carry her out of that cave to the side of the brook--then letdeath come. "Live, live, " I whispered into her ear, and would hear asigh so faint, so feeble, that it swayed all my soul with pity and fear, "Yes, Juan. ". .. And I would go away to watch for the dawn from the mouthof the cave, and curse the stars that would not fade. 

Manuel's voice always steadied me. A languor had come over them above, as if their passion had been exhausted; as if their hearts had beensaddened by an unbridled debauch. There was, however, their everlastingquarrelling. Several of them, I understood, left the camp for theschooner, but avoiding the road by the ravine as if Castro's dead bodydown there had made it impassable. And the talk went on late into thenight. There was some superstitious fear attached to the cave--a legendof men who had gone in and had never come back any more. All they knewof it was the region of twilight; formerly, when they used the shelterof the cavern, no one, it seems, ever ventured outside the circle ofthe fire. Manuel disdained their fears. Had he not been such a profoundpolitico, a man of stratagems, there would have been a necessity to godown and see. .. . They all protested. 

Who was going down? Not they. .. . Their craven cowardice was amazing. 

He begged them to keep themselves quiet. They had him for _Capataz_now. A man of intelligence. Had he not enticed Castro out? He had neverbelieved there was any one else in there. He sighed. Otherwise Castrowould have tried to save his life by confessing. There had been nothingto confess. But he had the means of making sure. A voice suggested thatthe _Inglez_ might have withdrawn himself into the depths. These Englishwere not afraid of demons, being devils themselves; and this one wasfiendishly reckless. But Manuel observed, contemptuously, that a mantrapped like this would remain near the opening. Hope would keep himthere till he died--unless he rushed out like Castro-Manuel laughed, but in a mournful tone: and, listening to the craven talk of theirdoubts and fears, it seemed to me that if I could appear at one boundamongst them, they would scatter like chaff before my glance It seemedintolerable to wait; more than human strength could bear. Would the daynever come? A drowsiness stole upon their voices. 

Manuel kept watch. He fed the fire, and his incomplete shadow, projectedacross the chasm, would pass and return, obscuring the glow that fell onthe rock. His footsteps seemed to measure the interminable duration ofthe night. Sometimes he would stop short and talk to himself in low, exalted mutters. A big bright star rested on the brow of the rockopposite, shining straight into my eyes. It sank, as if it had plungedinto the stone. At last. Another came to look into the cavern. I watchedthe gradual coming of a gray sheen from the side of Seraphina's couch. This was the day, the last day of pain, or else of life. Its ghostlyedge invaded slowly the darkness of the cave towards its appointedlimit, creeping slowly, as colourless as spilt water on the floor. Ipressed my lips silently upon her cheek. Her eyes were open. It seemedto me she had a smile fainter than her sighs. She was very brave, buther smile did not go beyond her lips. Not a feature of her face moved. I could have opened my veins for her without hesitation, if it had notbeen a forbidden sacrifice. 

Would they go? I asked myself. Through Castro's heroism or through hisweakness, perhaps through both the heroism and the weakness of that man, they must be satisfied. They must be. I could not doubt it; I could notbelieve it. Everything seemed improbable; everything seemed possible. Ifthey descended I would, I thought, have the strength to carry her off, away into the darkness. If there was any truth in what I had overheardthem saying, that the depths of the cavern concealed an abyss, we wouldcast ourselves into it. 

The feeble, consenting pressure of her hand horrified me. They wouldnot come down. They were afraid of that place, I whispered to her--andI thought to myself that such cowardice was incredible. Our fate wassealed. And yet from what I had heard. .. . 

We watched the daylight growing in the opening; at any moment it mighthave been obscured by their figures. The tormenting incertitudes of thathour were cruel enough to overcome, almost, the sensations of thirst, of hunger, to engender a restlessness that had the effect of renewedvigour. They were like a nightmare; but that nightmare seemed to clearmy mind of its feverish hallucinations. I was more collected, then, thanI had been for the last forty-eight hours of our imprisonment. But Icould not remain there, waiting. It was absolutely necessary that Ishould watch at the entrance for the moment of their departure. 

The morning was serenely cool and, in its stillness, their talk filledwith clear-cut words the calm air of the ravine. A party--I could nottell how many--had already come up from the schooner in a great stateof excitement. They feared that their presence had, in some way, becomeknown to the peons of the _hacienda_. There was much abuse of a mancalled Carneiro, who, the day before, had fired an incautious shot ata fat cow on one of the inland _savannas_. They cursed him. Lastnight, before the moon rose, those on board the schooner had heard thewhinnying of a horse. Somebody had ridden down to the water's edge inthe darkness and, after waiting a while, had galloped back the way hecame. The prints of hoofs on the beach showed that. 

They feared these horsemen greatly. A vengeance was owing for the manManuel had killed; and I could guess they talked with their faces overtheir shoulders. "And what about finding out whether the _Inglez_ wasthere, dead or alive?" asked some. 

I was sure, now, that they would not come down in a body. It wouldexpose them to the danger of being caught in the cavern by the peons. There was no time for a thorough search, they argued. 

For the first time that morning I heard Manuel's voice, "Stand aside. "

He came down to the very brink. 

"If the _Inglez_ is down there, and if he is alive, he is listening tous now. "

He was as certain as though he had been able to see me. He added:

"But there's no one. "

"Go and look, Manuel, " they cried. 

He said something in a tone of contempt. The Voices above my head sankinto busy murmurs. 

"Give me the rope here, " he said aloud. 

I had a feeling of some inconceivable danger nearing me; and in my stateof weakness I began to tremble, backing away from the orifice. I had nostrength in my limbs. I had no weapons. How could I fight? I woulduse my teeth. With a light knocking against the rock above the arch, Williams' flask, tied by its green cord to the end of a thick rope, descended slowly, and hung motionless before the entrance. 

It had been freshly filled with water; it was dripping wet outside, andthe silver top, struck by the sunbeams, dazzled my eyes. 

This was the danger--this bait. And it seems to me that if I had hadthe slightest inkling of what was coming, I should have rushed at itinstantly. But it took me some time to understand--to take in the ideathat this was water, there, within reach of my hand. With a great effortI resisted the madness that incited me to hurl myself upon the flask. Ihung back with all my power. A convulsive spasm contracted my throat. Iturned about and fled out of the passage. 

I ran to Seraphina. "Put out your hand to me, " I panted in the darkness. "I need your help. "

I felt it resting lightly on my bowed head. She did not even ask me whatI meant; as if the greatness of her soul was omniscient. There was, inthat silence, a supreme unselfishness, the unquestioning devotion of awoman. 

"Patience, patience, " I kept on muttering. I was losing confidence inmyself. If only I had been free to dash my head against the rock. I hadthe courage for that, yet. But this was a situation from which there wasno issue in death. 

"We are saved, " I murmured distractedly. 

"Patience, " she breathed out. Her hand slipped languidly off my head. 

And I began to creep away from her side. I am here to tell the truth. Ibegan to creep away towards the flask. I did not confess this to myself;but I know now. There was a devilish power in it. I have learnedthe nature of feelings in a man whom Satan beguiles into selling hissoul--the horror of an irresistible and fatal longing for a supremefelicity. And in a drink of water for me, then, there was a greaterpromise than in universal knowledge, in unbounded power, in unlimitedwealth, in imperishable youth. What could have been these seductions toa drink? No soul had thirsted after things unlawful as my parched throatthirsted for water. No devil had ever tempted a man with such a bribe ofperdition. 

I suffered from the lucidity of my feelings. I saw, with indignation, myown wretched self being angled for like a fish. And with all that, inmy forlorn state, I remained prudent. I did not rush out blindly. No. Iapproached the inner end of the passage, as though I had been stalkinga wild creature, slowly, from the side. I crept along the wall ofthe cavern, and protruded my head far enough to look at the fiendishtemptation. 

There it was, a small dark object suspended in the light, with theyellow rock across the ravine for a background. The silver top shiveredthe sunbeams brilliantly. I had half hopes they had taken it away bythis time. When I drew my head back I lost sight of it, but all my beingwent out to it with an almost pitiful longing. I remembered Castro forthe first time in many hours. Was I nothing better than Castro? He hadbeen angled for with salted meat. I shuddered. A darkness fell intothe passage. I put down my uplifted foot without advancing. Theunexpectedness of that shadow saved me, I believe. Manuel had descendedthe cornice. 

He was alone. Standing before the outer opening, he darkened thepassage, through which his talk to the people above came loudly intomy ears. They could see now if he were not a worthy _Capataz_. If the_Inglez_ was in there he was a corpse. And yet, of these living heartsabove, of these _valientes_ of Rio Medio, there was not one who would goalone to look upon a dead body. He had contrived an infallible test, andyet they would not believe him. Well, his valiance should prove it; hisvaliance, afraid neither of light nor of darkness. 

I could not hear the answers he got from up there; but the vague soundsthat reached me carried the usual commingling of derision and applause, the resentment of their jeers at the admiration he knew how to extort bythe display of his talents. 

They must kill the cattle, these _caballeros_. He scolded ironically. Ofcourse. They must feed on meat like lions; but their souls were like thesouls of hens born on dunghills. And behold! there was he, Manuel, notafraid of shadows. 

He was coming in, there could be no doubt. Out there in the full light, he could not possibly have detected that rapid appearance of my headdarted forward and withdrawn at once; but I had a view of his armputting aside the swinging flask, of his leg raised to step over thehigh sill. I saw him, and I ran noiselessly away from the opening. 

I had the time to charge Seraphina not to move, on our lives--on thewretched remnant of our lives--when his black shape stood in the frameof the opening, edged with a thread of light following the contour ofhis hat, of his shoulders, of his whole body down to his feet--whence along shadow fell upon the pool of twilight on the floor. 

What had made him come down? Vanity? The exacting demands of hisleadership? Fear of O'Brien? The _Juez_ would expect to hear somethingdefinite, and his band pretended not to believe in the stratagem of thebottle. I think that, for his part, from his knowledge of human nature, he never doubted its efficacy. He could not guess how very little, only, he was wrong. How very little! And yet he seemed rooted in incertitudeon the threshold. His head turned from side to side. I could not makeout his face as he stood, but the slightest of his movements did notescape me. He stepped aside, letting in all the fullness of the light. 

Would he have the courage to explore at least the immediateneighbourhood of the opening? Who could tell his complex motives? Whocould tell his purpose or his fears? He had killed a man in there once. But, then, he had not been alone. If he were only showing off beforehis unruly band, he need not stir a step further. He did not advance. He leaned his shoulders against the rock just clear of the opening. Onehalf of him was lighted plainly; his long profile, part of his ravenlocks, one listless hand, his crossed legs, the buckle of one shoe. 

"Nobody, " he pronounced slowly, in a dead whisper. 

While I looked at him, the profound _politico_, the artist, theeverlastingly questioned _Capataz_, the man of talent and ability, hethought himself alone, and allowed his head to drop on his breast, as ifsaddened by the vanity of human ambition. Then, lifting it with a jerk, he listened with one ear turned to the passage; afterwards he peeredinto the cavern. Two long strides, over the cold heap of ashes, broughthim to the stone seat. 

It was very plain to me from his starting movements and attitudes, thathe shared his uneasy attention between the inside and the outside of thecave. He sat down, but seemed ready to jump up; and I saw him turn hiseyes upwards to the dark vault, as if on the alert for a noise fromabove. I am inclined to think he was expecting to hear the gallopinghoofs of the peons' horses every moment. I think he did. The words "Iam safer here than they above, " were perfectly audible to me in themumbling he kept up nervously. He wished to hear the sound of his ownvoice, as a timid person whistles and talks on a lonely road atnight. Only the year before he had killed a man in that cavern, undercircumstances that were, I believe, revolting even to the honour ofthese bandits. He sat there between the shadow of his murder and thereality of the vengeance. I asked myself what could be the outcome of astruggle with him. He was armed; he was not weakened by hunger; but hestood between us and the water. My thirst would give me strength; thedesire to end Seraphina's sufferings would make me invincible. On theother hand, it was dangerous to interfere. I could not tell whether theywould not try to find out what became of him. It was safest to let himgo. It was extremely improbable that they would sail without him. 

I am not conscious of having stirred a limb; neither had Seraphinamoved, I am ready to swear; but plainly something, some sort of sound, startled him. He bounded out of his seated immobility, and in one leaphad his shoulders against the rock standing at bay before the darkness, with his knife in his hand. I wonder he did not surprise me into anexclamation. I was as startled as himself. His teeth and the whites ofhis eyes gleamed straight at me from afar; he hissed with fear; for aninstant I was firmly convinced he had seen me. All this took place soquickly that I had no time to make one movement towards receiving hisattack, when I saw him make a great sign of the cross in the air withthe point of his dagger. 

He sheathed it slowly, and sidled along the few feet to the entrance, his shoulders rubbing the wall. He blocked out the light, and in amoment had backed out of sight. 

Before he got to the further end I was already, at the inner, creepingafter him. I had started at once, as if his disappearance had removed aspell, as though he had drawn me after him by an invisible bond. Raisingmyself on my forearms I saw him, from his knees up, standing outside thesill, with his back to the precipice and his face turned up. 

"There is nobody in there, " he shouted. 

I sank down and wriggled forward on my stomach, raising myself on myelbows, now and then, to look. Manuel was looking upwards conversingwith the people above, and holding Williams' flask in both his hands. Henever once glanced into the passage; he seemed to be trying to undo thecord knotted to the end of the thick rope, which hung in a long bightbefore him. The flask captured my eyes, my thought, my energy. I wouldtear it away from him directly. There was in me, then, neither fear norintelligence; only the desire of possessing myself of the thing; but aninstinctive caution prevented my rushing out violently. I proceeded withan animal-like stealthiness, with which cool reason had nothing to do. 

He had some difficulty with the knot, and evidently did not wish to cutthe green silk cord. How well I remember his fumbling fingers. He satdown sideways on the sill, with his legs outside, of course, his faceand hands turned to the light, very absorbed in his endeavour. Theyshouted to him from above. 

"I come at once, " he cried to them, without lifting his head. 

I had crept up almost near enough to grab the flask. It never occurredto me that by flinging myself on him, I could have pushed him offthe sill. My only idea was to get hold. He did not exist for me. Theleather-covered bottle was the only real thing in the world. I wascompletely insane. I heard a faint detonation, and Manuel got up quicklyfrom the sill. The flask was out of my reach. 

There were more popping sounds of shots fired, away on the plain. Thepeons were attacking an outpost of the _Lugareños_. A deep voice cried, "They are driving them in. " Then several together yelled:

"Come away, Manuel. Come away. _Por Dios. .. . _"

Stretched at full length in the passage, and sustaining myself on mytrembling arms, I gazed up at him. He stood very rigid, holding theflask in both hands. Several muskets were discharged together justabove, and in the noise of the reports I remember a voice cryingurgently over the edge, "Manuel! Manuel!" The shadow of irresolutionpassed over his features. He hesitated whether to run up the ledge orbolt into the cave. He shouted something. He was not answered, but theyelling and the firing ceased suddenly, as if the _Lugareños_ had givenup and taken to their heels. I became aware of a sort of increasingthrobbing sound that seemed to come from behind me, out of the cave;then, as Manuel lifted his foot hastily to step over the sill, I jumpedup deliriously, and with outstretched hands lurched forward at the flaskin his fingers. 

I believe I laughed at him in an imbecile manner. 

Somebody laughed; and I remember the superior smile on his face passinginto a ghastly grin, that disappeared slowly, while his astonished eyes, glaring at that gaunt and dishevelled apparition rising before him inthe dusk of the passage, seemed to grow to an enormous size. He drewback his foot, as though it had been burnt; and in a panic-strickenimpulse, he flung the flask straight into my face, and staggered awayfrom the sill. 

I made a catch at it with a scream of triumph, whose unearthly soundbrought me back to my senses. 

"In the name of God, retire, " he cried, as though I had been anapparition from another world. 

What took place afterwards happened with an inconceivable rapidity, inless time than it takes to draw breath. He never recognized me. I sawhis glare of incredulous awe change, suddenly, to horror and despair. Hehad felt himself losing his balance. 

He had stepped too far back. He tried to recover himself, but it was toolate. He hung for a moment in his backward fall; his arms beat the air, his body curled upon itself with an awful striving. All at once hewent limp all over, and, with the sunlight full upon his upturned face, vanished downwards from my sight. 

But at the last moment he managed to clutch the bight of the hangingrope. The end of it must have been lying quite loose on the groundabove, for I saw its whole length go whizzing after him, in thetwinkling of an eye. I pressed the flask fiercely to my breast, ragingwith the thought that he could yet tear it out of my hands; but by thetime the strain came, his falling body had acquired such a velocity thatI didn't feel the slightest jerk when the green cord snapped--no morethan if it had been the thread of a cobweb. 

I confess that tears, tears of gratitude, were running down my face. Mylimbs trembled. But I was sane enough not to think of myself any more. 

"Drink! Drink, " I stammered, raising Seraphina's head on my shoulder, while the galloping horses of the peons in hot pursuit passed with athundering rumble above us. Then all was still. 

Our getting out of the cave was a matter of unremitting toil, throughwhat might have been a year of time; the recollection is of an arduousundertaking, accomplished without the usual incentives of men'sactivity. Necessity, alone, remained; the iron necessity without theglamour of freedom of choice, of pride. 

Our unsteady feet crushed, at last, the black embers of the firesscattered by the hoofs of horses; and the plain appeared immense to ourweakness, swept of shadows by the high sun, lonely and desolate asthe sea. We looked at the litter of the _Lugareños' _camp, rags on thetrodden grass, a couple of abandoned blankets, a musket thrown away inthe panic, a dirty red sash lying on a heap of sticks, a woodenbucket from the schooner, smashed water-gourds. One of them remainedmiraculously poised on its round bottom and full to the brim, whileeverything else seemed to have been overturned, torn, scatteredhaphazard by a furious gust of wind. A scaffolding of poles, for dryingstrips of meat, had been knocked over; I found nothing there except bitsof hairy hide; but lumps of scorched flesh adhered to the white bonesscattered amongst the ashes of the camp--and I thanked God for them. 

We averted our eyes from our faces in very love, and we did not speakfrom pity for each other. There was no joy in our escape, no relief, no sense of freedom. The _Lugareños_ and the peons, the pursued and thepursuers, had disappeared from the upland without leaving as much as acorpse in view. There were no moving things on the earth, no birdsoared in the pellucid air, not even a moving cloud on the sky. Thesun declined, and the rolling expanse of the plain frightened us, as ifspace had been something alive and hostile. 

We walked away from that spot, as if our feet had been shod in lead; andwe hugged the edge of the cruel ravine, as one keeps by the side ofa friend. We must have been grotesque, pathetic, and lonely; like twopeople newly arisen from a tomb, shrinking before the strangeness ofthe half-forgotten face of the world. And at the head of the ravine westopped. 

The sensation of light, vastness, and solitude, rolled upon our soulsemerging from the darkness, overwhelmingly, like a wave of the sea. Wemight have been an only couple sent back from the underworld to beginanother cycle of pain on a depopulated earth. It had not for us even thefitful caress of a breeze; and the only sound of greeting was the angrybabble of the brook dashing down the stony slope at our feet. 

We knelt over it to drink deeply and bathe our faces. Then looking abouthelplessly, I discovered afar the belt of the sea inclosed between theundulating lines of the dunes and the straight edge of the horizon. Ipointed my arm at the white sails of the schooner creeping from underthe land, and Seraphina, resting her head on my shoulder, shuddered. 

"Let us go away from here. "

Our necessity pointed down the slope. We could not think of another way, and the extent of the plain with its boundary of forests filled us withthe dread of things unknown. But, by getting down to the inlet of thesea, and following the bank of the little river, we were sure to reachthe _hacienda_, if only a hope could buoy our sinking hearts longenough. 

From our first step downwards the hard, rattling noise of the stonesaccompanied our descent, growing in volume, bewildering our minds. Wehad missed the indistinct beginning of the trail on the side of theravine, and had to follow the course of the stream. A growth of wirybushes sprang thickly between the large fragments of fallen rocks. Onour right the shadows were beginning to steal into the chasm. Toweringon our left the great stratified wall caught at the top of the glow ofthe low sun in a rich, tawny tint, right under the dark blue strip ofsky, that seemed to reflect the gloom of the ravine, the sepulchral aridgloom of deep shadows and gray rocks, through which the shallow torrentdashed violently with glassy gleams between the sombre masses ofvegetation. 

We pushed on through the bunches of tough twigs; the massive bouldersclosed the view on every side; and Seraphina followed me with her handson my shoulders. This was the best way in which I could help her descenttill the declivity became less steep; and then I went ahead, forcing apath for her. Often we had to walk into the bed of the stream. It wasicy cold. Some strange beast, perhaps a bird, invisible somewhere, emitted from time to time a faint and lamentable shriek. It was a wildscene, and the orifice of the cave appeared as an inaccessible blackhole some ninety feet above our heads. 

Then, as I stepped round a large fragment of rock, my eyes fell onManuel's body. 

Seraphina was behind me. With a wave of my hand I arrested her. It hadnot occurred to me before that, following the bottom of the ravine, wemust come upon the two bodies. Castro's was lower down, of course. Iwould have spared her the sight, but there was no retracing our steps. We had no strength and no time. Manuel was lying on his back with hishands under him, and his feet nearly in the brook. 

The lower portion of the rope made a heap of cordage on the ground nearhim, but a great length of it hung perpendicularly above his head. Theloose end he had snatched over the edge of his fall had whipped itselftight round the stem of a dwarf tree growing in a crevice high up therock; and as he fell below, the jerk must have checked his descent, andhad prevented him from alighting on his head. There was not a sign ofblood anywhere upon him or on the stones. His eyes were shut. He mighthave lain down to sleep there, in our way; only from the slightlyunnatural twist in the position of his arms and legs, I saw, at aglance, that all his limbs were broken. 

On the other side of the boulder Seraphina called to me, and I could notanswer her, so great was the shock I received in seeing the flutter ofhis slowly opening eyelids. 

He still lived, then! He looked at me! It was an awful discovery tomake, and the contrast of his anxious and feverish stare with thecollapsed posture of his body was full of intolerable suggestions offate blundering unlawfully, of death itself being conquered by pain. Ilooked away only to perceive something pitiless, belittling, and cruelin the precipitous immobility of the sheer walls, in the dark funerealgreen of the foliage, in the falling shadows, in the remoteness of thesky. 

The unconsciousness of matter hinted at a weird and mysteriousantagonism. All the inanimate things seemed to have conspired to throwin our way this man just enough alive to feel pain. The faint andlamentable sounds we had heard must have come from him. He was lookingat me. It was impossible to say whether he saw anything at all. Hebarred our road with his remnant of life; but, when suddenly he spoke, my heart stood still for a moment in my motionless body. 

"You, too!" he droned awfully. "Behold! I have been precipitated, alive, into this hell by another ghost. Nothing else could have overcome thegreatness of my spirit. "

His red shirt was torn open at the throat. His bared breast began toheave. He cried out with pain. Ready to fly from him myself, I shoutedto Seraphina to keep away. 

But it was too late. Imagining I had seen some new danger in our path, she had advanced to stand by my side. 

"He is dying, " I muttered in distraction. "We can do nothing. "

But could we pass him by before he died? "This is terrible, " saidSeraphina. 

My real hope had been that, after driving the _Lugareños_ away, thepeons would off-saddle near the little river to rest themselves andtheir horses. This is why I had almost pitilessly hurried Seraphina, after we had left the cave, down the steep but short descent of theravine. I had kept to myself my despairing conviction that we couldnever reach the _hacienda_ unaided, even if we had known the way. Ihad pretended confidence in ourselves, but all my trust was in theassistance I expected to get from these men. I understood so well theslenderness of that hope that I had not dared to mention it to her andto propose she should wait for me on the upland, while I went downby myself on that quest. I could not bear the fear of returningunsuccessful only to find her dead. That is, if I had the strength toreturn after such a disappointment. 

And the idea of her, waiting for me in vain, then wandering off, perhapsto fall under a bush and die alone, was too appalling to contemplate. That we must keep together, at all costs, was like a point of honour, like an article of faith with us--confirmed by what we had gone throughalready. It was like a law of existence, like a creed, like a defencewhich, once broken, would let despair upon our heads. I am sure shewould not have consented to even a temporary separation. She had a sortof superstitious feeling that, should we be forced apart, even tothe manifest saving of our lives, we would lay ourselves open to somecalamity worse than mere death could be. 

I loved her enough to share that feeling, but with the addition of aman's half-unconscious selfishness. I needed her indomitable frailnessto prop my grosser strength. I needed that something not wholly of thisworld, which women's more exalted nature infuses into their passions, into their sorrows, into their joys; as if their adventurous souls hadthe power to range beyond the orbit of the earth for the gathering oftheir love, their hate--and their charity. 

"He calls for death, " she said, shrinking with horror and pity beforethe mutters of the miserable man at our feet. Every moment of daylightwas of the utmost importance, if we were to save our freedom, ourhappiness, our very lives; and we remained rooted to the spot. For itseemed as though, at last, he had attained the end of his enterprise. Hehad captured us, as if by a very cruel stratagem. 

A drowsiness would come at times over those big open eyes, like a filmthrough which a blazing glance would break out now and then. He hadrecognized us perfectly; but, for the most part, we seemed to him to bethe haunting ghosts of his inferno. 

"You came from heaven, " he raved feebly, rolling his straining eyestowards Seraphina. His internal injuries must have been frightful. Perhaps he dared not shift his head--the only movement that was in hispower. "I reached up to the very angels in the inspiration of my song, "he droned, "and would be called a demon on earth. _Manuel el Demonio_. And now precipitated alive. .. . Nothing less. There is a greatness in me. Let some dew fall upon my lips. "

He moaned from the very bottom of his heart. His teeth chattered. 

"The blessed may not know anything of the cold and thirst of this place. A drop of dew--as on earth you used to throw alms to the poor from yourcoach--for the love of God. "

She sank on the stones nearer to him than I would willingly have done, brave as a woman, only, can be before the atrocious depths of humanmisery. I leaned my shoulders against the boulder and crossed my arms onmy breast, as if giving up an unequal struggle. Her hair was loose, herdress stained with ashes, torn by brambles; the darkness of the cavernseemed to linger in her hollow cheeks, in her sunken temples. 

"He is thirsty, " she murmured to me. 

"Yes, " I said. 

She tore off a strip of her dress, dipped it in the running water at herside, and approached it, all dripping, to his lips which closed uponit with avidity. The walls of the rock looked on implacably, but therushing stream seemed to hurry away, as if from an accursed spot. 

"Dew from heaven, " he sighed out. 

"You are on earth, Manuel, " she said. "You are given time to repent. This is earth. "

"Impossible, " he muttered with difficulty. 

He had forced his human fellowship upon us, this man whose ambition ithad been to be called demon on the earth. He held us by the humanity ofhis broken frame, by his human glance, by his human voice. I wonder if, had I been alone, I would have passed on as reason dictated, or have hadthe courage of pity and finished him off, as he demanded. Whenever hebecame aware of our presence, he addressed me as "Thou, English ghost, "and directed me, in a commanding voice, to take a stone and crush hishead, before I went back to my own torments. I withdrew, at last, where he could not see me; but Seraphina never flinched in her task ofmoistening his lips with the strip of cloth she dipped in the brook, time after time, with a sublime perseverance of compassion. 

It made me silent. Could I have stood there and recited the sinisterdetail of that man's crimes, in the hope that she would recoil from himto pursue the road of safety? It was not his evil, but his sufferingthat confronted us now. The sense of our kinship emerged out of it likea fresh horror after we had escaped the sea, the tempest; after we hadresisted untold fatigues, hunger, thirst, despair. We were vanquished bywhat was in us, not in him. I could say nothing. The light ebbed out ofthe ravine. The sky, like a thin blue veil stretched between the earthand the spaces of the universe, filtered the gloom of the darknessbeyond. 

I thought of the invisible sun ready to set into the sea, of the peonsriding away, and of our helpless, hopeless state. 

"For the love of God, " he mumbled. 

"Yes, for the love of God, " I heard her expressionless voice repeat. Andthen there was only the greedy sound of his lips sucking at the cloth, and the impatient ripple of the stream. 

"Come, death, " he sighed. 

Yes, come, I thought, to release him and to set us free. All my prayer, now, was that we should be granted the strength to struggle from underthe malignant frown of these crags, to close our eyes forever in theopen. 

And the truth is that, had we gone on, we should have found no one bythe sea. The routed _Lugareños_ had been able to embark under cover of afusillade from those on board the schooner. All that would have met ourdespair, at the end of our toilsome march, would have been three deadpirates lying on the sand. The main body of the peons had gone, already, up the valley of the river with their few wounded. There would have beennothing for us to do but to stumble on and on upon their track, till welay down never to rise again. They did not draw rein once, between thesea and the _hacienda_, sixteen miles away. 

About the time when we began our descent into the ravine, two of thepeons, detached from the main body for the purpose of observing theschooner from the upland, had topped the edge of the plain. We had thenpenetrated into Manuel's inferno, too deep to be seen by them. Thesemen spent some time lying on the grass, and watching over the dunes thecourse of the schooner on the open sea. Their horses were grazing nearthem. The wind was light; they waited to see the vessel far enough downthe coast to make any intention of return improbable. 

It was Manuel who saved our lives, defeating his own aim to the bitterend. Had not his vanity, policy, or the necessity of his artistic soul, induced him to enter the cave; had not his cowardice prevented himjoining the _Lugareños_ above, at the moment of the attack; had he notrecoiled violently in a superstitious fear before my apparition at themouth of the cave--we should have been released from our entombment, only to look once more at the sun. He paid the price of our ransom, tothe uttermost farthing, in his lingering death. Had he killed himself onthe spot, he would have taken our only slender chance with him intothat nether world where he imagined himself to have been "precipitatedalive. " Finding him dead, we should have gone on. Less than ten minutes, no more than another ten paces beyond the spot, we should have beenhidden from sight in the thickets of denser growth in the lower partof the ravine. I doubt whether we should have been able to get through;but, even so, we should have been going away from the only help withinour reach. We should have been lost. 

The two _vaqueros_, after seeing the schooner hull down under the low, fiery sun of the west, mounted and rode home over the plain, making forthe head of the ravine, as their way lay. And, as they cantered alongthe side opposite to the cave, one of them caught sight of the length ofrope dangling down the precipice. They pulled up at once. 

The first I knew of their nearness was the snorting of a horse forcedtowards the edge of the chasm. I saw the animal's forelegs plantedtensely on the very brink, and the body of the rider leaning over hisneck to look down. And, when I wished to shout, I found I could notproduce the slightest sound. 

The man, rising in his stirrups, the reins in one hand and turning upthe brim of his sombrero with the other, peered down at us over thepricked ears of his horse. I pointed over my head at the mouth ofthe cave, then down at Seraphina, lifting my hands to show that I wasunarmed. I opened my lips wide. Surprise, agitation, weakness, hadrobbed me of every vestige of my voice. I beckoned downwards with adesperate energy, Horse and rider remained perfectly still, like anequestrian statue set up on the edge of a precipice. Sera-phina hadnever raised her head. 

The man's intent scrutiny could not have mistaken me for a _Lugareno_. I think he gazed so long because he was amazed to discover down there awoman on her knees, stooping over a prostrate body, and a bareheaded manin a ragged white shirt and black breeches, reeling between the bushesand gesticulating violently, like an excited mute. But how a rope cameto hang down from a tree, growing in a position so inaccessiblethat only a bird could have attached it there struck him as the mostmysterious thing of all. He pointed his finger at it interrogatively, and I answered this inquiring sign by indicating the stony slope of theravine. It seemed as if he could not speak for wonder. After a whilehe sat back in his saddle, gave me an encouraging wave of the hand, andwheeled his horse away from the brink. 

It was as if we had been casting a spell of extinction on each other'svoices. No sooner had he disappeared than I found mine. I do not supposeit was very loud but, at my aimless screech, Seraphina looked upwardson every side, saw no one anywhere, and remained on her knees with hereyes, full of apprehension, fixed upon me. 

"No! I am not mad, dearest, " I said. "There was a man. He has seen us. "

"Oh, Juan!" she faltered out, "pray with me that God may have mercy onthis poor wretch and let him die. "

I said nothing. My thin, quavering scream after the peon had awakenedManuel from his delirious dream of an inferno. The voice that issuedfrom his shattered body was awfully measured, hollow, and profound. 

"You live!" he uttered slowly, turning his eyes full upon my face, and, as if perceiving for the first time in me the appearance of a livingman. "Ha! You English walk the earth unscathed. "

A feeling of pity came to me--a pity distinct from the harrowingsensations of his miserable end. He had been evil in the obscurity ofhis life, as there are plants growing harmful and deadly in the shade, drawing poison from the dank soil on which they flourish. He was asunconscious of his evil as they--but he had a man's right to my pity. 

"I am b--roken, " he stammered out. 

Seraphina kept on moistening his lips. 

"Repent, Manuel, " she entreated fervently. "We have forgiven thee theevil done to us. Repent of thy crimes--poor man. "

"Your voice, Señorita. What? You! You yourself bringing this blessingto my lips! In your childhood I cried '_viva_' many times before yourcoach. And now you deign--in your voice--with your hand. Ha! I couldimprovise--The star stoops to the crushed worm. .. . "

A rising clatter of rolling stones mingled from afar with the brokenmoanings of his voice. Looking over my shoulder, I saw one peonbeginning the descent of the slope, and, higher up, motionless betweenthe heads of two horses, the head of another man--with the purple tintof an enlarged sky beyond, reflecting the glow of an invisible sunsetting into the sea. 

Manuel cried out piercingly, and we shuddered. Seraphina shrank close tomy side, hiding her head on my breast. The peon staggered awkwardlydown the slope, descending sideways in small steps, embarrassed bythe enormous rowels of his spurs. He had a striped _serape_ over hisshoulder, and grasped a broad-bladed _machete_ in his right hand. Hisstumbling, cautious feet sent into the ravine a crashing sound, asthough we were to be buried under a stream of stones. 

"_Vuestra Señoria_" gasped Manuel. "I shall be silent. Pity me! Donot--do not withdraw your hand from my extreme pain. "

I felt she had to summon all her courage to look at him again. Shedisengaged herself, resolutely, from my enfolding arms. 

"No, no; unfortunate man, " she said, in a benumbed voice. "Think of thyend. "

"A crushed worm, senorita, " he mumbled. 

The peon, having reached the bottom of the slope, became lost to viewamongst the bushes and the great fragments of rocks below. Every soundin the ravine was hushed; and the darkening sky seemed to cast theshadow of an everlasting night into the eyes of the dying man. 

Then the peon came out, pushing through, in a great swish of partedbushes. His spurs jingled at every step, his footfalls crunched heavilyon the pebbles. He stopped, as if transfixed, muttering his astonishmentto himself, but asking no questions. He was a young man with a thinblack moustache twisted gallantly to two little points. He looked up atthe sheer wall of the precipice; he looked down at the group we formedat his feet. Suddenly, as if returning from an abyss of pain, Manueldeclared distinctly:

"I feel in me a greatness, an inspiration. .. . "

These were his last words. The heavy dark lashes descended slowly uponthe faint gleam of the eyeballs, like a lowered curtain. The deep foldsof the ravine gathered the falling dusk into great pools of absoluteblackness, at the foot of the crags. 

Rising high above our littleness, that watched, fascinated, the struggleof lights and shadows over the soul entangled in the wreck of a man'sbody, the rocks had a monumental indifference. And between their great, stony faces, turning pale in the gloom, with the amazed peon asif standing guard, _machete_ in hand, Manuel's greatness and hisinspiration passed away without as much as an exhaled sigh. I did noteven know that he had ceased to breathe, till Seraphina rose from herknees with a low cry, and flung far away from her, nervously, the stripof cloth upon which his parted lips had refused to close. 

My arms were ready to receive her. "Ah! At last!" she cried. There wassomething resentful and fierce in that cry, as though the pity of herwoman's heart had been put to too cruel a test. 

I, too, had been humane to that man. I had had his life on the end ofmy pistol, and had spared him from an impulse that had done nothing butwithhold from him the mercy of a speedy death. This had been my pity. 

But it was Seraphina's cry--this "At last, " showing the stress and painof the ordeal--that shook my faith in my conduct. It had brought uponour heads a retribution of mental and bodily anguish, like a criminalweakness. I was young, and my belief in the justice of life had receiveda shock. If it were impossible to foretell the consequences of our acts, if there were no safety in the motives within ourselves, what remainedfor our guidance?

And the inscrutable immobility of towering forms, steeped in the shadowsof the chasm, appeared pregnant with a dreadful wisdom. It seemed to methat I would never have the courage to lift my hand, open my lips, make a step, obey a thought. A long sun-ray shot to the zenith from thebeclouded west, crossing obliquely in a faint red bar the purple band ofsky above the ravine. 

The young _vaquero_ had taken off his hat before the might of death, andmade a perfunctory sign of the cross. He looked up and down the loftywall, as if it could give him the word of that riddle. Twice his spursclashed softly, and, with one hand grasping the rope, he stooped low inthe twilight over the body. 

"We looked for this _Lugareño_, " he said, replacing his hat on his headcarelessly. "He was a mad singer, and I saw him once kill one of us veryswiftly. They used to call him in jest, _El Demonio_. Ah! But you. .. But you. .. . "

His wonder overcame him. His bewildered eyes glimmered, staring at us inthe deepening dusk. 

"Speak, _hombre_, " he cried. "Who are you and who is she? Whence cameyou? Where are you going with this woman?. .. "

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Not a soul stirred in the one long street of the negro village. Theyellow crescent of the diminished moon swam low in the pearly lightof the dawn; and the bamboo walls of huts, thatched with palm leaves, glistened here and there through the great leaves of bananas. All thatnight we had been moving on and on, slowly crossing clear _savannas_, in which nothing stirred beside ourselves but the escort of our ownshadows, or plunging through dense patches of forest of an obscurityso impenetrable that the very forms of our rescuers became lost to us, though we heard their low voices and felt their hands steadying us inour saddles. Then our horses paced softly on the dust of a road, whileathwart an avenue of orange trees whose foliage seemed as black as coal, the blind walls of the _hacienda_ shone dead white like a vision ofmists. A Brazilian aloe flowered by the side of the gate; we drooped inour saddles; and the heavy knocks against the wooden portal seemed togo on without cause, and stop without reason, like a sound heard ina dream. We entered Seraphina's _hacienda_. The high walls inclosed asquare court deep as the yard of a prison, with flat-roofed buildingsall around. It rang with many voices suddenly. Every moment the daylightincreased; young négresses in loose gowns ran here and there, cacklinglike chased hens, and a fat woman waddled out from under the shadow of averanda. 

She was Seraphina's old nurse. She was scolding volubly, and suddenlyshe shrieked, as though she had been stabbed. Then all was still for along time. Sitting high on the back of my patient mount, with my fingerstwisted in the mane, I saw in a throng of woolly heads and brightgarments Seraphina's pale face. An increasing murmur of sobs andendearing names mounted up to me. Her hair hung down, her eyes seemedimmense; these people were carrying her off--and a man with a careworn, bilious face and a straight, gray beard, neatly clipped on the edges, stood at the head of my horse, blinking with astonishment. 

The fat woman reappeared, rolling painfully along the veranda. 

"Enrico! It is her lover! Oh! my treasure, my lamb, my precious child. Do you hear, Enrico? Her lover! Oh! the poor darling of my heart. "

She appeared to be giggling and weeping at the same time. The sky abovethe yard brightened all at once, as if the sun had emerged with a leapfrom the distant waters of the Atlantic. She waved her short arms atme over the railing, then plunged her dark fingers in the shockof iron-gray hair gathered on the top of her head. She turned awayabruptly, a yellow head-kerchief dodged in her way, a slap resounded, acry of pain, and a negro girl bolted into the court, nursing her cheekin the palms of her hands. Doors slammed; other negro girls ran out ofthe veranda dismayed, and took cover in various directions. 

I swayed to and fro in the saddle, but faithful to the plan of ourescape, I tried to make clear my desire that these peons should be swornto secrecy immediately. Meantime, somebody was trying to disengage myfeet from the stirrups. 

"Certainly. It is as your worship wishes. "

The careworn man at the head of my horse was utterly in the dark. 

"Attention!" he shouted. "Catch hold, _hombres_. Carry the _caballero_. "

What _caballero?_ A rosy flush tinged a boundless expanse above my face, and then came a sudden contraction of space and dusk. There were bigearthen' ware jars ranged in a row on the floor, and the two _vaqueros_stood bareheaded, stretching their arms over me towards a black crucifixon a wall, taking their oaths, while I rested on my back. A white beardhovered about my face, a voice said, "It is done, " then called anxiouslytwice, "Señor! Señor!" and when I had escaped from the dream of acavern, I found myself with my head pillowed on a fat woman's breast, and drinking chicken broth out of a basin held to my lips. Her largecheeks quivered, she had black twinkling eyes and slight moustaches atthe corners of her lips. But where was her white beard? And why did shetalk of an angel, as if she were Manuel?

"Seraphina!" I cried, but Castro's cloak swooped on my head like a sablewing. It was death. I struggled. Then I died. It was delicious to die. I followed the floating shape of my love beyond the worlds of theuniverse. We soared together above pain, strife, cruelty, and pity. We had left death behind us and everything of life but our love, which threw a radiant halo around two flames which were ourselves--andimmortality inclosed us in a great and soothing darkness. 

Nothing stirred in it. We drifted no longer. We hung in it quitestill--and the empty husk of my body watched our two flames side byside, mingling their light in an infinite loneliness. There were twocandles burning low on a little black table near my head. Enrico, withhis white beard and zealous eyes, was bending over my couch, while achair, on high runners, rocked empty behind him. I stared. 

"Señor, the night is far advanced, " he said soothingly, "and Dolores, mywife, watches over Dona Seraphina's slumbers, on the other side of thiswall. "

I had been dead to the world for nearly twenty hours, and the awakeningresembled a new birth, for I felt as weak and helpless as an infant. 

It is extraordinary how quickly we regained so much of our strength; butI suppose people recover sooner from the effects of privation than fromthe weakness of disease. Keeping pace with the return of our bodilyvigour, the anxieties of mind returned, augmented tenfold by all theweight of our sinister experience. And yet, what worse could happen tous in the future? What other terror could it hold? We had come back fromthe very confines of destruction. But Seraphina, reclining back in anarmchair, very still, with her eyes fixed on the high white wall facingthe veranda across the court, would murmur the word "Separation!"

The possibility of our lives being forced apart was terrible to heraffection, and intolerable to her pride. She had made her choice, andthe feeling she had surrendered herself to so openly must have hada supreme potency. She had disregarded for it all the traditions ofsilence and reserve. She had looked at me fondly through the very tearsof her grief; she had followed me--leaving her dead unburied and herprayers unsaid. What more could she have done to proclaim her loveto the world? Could she, after that, allow anything short of death tothwart her fidelity? Never! And if she were to discover that I could, after all, find it in my heart to support an existence in which she hadno share, then, indeed, it would be more than enough to make her die ofshame. 

"Ah, dearest!" I said, "you shall never die of shame. "

We were different, but we had read each other's natures by a fiercelight. I understood the point of honour in her constancy, and she neverdoubted the scruples of my true devotion, which had brought so manydangers on her head. We were flying not to save our lives, but topreserve inviolate our truth to each other and to ourselves. And if oursentiments appear exaggerated, violent, and overstrained, I must pointback to their origin. Our love had not grown like a delicate flower, cherished in tempered sunshine. It had never known the atmosphere oftenderness; our souls had not been awakened to each other by a gentlewhisper, but as if by the blast of a trumpet. It had called us to a lifewhose enemy was not death, but separation. 

The enemy sat at the gate of our shelter, as death sits at the gate oflife. These high walls could not protect us, nor the tearful mumble ofthe old woman's prayers, nor yet the careworn fidelity of Enrico. Thecouple hung about us, quivering with emotion. They peeped round thecorners of the veranda, and only rarely ventured to come out openly. The silent Galician stroked his clipped beard; the obese woman kept oncrossing herself with loud, resigned sighs. She would waddle up, wipingher eyes, to stroke Seraphina's head and murmur endearing names. Theywaited on us hand and foot, and would stand close together, ready forthe slightest sign, in a rapt contemplation. Now and then she wouldnudge her husband's ribs with her thick elbow and murmur, "Her lover. "

She was happy when Seraphina let her sit at her feet, and hold her hand. She would pat it with gentle taps, squatting shapelessly on a low stool. 

"Why go so far from thy old nurse, darling of my heart? Ah! love islove, and we have only one life to live, but this England is veryfar--very far away. "

She nodded her big iron-gray head slowly; and to our longing Englandappeared very distant, too, a fortunate isle across the seas, an abodeof peace, a sanctuary of love. 

There was no plan open to us but the one laid down by Sebright. Thesecrecy of our sojourn at the _hacienda_ had, in a measure, failed, though there was no reason to suppose the two peons had broken theiroath. Our arrival at dawn had been unobserved, as far as we knew, andthe domestic slaves, mostly girls, had been kept from all communicationwith the field hands outside. All these square leagues of the estatewere very much out of the world, and this isolation had not been brokenupon by any of O'Brien's agents coming out to spy. It seemed to be theonly part of Seraphina's great possessions that remained absolutely herown. 

Not a whisper of any sort of news reached us in our hiding-place tillthe fourth evening, when one of the _vaqueros_ reported to Enricothat, riding on the inland boundary, he had fallen in with a company ofinfantry encamped on the edge of a little wood. Troops were being movedupon Rio Medio. He brought a note from the officer in command of thatparty. It contained nothing but a requisition for twenty head of cattle. The same night we left the _hacienda_. 

It was a starry darkness. Behind us the soft wailing of the old woman atthe gate died out:

"So far! So very far!"

We left the long street of the slave village on the left, and walkeddown the gentle slope of the open glade towards the little river. Seraphina's hair was concealed in the crown of a wide sombrero and, wrapped up in a serape, she looked so much like a cloaked vaquero thatone missed the jingle of spurs out of her walk. Enrico had fitted meout in his own clothes from top to toe. He carried a lanthorn, and wefollowed the circle of light that swayed and trembled upon the shortgrass. There was no one else with us, the crew of the _drogher_ beingalready on board to await our coming. 

Her mast appeared above the roof of some low sheds grouped about a shortwooden jetty. Enrico raised the lamp high to light us, as we stepped onboard. 

Not a word was spoken; the five negroes of the crew (Enrico answeredfor their fidelity) moved about noiselessly, almost invisible. Blocksrattled feebly aloft. 

"Enrico, " said Seraphina, "do not forget to put a stone cross over poorCastro's grave. "

"No, Señorita. May you know years of felicity. We would all have laiddown our lives for you. Remember that, and do not forget the living. Your childhood has been the consolation of the poor woman there for theloss of our little one, your foster brother, who died. We have given toyou much of our affection for him who was denied to our old age. "

He stepped back from the rail. "Go with God, " he said. 

The faint air filled the sail, and the outlines of wharf and rooffell back into the sombre background of the land, but the lanthorn inEnrico's hand glimmered motionless at the end of the jetty, till a bendof the stream hid it from our sight. 

We glided smoothly between the banks. Now and then a stretch of osiersand cane brakes rustled alongside in the darkness. All was strange; thecontours of the land melted before our advance. The earth was made ofshifting shadows, and only the stars remained in unchanged groups ofglitter on the black sky. We floated across the land-locked basin, andunder the low headland we had steered for from the sea in the storm. Allthis, seen only once under streams of lightning, was unrecognizable tous, and seemed plunged in deep slumber. But the fresh feel of thesea air, and the freedom of earth and sky wedded on the sea horizon, returned to us like old friends, the companions of that time when wecommuned in words and silences on board the _Lion_, that fragmentof England found in a mist, boarded in battle, with its absurd andwarmhearted protection. On our other hand, the rampart of white dunesintruded the line of a ghostly shore between the depth of the seaand the profundity of the sky; and when the faint breeze failed for amoment, the negro crew troubled the silence with the heavy splashesof their sweeps falling in slow and solemn cadence. The rudder creakedgently; the black in command was old and of spare build, resemblingCesar, the major-domo, without the splendour of maroon velvet and goldlace. He was a very good sailor, I believe, taciturn and intelligent. He had seen the _Lion_ frequently on his trips to Havana, and wouldrecognize her, he assured me, amongst a whole host of shipping. WhenI had explained what was expected of him, according to Sebright'sprogramme, a bizarre grimace of a smile disturbed the bony, mournfulcast of his African face. 

"Fall on board by accident, Señor. _Si!_ Now, by St. Jago ofCompostella, the patron cf our _hacienda_, you shall see this oldPedro--who has been set to sail the craft ever since she was built--asovercome by an accident as a little rascal of a boy that has stolen aboat. "

After this wordy declaration he never spoke to us again. He gave hisshort orders in low undertones, and the others, four stalwart blacks, inthe prime of life, executed them in silence. Another night brought theunchanging stars to look at us in their multitudes, till the dawn putthem out just as we opened the entrance of the harbour. The daylightdiscovered the arid colouring of the coast, a castle on a sandyhill, and a few small boats with ragged sails making for the land. Abrigantine, that seemed to have carried the breeze with her right in, threw up the Stars and Stripes radiantly to the rising sun, beforerounding the point. The sound of bells came out to sea, and met us whilewe crept slowly on, abreast of the battery at the water's edge. 

"A feast-day in the city, " said the old negro at the helm. "And here isan English ship of war. "

The sun-rays struck from afar full at her belted side; the water waslike glass along the shore. She swam into the very shade of the hill, before she wore round, with great deliberation, in an ample sweep ofher headgear through a complete half-circle. She came to the wind on theother tack under her short canvas; her lower deck ports were closed, thehammock cloths like a ridge of unmelted snow lying along her rail. 

It was evident she was kept standing off and on outside the harbour, as an armed man may pace to and fro before a gate. With the hum of sixhundred wakeful lives in her flanks, the tap-tapping of a drum, and theshrill modulations of the boatswain's calls piping some order along herdecks, she floated majestically across our path. But the only livingbeing we saw was the red-coated marine on sentry by the lifebuoys, looking down at us over the taffrail. We passed so close to her thatI could distinguish the whites of his eyes, and the tompions in themuzzles of her stern-chasers protruding out of the ports belonging tothe admiral's quarters. 

I knew her. She was Rowley's flagship. She had thrown the shadow of hersails upon the end of my first sea journey. She was the man-of-war goingout for a cruise on that day when Carlos, Tomas, and myself arrived inJamaica in the old _Thames_. And there she was meeting me again, aftertwo years, before Havana--the might of the fortunate isle to which weturned our eyes, part and parcel of my inheritance, formidable with thecourage of my countrymen, humming with my native speech--and as foreignto my purposes as if I had forfeited forever my birthright in herprotection. I had drifted into a sort of outlaw. You may not break theking's peace and be made welcome on board a king's ship. You may nothope to make use of a king's ship for the purposes of an elopement. There was no room on board that seventy-four for our romance. 

As it was, I very nearly hailed her. What would become of us if theLion had already left Havana? I thought. But no. To hail her meantseparation--the only forbidden thing to those who, in the strength ofyouth and love, are permitted to defy the world together. 

I did not hail; and the marine dwindled to a red speck upon the noblehull forging away from us on the offshore tack. The brazen clangour ofbells seemed to struggle with the sharp puff of the breeze that sent usin. 

The shipping in harbour was covered with bunting in honour of thefeast-day; for the same reason, there was not a sign of the usual crowdof small boats that give animation to the waters of a port; the middleof the harbour was strangely empty. A solitary bumboat canoe, with ayellow bunch of bananas in the bow, and an old negro woman dippinga languid paddle at the stern, were all that met my eye. Presently, however, a six-oared custom-house galley darted out from the tier ofships, pulling for the American brigantine. I noticed in her, beside theordinary port officials, several soldiers, and a person astonishinglylike the _alguazil_ of the illustrations to Spanish romances. One of theuniformed sitters waved his hand at us, recognizing an estate _drogher_, and shouted some directions, of which we only caught the words:

"Steps--examination--to-morrow. "

Our steersman took off his old hat humbly, to hail back, "_Muy bien, Señor_. "

I breathed freely, for they gave us no more of their attention. Soldiers, _alguazil_, and custom-house officers were swarming aboardthe American, as if bent on ransacking her from stem to stern in theshortest possible time, so as not to be late for the procession. 

The absence of movement in the harbour, the festive and idle appearanceof the ships, with the flutter of innumerable flags on the forestof masts, and the great uproar of church bells in the air, made animpressive greeting for our eyes and ears. And the deserted aspect ofthe harbour front of the city was very striking, too. The feast hadswept the quays of people so completely that the tiny pair of sentriesat the foot of a tall yellow building caught the eye from afar. Sera-phina crouched on a coil of rope under the bulwark; old Pedro, atthe tiller, peered about from under his hand, and I, trying to exposemyself to view as little as possible, helped him to look for the _Lion_. There she is. Yes! No! There she was. A crushing load fell off my chest. We had made her out together, old Pedro and I. 

And then the last part of Sebright's plan had to be carried out at once. The foresheet of the _drogher_ appeared to part, our mainsail shook, and before I could gasp twice, we had drifted stern foremost into the_Lion's_ mizzen chains with a crash that brought a genuine expression ofconcern to the old negro's face. He had managed the whole thing with amost convincing skill, and without even once glancing at the ship. Wehad done our part, but the people of the Lion seemed to fail in theirsunaccountably. Of all the faces that crowded her rail at the shock, notone appeared with a glimmer of intelligence. All the cargo ports weredown. Their surprise and their swearing appeared to me alarminglyunaffected; with a most imbecile alacrity they exerted themselves, withsmall spars and boathooks, to push the drogher off. Nobody seemed torecognize me; Seraphina might have been a peon sitting on deck, cloakedfrom neck to heels and under a sombrero. I dared not shout to them inEnglish, for fear of being heard on board the other ships around. Atlast Sebright himself appeared on the poop. 

He gave one look over the side. 

"What the devil. .. " he began. Was he blind, too?

Suddenly I saw him throw up his arms above his head. He vanished. A portcame open with a jerk at the last moment. I lifted Seraphina up: twohands caught hold of her, and, in my great hurry to scramble up afterher, I barked my shins cruelly. The port fell; the drogher went onbumping alongside, completely disregarded. Seraphina dropped the cloakat her feet and flung off her hat. 

"Good-morning, _amigos_, " she said gravely. 

A hissed "Damn you fools--keep quiet!" from Sebright, stifled the cheerin all those bronzed throats. Only a thin little poor "hooray" quaveredalong the deck. The timid steward had not been able to overcome hisenthusiasm. He slapped his head in despair, and rushed away to buryhimself in his pantry. 

"Turned up, by heavens!. .. Go in. .. . Good God!. .. Bucketfuls oftears. .. . " stammered Sebright, pushing us into the cuddy. "Go in! Go inat once!"

Mrs. Williams rose from behind the table wide-eyed, clasping her hands, and stumbled twice as she ran to us. 

"What have you done to that child, Mr. Kemp!" she cried insanely at me. "Oh, my dear, my dear! You look like your own ghost. "

Sebright, burning with impatience, pulled me away. The cabin door fellupon the two women, locked in a hug, and, stepping into his stateroom, we could do nothing at first but slap each other on the back andejaculate the most unmeaning exclamations, like a couple of jocularidiots. But when, in the expansion of my heart, I tried to banter himabout not keeping his word to look out for us, he bent double in tryingto restrain his hilarity, slapped his thighs, and grew red in the face. 

The excellent joke was that, for the past six days, we had been supposedto be dead--drowned; at least Dona Seraphina had been provided with thatsort of death in her own name; I was drowned, too, but in the disguiseof a piratical young English nobleman. 

"There's nothing too bad for them to believe of us, " he commented, andguffawed in his joy at seeing me unscathed. "Dead! Drowned! Ha! Ha!Good, wasn't it?"

Mrs. Williams--he said--had been weeping her eyes out over our desolateend; and even the skipper had sulked with his food for a day or two. 

"Ha! Ha! Drowned! Excellent!" He shook me by the shoulders, looking mestraight in the eyes--and the bizarre, nervous hilarity of my reception, so unlike his scornful attitude, proved that he, too, had believed therumour. Indeed, nothing could have been more natural, considering myinexperience in handling boats and the fury of the norther. It had sentthe Lion staggering into Havana in less than twenty hours after we hadparted from her on the coast. 

Suddenly a change came over him. He pushed me on to the settee. 

"Speak! Talk! What has happened? Where have you been all this time? Man, you look ten years older. "

"Ten years. Is that all?" I said. 

And after he had heard the whole story of our passages he appearedgreatly sobered. 

"Wonderful! Wonderful!" he muttered, lost in deep thought, till Ireminded him it was his turn, now, to speak. 

"You are the talk of the town, " he said, recovering his elasticity ofspirit as he went on. The death of Don Balthasar had been the firstgreat sensation of Havana, but it seemed that O'Brien had kept that newsto himself, till he heard by an overland messenger that Sera-phina and Ihad escaped from Casa Riego. 

Then he gave it to the world; he let it be inferred that he had thenews of both events together. The story, as sworn to by various subornedrascals, and put out by his creatures, ran that an English desperado, arriving in Rio Medio with some Mexicans in a schooner, had incited therabble of the place to attack the Casa Riego. Don Balthasar had beenshot while defending his house at the head of his negroes; and DonBal-thasar's daughter had been carried off by the English pirate. 

The amazement and sensation were extreme. Several of the first familieswent into mourning. A service for the repose of Don Balthasar's soul wassung in the Cathedral. Captain Williams went there out of curiosity, andreturned full of the magnificence of the sight; nave draped in black, anenormous catafalque, with silver angels, more than life-size, kneelingat the four corners with joined hands, an amazing multitude of lights. Ademonstration of unbounded grief from the Judge of the Marine Court hadstartled the distinguished congregation. In his place amongst thebody of higher magistrature, Don Patricio O'Brien burst into anuncontrollable paroxysm of sobs, and had to be assisted out of thechurch. 

It was almost incredible, but I could well believe it. With thethunderous strains of _Dies Irae_ rolling over his bowed head, amongstall these symbols and trappings of woe, he must have seen, in the blackanguish of his baffled passion, the true image of death itself, andtasted all the profound deception of life. Who could tell how muchsecret rage, jealousy, regret, and despair had gone to that outburst ofgrief, whose truth had fluttered a distinguished company of mourners, and had nearly interrupted their official supplications for the reposeof that old man, who had been dead to the world for so many years? Ibelieve that, on that very day, just as he was going to the service, O'Brien had received the news of our supposed death by drowning. Themusic, the voices, the lights of the grave, the pomp of mourning, awe, and supplication crying for mercy upon the dead, had been too much forhim. He had presumed too much upon his fortitude. He wept aloud for hislove lost, for his vengeance defeated, for the dreams gone out of hislife, for the inaccessible consummation of his desire. 

"And, you know, with all these affairs, he feels himself wobbling inhis socket, " Sebright began again, after musing for a while. Indeed, thelast events in Rio Medio were endangering his position. He could nomore present his reports upon the state of the province with incidentalreflections upon the bad faith of the English Government (who encouragedthe rebels against the Catholic king), the arrogance of the Englishadmiral, and concluding with the loyalty and honesty of the Rio Mediopopulation, "who themselves suffered many acts of molestation from theMexican pirates. " The most famous of these papers, printed at that timein the official _Gazette_, had recommended that the loyal town shouldbe given a battery of thirty-six pounders for purposes of self-defence. They had been given them just in time to be turned on Rowley's boats; itis known with what deadly effect. O'Brien's report after that event hadmade it clear that that virtuous population of the bay, exasperated bythe intrusions of the Mexicanos upon their peaceful state, and abhorringin their souls the rebellion trying to lift its envenomed head, etc. , etc. , . .. Heroically manned the battery to defend their town from theboats which they took to be these very pirates the British admiralwas in search of. He pleaded for them the uncertain light of the earlymorning, the ardour of citizens, valorous, but naturally inexperiencedin matters of war, and the impossibility to suppose that the admiral ofa friendly power would dispatch an armed force to land on these shores. I have read these things with my own eyes; there were old files of the_Gazette_ on board, and Sebright, who had been reading up his O'Brien, pointed them out to me with his finger, muttering:

"Here--look there. Pretty, ain't it?"

But that was all over. The bubble had burst. It was reported in townthat the private audience the _Juez_ had lately from theCaptain-General was of a most stormy description. They say old MarshalWhat-d'ye-call-'um ended by flinging his last report in his face, andasking him how dared he work his lawyer's tricks upon an old soldier. Good old fighting cock. But stupid. All these old soldiers were stupid, Sebright declared. Old admirals, too. However, the land troops hadarrived in Rio Medio by this time; the _Tornado_ frigate, too, no doubt, having sailed four days ago, with orders to burn the villages to theground; and the good _Lugareños_ must be catching colds trying to hidefrom the carabineers in the deep, damp woods. 

Our admiral was awaiting the issue of that expedition. Returning homeunder a cloud, Rowley wanted to take with him the assurance of thepirate nest being destroyed at last, as a sort of diplomatic feather inhis cap. 

"He may think, " Sebright commented, "that it's his sailorly bluff thathas done it, but, as far as I can see, nobody but you yourself, Kemp, had anything to do with bringing it about. Funny, is it not? Old Rowleykeeps his ship dodging outside because it's cooler at sea than stewingin this harbour, but he sends in a boat for news every morning. What heis most anxious for is to get the notorious Nichols into his hands; takehim home for a hanging. It seems clear to me that they are humbugginghim ashore. Nichols! Where's Nichols? There are people here who say thatNichols has had free board and lodging in Havana jail for the lastsix months. Others swear that it is Nichols who has killed the oldgentleman, run off with Dona Seraphina, and got drowned. Nichols! Who'sNichols? On that showing you are Nichols. Anybody may be Nichols. Whohas ever seen him outside Rio Medio? I used to believe in him at onetime, but, upon my word I begin to doubt whether there ever was such aman. "

"But the man existed, at any rate, " I said. "I knew him--I've talkedwith him. He came out second mate in the same ship with me--in the old_Thames_. Ramon took charge of him in Kingston, and that's the lastpositive thing I can swear to, of him. But that he was in Rio Medio fortwo years, and vanished from there almost directly after that unluckyboat affair, I am absolutely certain. "

"Well, I suppose O'Brien knows where to lay his hand on him. But nomatter where the fellow is, in jail or out of it, the admiral will neverget hold of him. If they had him they could not think of giving him up. He knows too much of the game; and remember that O'Brien, if he wobblesin the socket, is by no means down yet. A man like that doesn't getknocked over like a ninepin. You may be sure he has twenty skeletons putaway in good places, that he will haul out one by one, rather thanlet himself be squashed. He's not going to give in. A few days ago, apriest--your priest, you know--turned up here on foot from Rio Medio, and went about wringing his hands, declaring that he knew all the truth, and meant to make a noise about it, too. O'Brien made short work of him, though; got the archbishop to send him into retreat, as they call it, to a Franciscan convent a hundred miles from here. These things arewhispered about all along the gutters of this place. "

I imagined the poor Father Antonio, with his simple resignation, mourning for us in his forced retreat, brokenhearted, and murmuring, "Inscrutable, inscrutable. " I should have liked to see the old man. 

"I tell you the town is fairly buzzing with the atrocities of thisbusiness, " Sebright went on. "It's the thing for fashionable people togo and see what I may call the relics of the crime. They are on show inthe waiting-hall of the Palace of Justice. Why, I went there myself. Yougo through a swing door into a big place that, for cheerfulness, is nobetter than a monster coal cellar, and there you behold, laid out ona little black table, Mrs. Williams' woollen shawl, your Señorita'stortoise-shell comb, that had got entangled in it somehow, and my oldcap that I lent you--you remember. I assure you, it gave me the horrorsto see the confounded things spread out there in that dim religiouslight. Dash me, if I didn't go queer all over. And all the time swellcarriages stopping before the portico, dressed-up women walking up inpairs and threes, sighing before the missus' shawl, turning up theireyes, 'Ah! _Pobrecita! Pobrecita!_ But what a strange wrap for herto have. It is very coarse. Perished in the flower of her youth. Incredible! Oh, the savage, cruel Englishman. ' The funniest thing in theworld. "

But if this was so, Manuel's _Lugareños_ were now in Havana. Sebrightpointed out that, as things stood, it was the safest place for them, under the wing of their patron. Sebright had recognized the schoonerat once. She came in very early one morning, and hauled herselfunostentatiously out of sight amongst a ruck of small craft moored inthe lower part of the harbour. He took the first opportunity to ask oneof the guards on the quay what was that pretty vessel over there, justto hear what the man would say. He was assured that she was a Porto Ricotrader of no consequence, well known in the port. 

"Never mind the scoundrels; they can do nothing more to you. "

Sebright dismissed the _Lugareños_ out of my life. The unfavourablecircumstance for us was that the captain had gone ashore. The ship wasready for sea; absolutely cleared; papers on board; could go in an hourif it came to that; but, at any rate, next morning at daylight, beforeO'Brien could get wind of the Riego _drogher_ arriving. Every movementin port was reported to the _Juez_; but this was a feast, and he wouldnot hear of it probably till next day. Even _fiestas_ had their usessometimes. In his anxiety to discover Seraphina, O'Brien had played suchpranks amongst the foreign shipping (after the _Lion_ had been drawnblank) that the whole consular body had addressed a joint protest to theGovernor, and the _Juez_ had been told to moderate his efforts. No shipwas to be visited more than once. Still I had seen, myself, soldiersgoing in a boat to board the American brigantine: a garlic-eatingcrew, poisoning the cabins with their breath, and poking their noseseverywhere. Of course, since our supposed drowning, there had been alull; but the least thing might start him off again. He was reputed tobe almost out of his mind with sorrow, arising from his great attachmentfor the family. He walked about as if distracted, suffered frominsomnia, and had not been fit to preside in his court for over a week, now. 

"But don't you expect Williams back on board directly?"

He shook his head. 

"No. Not even to-night. He told the missus he was going to spend the dayout of town with his consignee, but he tipped me the wink. This eveninghe will send a note that the consignee detains him for the night, because the letters are not ready, and I'll have to go to her and lie, the best I am able, that it's quite the usual thing. Damn!"

I was appalled. This was too bad. And, as I raged against the dissolutehabits of the man, Sebright entreated me to moderate my voice so as notto be heard in the cabin. Did I expect the man to change his skin?He had been doing the gay bachelor about here all his life; had neversuspected he was doing anything particularly scandalous either. 

"He married the old girl out of chivalry, --the romantic fat beggar, --andnever realized what it meant till she came out with him, " Sebright wenton whispering to me. "He loves and honours her more than you may think. That is so, for all your shrugs, Mr. Kemp. It is not so easy to breakthe old connection as you imagine. Why, the other evening, two of hisdissolute habits (as you call them) came off, with mantillas over theirheads, in a boat, in company with a male scallawag of sorts, pinching amandolin, and serenaded the ship for him. We were all in the cabin aftersupper, and poor Mrs. Williams, with her eyes still red from weepingover you people, says to us, 'How sweet and melancholy that sounds, 'says she. You should have seen the skipper rolling his eyes at me. Theperspiration of fright was simply pouring down his face. I rushed ondeck, and it took me all my Spanish to stop them from coming aboard. Ihad to swear by all the saints, and the honour of a _caballero_, thatthere was a wife. They went away laughing at last. They did not want tomake trouble. They simply had not believed the tale before. Thought itwas some dodge of his. I could hear their peals of laughter all the wayup the harbour. These are the difficulties we have. The old girl mustbe protected from that sort of eye-opener, if I've to forswear my soul. I've been keeping guard over her ever since we arrived here--besideslooking out for you people, as long as there was any hope. "

I was greatly cast down. Perhaps Williams was justified in makingconcessions to the associates of his former jolly existence to save someoutrage to the feelings of his consort. I did not want to criticise hismotives--but what about getting him back on board at once?

Sebright was biting his lip. The necessity was pressing, he admitted. 

He had an idea where to find him. But for himself he could not_go_--that was evident. Neither would I wish him to leave the ship, evenfor a moment, now Seraphina was on board. An unexpected visit from somezealous police understrapper, a momentary want of presence of mindon the part of the timid steward; there was enough to bring about ourundoing. Moreover, as he had said, he must remain on guard over themissus. But whom to send? There was not a single boatman about. Theharbour was a desert of water and dressed ships; but even the crewsof most of them were ashore--"on a regular spree of praying, " as heexpressed it vexedly. As to our own crew, not one of them knew anythingmore of Spanish than a few terms of abuse, perhaps. Their hearts were inthe right place, but as to their wits, he wouldn't trust a single one ofthem by himself--no, not an inch away from the ship. How could he sendone of them ashore with the wineshops yawning wide on all sides, and notenough lingo to ask for the way. Sure to get drunk, to get lost, to getinto trouble in some way, and in the end get picked up by the police. The slightest hitch of that sort would call attention upon the ship--andwith O'Brien to draw inferences. .. . He rubbed his head. 

"I suppose I'll have to go, " he grunted. "But I am known; I may befollowed. They may wonder why I rush to fetch my skipper. And yet I feelthis is the time. The very time. Between now and four o'clock to-morrowmorning we have an almost absolute certitude of getting away with youtwo. This is our chance and your chance. "

He was lost in perplexity. Then, as if inspired, I cried:

"I will go!"

"The devil!" he said, amazed. "Would you?"

I rushed at him with arguments. No one would know me. My clothes wereall right and clean enough for a feast-day. I could slip through thecrowds un-perceived. The principal thing was to get Seraphina out ofO'Brien's reach. At the worst, I could always find means to get awayfrom Cuba by myself. There was Mrs. Williams to look after her, and if Imissed Williams by some mischance, and failed to make my way back to theship in time, I charged them solemnly not to wait, but sail away at theearliest possible moment. 

I said much more than this. I was eloquent. I became as if suddenlyintoxicated by the nearness of freedom and safety. The thought of beingat sea with her in a few hours away from all trouble of mind or heart, made my head swim. It seemed to me I should go mad if I was not allowedto go. My limbs tingled with eagerness. I stuttered with excitement. 

"Well--after all!" Sebright mumbled. 

"I must go in and tell her, " I said. 

"No. Don't do that, " said that wise young man. "Have you made up yourmind?"

"Yes, I have, " I answered. "But she's reasonable. "

"Still, " he argued, "the old girl is sure to say that nothing of thekind is necessary. The captain told her that he was coming back for tea. What could we say to that? We can't explain the true state of the case, and if you persist in going, it will look like pig-headed folly on yourpart. "

He threw his writing-desk open for me. 

"Write to her. Write down your arguments--what you have been telling me. It's a fact that the door stands open for a few hours. As to the rest, "he pursued, with a weary sigh, "I'll do the lying to pass it off withMrs. Williams. "

Thus it came about that, with only two flimsy bulkheads between us, Iwrote my first letter to Seraphina, while Sebright went on deck to makearrangements to send me ashore. He was some time away; long enough forme to pour out on paper the exultation of my thought, the confidence ofmy hope, my desire to have her safe at last with me upon the blue sea. One must seize a propitious moment lest it should slip away and neverreturn, I wrote. I begged her to believe I was acting for the best, andonly from my great love, that could not support the thought of her beingso near O'Brien, the arch-enemy of our union. There was no separation onthe sea. 

Sebright came in brusquely. 

"Come along. "

The American brigantine was berthed by then, close astern of the _Lion_, and Sebright had the idea of asking her mate to let his boat (it was inthe water) put ashore a visitor he had on board. His own were hoisted, he explained, and there were no boatmen plying for hire. 

His request was granted. I was pulled ashore by two American sailors, who never said a word to each other, and evidently took me for aSpaniard. 

It was an excellent idea. By borrowing the Yankee's boat, the track ofmy connection with the _Lion_ was covered. The silent seamen landed me, as asked by Sebright, near the battery on the sand, quite clear of thecity. 

I thanked them in Spanish, and, traversing a piece of open ground, madea wide circle to enter the town from the land side, to still furthercover my tracks. I passed through a sort of squalid suburb of huts, hovels, and negro shanties. I met very few people, and these mostly oldwomen, looking after the swarms of children of all colours and sizes, playing in the dust. Many curs sunned themselves among heaps ofrubbish, and took not the trouble to growl at me. Then I came out upona highroad, and turned my face towards the city lying under a crudesunshine, and in a ring of metallic vibrations. 

Better houses with plastered fronts washed yellow or blue, and evenpinky red, alternated with tumble-down wooden structures. A crenellatedsquat gateway faced me with a carved shield of stone above the opengloom. A young smooth-faced mulatto, in some sort of dirty uniform, butwearing new straw slippers with blue silk rosettes over his naked feet, lounged cross-legged at the door of a kind of guardroom. He held a bigcigar tilted up between his teeth, and ogled me, like a woman, out ofthe corners of his languishing eyes. He said not a word. 

Fortunately my face had tanned to a dark hue. Enrico's clothes wouldnot attract attention to me, of course. The light colour of my hair wasconcealed by the handkerchief bound under my hat; my footsteps echoedloudly under the vault, and I penetrated into the heart of the city. 

And directly, it seemed to me, I had stepped back three hundred years. Ihad never seen anything so old; this was the abandoned inheritance ofan adventurous race, that seemed to have thrown all its might, all itsvigour, and all its enthusiasm into one supreme effort of valour andgreed. I had read the history of the Spanish Conquest; and, looking atthese great walls of stone, I felt my heart moved by the same wonder, and by the same sadness. With what a fury of heroism and faith had thiswhole people flung itself upon the opulent mystery of the New World. Never had a nation clasped closer to its heart its dream of greatness, of glory, and of romance. There had been a moment in its destiny, whenit could believe that Heaven itself smiled upon its massacres. I walkedslowly, awed by the solitude. They had conquered and were no more, andthese wrought stones remained to testify gloomily to the death of theirsuccess. Heavy houses, immense walls, pointed arches of the doorways, cages of iron bars projecting balcony wise around each square window. And not a soul in sight, not a head looking out from these dwellings, these houses of men, these ancient abodes of hate, of base rivalries, of avarice, of ambitions--these old nests of love, these witnesses ofa great romance now past and gone below the horizon. They seemed toreturn mournfully my wondering glances; they seemed to look at me andsay, "What do you here? We have seen other men, heard other footsteps!"The peace of the cloister brooded over these aged blocks of masonry, stained with the green trails of mosses, infiltrated with shadows. 

At times the belfry of a church would volley a tremendous crash ofbronze into the narrow streets; and between whiles I could hear thefaint echoes of far-off chanting, the brassy distant gasps of trombones. A woman in black whisked round a corner, hurrying towards the route ofthe procession. I took the same direction. From a wine-shop, yawninglike a dirty cavern in the basement of a palatial old building, issuedsuddenly a brawny ruffian in rags, wiping his thick beard with theback of a hairy paw. He lurched a little, and began to walk before mehastily. I noticed the glitter of a gold earring in the lobe of his hugeear. His cloak was frayed at the bottom into a perfect fringe and, as heflung it about, he showed a good deal of naked skin under it. His calveswere bandaged crosswise; his peaked hat seemed to have been trodden uponin filth before he had put it on his head. Suddenly I stopped short. A_Lugareño_!

We were then in the empty part of a narrow street, whose lower endwas packed, close with a crowd viewing the procession which was filingslowly past, along the wide thoroughfare. It was too late for me to goback. Moreover, the ruffian paid no attention to me. It was best togo on. The people, packed between the houses with their backs to us, blocked our way. I had to wait. 

He took his position near me in the rear of the last rank of the crowd. He must have been inclined to repentance in his cups, because he beganto mumble and beat his breast. Other people in the crowd were alsobeating their breasts. In front of me I had the façade of a buildingwhich, according to the little plan of my route Sebright drew for me, was the Palace of Justice. It had a peristyle of ugly columns at the topof a flight of steps. A cordon of infantry kept the roadway clear. Thesinging went on without interruption; and I saw tall saints of wood, gilt and painted red and blue, pass, borne shoulder-high, swaying andpitching above the heads of the crowd like the masts of boats in aseaway. Crucifixes were carried, flashing in the sun; an enormousMadonna, which must have weighed half a ton, tottered across my line ofsight, dressed up in gold brocade and with a wreath of paper roses onher head. A military band sent a hurricane blast of brasses as itwent by. Then all was still at once, except the silvery tinkling ofhand-bells. The people before me fell on their knees together and leftme standing up alone. 

As a matter of fact I had been caught gaping at the ceremony quite newto me, and had not expected a move of that sort. The ruffian kneelingwithin a foot of me thumped and bellowed in an ecstasy of piety. As tome, I own I stood there looking with impatience at a passing canopy thatseemed all gold, with three priests in gorgeous capes walking slowlyunder it, and I absolutely forgot to take off my hat. The beardedruffian looked up from the midst of his penitential exercises, andbefore I realized I was outraging his or anybody else's feelings, leapedup with a yell, "Thou sacrilegious infidel, " and sent my hat flying offmy head. 

Just then the band crashed again, the bells pealed out, and no one heardhis shout. With one blow of my fist I sent him staggering backwards. Theprocession had passed; people were rising from their knees and pouringout of the narrow street. Swearing, he fumbled under his cloak; Iwatched him narrowly; but in a moment he sprang away and lost himselfamongst the moving crowd. I picked up my hat. 

For a time I stood very uneasy, and then retreated under a doorway. Nothing happened, and I was anxious to get on. It was possible tocross the wide street now. That _Lugareño_ did not know me. He was a_Lugareño_, though. No doubt about it. I would make a dash now; butfirst I stole a hasty glance at the plan of my route which I kept in thehollow of my palm. 

"Señor, " said a voice. I lifted my head. 

An elderly man in black, with a white moustache and imperial, stoodbefore me. The ruffian was stalking up to his side, and four soldierswith an officer were coming behind. I took in the whole disaster at aglance. 

"The Señor is no doubt a foreigner--perhaps an Englishman, " said theofficial in black. He had a lace collar, a chain on his neck, velvetbreeches, a well-turned leg in black stockings. His voice was soft. 

I was so disconcerted that I nodded at him. 

"The Señor is young and inconsiderate. Religious feelings ought to berespected. " The official in black was addressing me in sad and measuredtones. "This good Catholic, " he continued, eying the bearded ruffiandubiously, "has made a formal statement to me of your impiousdemonstration. "

What a fatal accident, I thought, appalled; but I tried to explain thematter. I expressed regret. The other gazed at me benevolently. 

"Nevertheless, Señor, pray follow me. Even for your own safety. You mustgive some account of yourself. "

This I was firmly resolved not to give. But the _Lugareño_ had beengoing through a pantomime of scrutinizing my person. He crouched up, stepped back, then to one side. 

"This worthy man, " began the official in black, "complains of yourviolence, too. .. . "

"This worthy man, " I shouted stupidly, "is a pirate. He is a Rio Medio_Lugareño_. He is a criminal. "

The official seemed astounded, and I saw my idiotic mistake at once--toolate!

"Strange, " he murmured, and, at the same time, the ruffianly wretchbegan to shout:

"It is he! The traitor! The heretic! I recognize him!"

"Peace, peace!" said the man in black. 

"I demand to be taken before the Juez Don Patricio for a deposition, "shrieked the _Lugareño_. A crowd was beginning to collect. 

The official and the officer exchanged consulting glances. At a wordfrom the latter, the soldiers closed upon me. 

I felt utterly overcome, as if the earth had crumbled under my feet, andthe heavens had been rent in twain. 

I walked between my captors across the street amongst hooting knots ofpeople, and up the steps of the portico, as if in a frightful dream. 

In the gloomy, chilly hall they made me wait. A soldier stood on eachside of me, and there, absolutely before my eyes on a little table, reposed Mrs. Williams' shawl and Sebright's cap. This was the very hallof the Palace of Justice of which Sebright had spoken. It was more thanever like an absurd dream, now. But I had the leisure to collect mywits. I could not claim the Consul's protection simply because I shouldhave to give him a truthful account of myself, and that would meangiving up Seraphina. The Consul could not protect her. But the _Lion_would sail on the morrow. Sebright would understand it if Williamsdid not. I trusted Sebright's sagacity. Yes, she would sail tomorrowevening. A day and a half. If I could only keep the knowledge ofSeraphina from O'Brien till then--she was safe, and I should be safe, too, for my lips would be unsealed. I could claim the protection of myConsul and proclaim the villainy of the _Juez_. 

"Go in there now, Señor, to be confronted with your accuser, " said theofficial in black, appearing before me. He pointed at a small doorto the left. My heart was beating steadily. I felt a sort of intrepidresignation. 

PART FIFTH -- THE LOT OF MAN

CHAPTER ONE

"Why have I been brought here, your worships?" I asked, with a greatdeal of firmness. 

There were two figures in black, the one beside, the other behind alarge black table. I was placed in front of them, between two soldiers, in the centre of a large, gaunt room, with bare, dirty walls, and thearms of Spain above the judge's seat. 

"You are before the _Juez de la Primiera Instancia_, " said the man inblack beside the table. He wore a large and shadowy tricorn. "Be silent, and respect the procedure. "

It was, without doubt, excellent advice. He whispered some words in theear of the Judge of the First Instance. It was plain enough to me thatthe judge was a quite inferior official, who merely decided whetherthere were any case against the accused; he had, even to his clerk, anair of timidity, of doubt. 

I said, "But I insist on knowing. .. . "

The clerk said, "In good time. .. . " And then, in the same tone ofdisinterested official routine, he spoke to the _Lugareño_, who, frombeside the door, rolled very frightened eyes from the judges and theclerk to myself and the soldiers--"Advance. "

The judge, in a hurried, perfunctory voice, put questions to the_Lugareño_; the clerk scratched with a large quill on a sheet of paper. 

"Where do you come from?"

"The town of Rio Medio, Excellency. "

"Of what occupation?"

"Excellency--a few goats. .. . "

"Why are you here?"

"My daughter, Excellency, married Pepe of the posada in the Calle. .. . "

The judge said, "Yes, yes, " with an unsanguine impatience. The_Lugareño's_ dirty hands jumped nervously on the large rim of his limphat. 

"You lodge a complaint against the senor there. "

The clerk pointed the end of his quill towards me. 

"I? God forbid, Excellency, " the _Lugareño_ bleated. "The _Alguazil_ ofthe Criminal Court instructed me to be watchful. 

"You lodge an information, then?" the _juez_ said. 

"Maybe it is an information, Excellency, " the _Lugareño_ answered, "asregards the senor there. "

The _Alguazil_ of the Criminal Court had told him, and many other menof Rio Medio, to be on the watch for me, "undoubtedly touching what hadhappened, as all the world knew, in Rio Medio. "

He looked me full in the face with stupid insolence, and said:

"At first I much doubted, for all the world said this man wasdead--though others said worse things. Perhaps, who knows?"

He had seen me, he said, many times in Rio Medio, outside the Casa; onthe balcony of the Casa, too. And he was sure that I was a heretic andan evil person. 

It suddenly struck me that this man--I was undoubtedly familiar with hisface--must be the lieutenant of Manuel-del-Popolo, his boon companion. Without doubt, he had seen me on the balcony of the Casa. 

He had gained a lot of assurance from the conciliatory manner of the_Juez_, and said suddenly, in a tentative way:

"An evil person; a heretic? Who knows? Perhaps it was he who incitedsome people there to murder his señoria, the illustrious Don. "

I said almost contemptuously, "Surely the charge against me is mostabsurd? Everyone knows who I am. "

The old judge made a gentle, tired motion with his hand. 

"Señor, " he said, "there is no charge against you--except that noone knows who you are. You were in a place where very lamentableand inexplicable things happened; you are now in Havana: you have nopassport. I beg of you to remain calm. These things are all in order. "

I hadn't any doubt that, as far as he knew, he was speaking the truth. He was a man, very evidently, of a weary and naïve simplicity. Perhapsit was really true--that I should only have to explain; perhaps it wasall over. 

O'Brien came into the room with the casual step of an official from anoffice entering another's room. 

It was as if seeing me were a thing that he very much disliked--thathe came because he wanted to satisfy himself of my existence, of myidentity, and my being alone. The slow stare that he gave me did notmitigate the leisureliness of his entry. He walked behind the table; thejudge rose with immense deference; with his eternal smile, and noword spoken, he motioned the judge to resume the examination; he stoodlooking at the clerk's notes meditatively, the smile still round lipsthat had a nervous tremble, and eyes that had dark marks beneath them. He seemed as if he were still smiling just after having been violentlyshaken. 

The judge went on examining the _Lugareño_. 

"Do you know whence the señor came?"

"Excellency, Excellency. .. . " The man stuttered, his eyes on O'Brien'sface. 

"Nor how long he was in the town of Rio Medio?" the judge went on. 

O'Brien suddenly drooped towards his ear. "All those things are known, senor, my colleague, " he said, and began to whisper. 

The old judge showed signs of very naïve astonishment and joy. 

"Is it possible?" he exclaimed. "This man? He is very young to havecommitted such crimes. "

The clerk hurriedly left the room. He returned with many papers. O'Brien, leaning over the judge's shoulder, emphasized words with onefinger. What new villainies could O'Brien be meditating? It wasn'tpossibly the _Lugareño's_ suggestion that I had lured men to murder DonBalthasar? Was it merely that I had infringed some law in carrying offSeraphina?

The old judge said, "How lucky, Don Patricio! We may now satisfy theEnglish admiral. What good fortune!"

He suddenly sat straight in his chair; O'Brien behind him scrutinized myface--to see how I should bear what was coming. 

"What is your name?" the judge asked peremptorily. 

I said, "Juan--John Kemp. I am of noble English family; I am well enoughknown. Ask the Señor O'Brien. "

On O'Brien's shaken face the smile hardened. 

"I heard that in Rio Medio the senor was called. .. Was called. .. " Hepaused and appealed to the _Lugareño_. 

"What was he called--the _capataz_ the man who led the picaroons?"

The _Lugareño_ stammered, "Nikola. .. Nikola el Escoces, Señor DonPatricio. "

"You hear?" O'Brien asked the judge. "This villager identifies the man. "

"Undoubtedly--undoubtedly, " the _Juez_ said. "We need no moreevidence. .. . You, Señor, have seen this villain in Rio Medio, thisvillager identifies him by name. "

I said, "This is absurd. A hundred witnesses can say that I am JohnKemp. .. . "

"That may be true, " the _Juez_ said dryly, and then to his clerk:

"Write here, 'John Kemp, of noble British family, called, on the sceneof his crimes, Nikola el Escoces, otherwise El Demonio. '"

I shrugged my shoulders. I did not, at the moment, realize to what thisall tended. 

The judge said to the clerk, "Read the Act of Accusation. Read here. .. . "He was pointing to a paragraph of the papers the clerk had brought in. They were the Act of Accusation, prepared long before, against the manNichols. 

This particular villainy suddenly became grotesquely and portentouslyplain. The clerk read an appalling catalogue of sordid crimes, workinginto each other like kneaded dough--the testimony of witnesses who hadsigned the record. Nikola had looted fourteen ships, and had apparentlymurdered twenty-two people with his own hand--two of them women--andthere was the affair of Rowley's boats. "The pinnace, " the clerk read, "of the British came within ten yards. The said Nikola then exclaimed, 'Curse the bloodthirsty hounds, ' and fired the grapeshot into the boat. Seven were killed by that discharge. This I saw with my own eyes. .. . Signed, Isidoro Alemanno. " And another swore, "The said Nikola wasbelow, but he came running up, and with one blow of his knife severedthe throat of the man who was kneeling on the deck. .. . "

There was no doubt that Nikola had committed these crimes; that thewitnesses had sworn to them and signed the deposition. .. . The old judgehad evidently never seen him, and now O'Brien and the _Lugareño_ hadsworn that I was Nikola el Escoces, alias El Demonio. 

My first impulse was to shout with rage; but I checked it because I knewI should be silenced. I said:

"I am not Nikola el Escoces. That I can easily prove. "

The Judge of the First Instance shrugged his shoulders and looked, withimplicit trust, up into O'Brien's face. 

"That man, " I pointed at the _Lugareño_, "is a pirate. And, what ismore, he is in the pay of the Señor Juez O'Brien. He was the lieutenantof a man called Manuel-del-Popolo, who commanded the _Lugareños_ afterNikola left Rio Medio. "

"You know very much about the pirates, " the _Juez_ said, with thesardonic air of a very stupid man. "Without doubt you were intimate withthem. I sign now your order for committal to the _carcel_ of the MarineCourt. "

I said, "But I tell you I am not Nikola. .. . "

The _Juez_ said impassively, "You pass out of my hands into those of theMarine Court. I am satisfied that you are a person deserving of a trial. That is the limit of my responsibility. "

I shouted then, "But I tell you this O'Brien is my personal enemy. "

The old man smiled acidly. 

"The señor need fear nothing of our courts. He will be handed over tohis own countrymen. Without doubt of them he will obtain justice. " Hesigned to the _Lugareño_ to go, and rose, gathering up his papers;he bowed to O'Brien. "I leave the criminal at the disposal of yourworship, " he said, and went out with his clerk. 

O'Brien sent out the two soldiers after him, and stood there alone. Hehad never been so near his death. But for sheer curiosity, for my sheerdesire to know what he _could_ say, I would have smashed in his brainswith the clerk's stool. I was going to do it; I made one step towardsthe stool. Then I saw that he was crying. 

"The curse--the curse of Cromwell on you, " he sobbed suddenly. "You sendme back to hell again. " He writhed his whole body. "Sorrow!" he said, "Iknow it. But what's this? What's _this?_"

The many reasons he had for sorrow flashed on me like a procession ofsombre images. 

"Dead and done with a man can bear, " he muttered. "But this--Not toknow--perhaps alive--perhaps hidden--She may be dead. .. . " With a changelike a flash he was commanding me. 

"Tell me how you escaped. "

I had a vague inspiration of the truth. 

"You aren't fit for a decent man's speaking to, " I said. 

"You let her drown. "

It gave me suddenly the measure of his ignorance; he did not knowanything--nothing. His hell was uncertainty. Well, let him stay there. 

"Where is she?" he said. "Where is she?"

"Where she's no need to fear you, " I answered. 

He had a sudden convulsive gesture, as if searching for a weapon. 

"If you'll tell me she's alive. .. " he began. 

"Oh, I'm not dead, " I answered. 

"Never a drowned puppy was more, " he said, with a flash of vivacity. "You hang here--for murder--or in England for piracy. "

"Then I've little to want to live for, " I sneered at him. 

"You let her drown, " he said. "You took her from that house, a younggirl, in a little boat. And you can hold up your head. "

"I was trying to save her from you, " I answered. 

"By God, " he said. "These English--I've seen them, spit the child on themother's breast. I've seen them set fire to the thatch of the widow andchildless. But this. .. . But this. .. . I can save you, I tell you. "

"You can't make me go through worse than I've borne, " I answered. Sorrowand all he might wish on my head, my life was too precious to him till Ispoke. I wasn't going to speak. 

"I'll search every ship in the harbour, " he said passionately. 

"Do, " I said. "Bring your _Lugareños_ to the task. "

Upon the whole, I wasn't much afraid. Unless he got definite evidence hecouldn't--in the face of the consul's protests, and the presence of theadmiral--touch the _Lion_ again. He fixed his eyes intently upon me. 

"You came in the American brigantine, " he said. "It's known you landedin her boat. "

I didn't answer him; it was plain enough that the _drogher's_ arrivalhad either not been reported to him, or it had been searched in vain. 

"In her boat, " he repeated. "I tell you I know she is not dead; evenyou, an Englishman, must have a different face if she were. "

"I don't at least ask you for life, " I said, "to enjoy with her. "

"She's alive, " he said. "Alive! As for where, it matters little. I'llsearch every inch of the island, every road, every _hacienda_. You don'trealize my power. "

"Then search the bottom of the sea, " I shouted. 

"Let's look at the matter in the right light. "

He had mastered his grief, his incertitude. He was himself again, andthe smile had returned--as if at the moment he forced his features totheir natural lines. 

"Send one of your friars to heaven--you'll never go there yourself tomeet her. "

"If you will tell me she's alive, I'll save you. "

I made a mute, obstinate gesture. 

"If she's alive, and you don't tell me, I can't but find her. And I'llmake you know the agonies of suspense--a long way from here. "

I was silent. 

"If she's dead, and you'll tell me, I'll save you some trouble. If she'sdead and you don't, you'll have your own remorse and the rest, too. "

I said, "You're too Irish mysterious for me to understand. But you've achoice of four evils for me--choose yourself. "

He continued with a quivering, taut good-humour: "Prove to me she'sdead, and I'll let you die sharply and mercifully. "

"You won't believe!" I said; but he took no notice. 

"I tell you plainly, " he smiled. "If we find. .. If we find her dearbody--and I can't help; but I've men on the watch all along theshores--I'll give you up to your admiral for a pirate. You'll havea long slow agony of a trial; I know what English justice is. And adisgraceful felon's death. "

I was thinking that, in any case, a day or so might be gained, the_Lion_ would be gone; they could not touch her while the flagshipremained outside. I certainly didn't want to be given up to the admiral;I might explain the mistaken identity. But there was the charge oftreason in Jamaica. I said:

"I only ask to be given up; but you daren't do it for your own credit. Ican show you up. "

He said, "Make no mistake! If he gets you, he'll hang you. He's goinghome in disgrace. Your whole blundering Government will work to hangyou. "

"They know pretty well, " I answered, "that there are queer doings inHavana. I promise you, I'll clear things up. I know too much. .. . "

He said, with a sudden, intense note of passion, "Only tell me where hergrave is, I'll let you go free. You couldn't, you dare not, dastard thatyou are, go away from where she died--without. .. Without making sure. "

"Then search all the new graves in the island, " I said, "I'll tell younothing. .. . Nothing!"

He came at me again and again, but I never spoke after that. He made allthe issues clearer and clearer--his own side involuntarily and all thegriefs I had to expect. As for him, he dared not kill me--and he darednot give me up to the admiral. In his suspense, since, for him, I wasthe only person in the world who knew Seraphina's fate, he dared not letme out of his grip. And all the while he had me he must keep the admiralthere, waiting for the surrender either of myself or of some other poordevil whom he might palm off as Nikola el Escoces. While the admiral wasthere the _Lion_ was pretty safe from molestation, and she would sailpretty soon. 

At the same time, except for the momentary sheer joy of tormenting aman whom I couldn't help regarding as a devil, I had more than enough tofear. I had suffered too much; I wanted rest, woman's love, slackeningoff. And here was another endless coil--endless. If it didn't end in aknife in the back, he might keep me for ages in Havana; or he mightget me sent to England, where it would take months, an endless time, toprove merely that I wasn't Nikola el Escoces. I should prove it; but, in the meantime, what would become of Sera-phina? Would she follow me toEngland? Would she even know that I had gone there? Or would she thinkme dead and die herself? O'Brien knew nothing; his spies might report ahundred uncertainties. He was standing rigidly still now, as if afraidto move for fear of breaking down. He said suddenly:

"You came in some ship; you can't deceive me, I shall have them allsearched again. "

I said desperately, "Search and be damned--whatever ships you like. "

"You cold, pitiless, English scoundrel, " he shrieked suddenly. Thebreaking down of his restraint had let him go right into madness. "Youhave murdered her. You cared nothing; you came from nowhere. A beggarlyfool, too stupid to be even an adventurer. A miserable blunderer, comingin blind; coming out blind; and leaving ruin and worse than hell. Whatgood have you done yourself? What could you? What did you see? What didyou hope?. .. Sorrow? Ruin? Death? I am acquainted with them. It is inthe blood; 'tis in the tone; in the entrails of us, in our mother'smilk. Your accursed land has brought always that on our own dear andsorrowful country. .. . You waste, you ruin, you spoil. What for?. .. Tellme what for? Tell me? Tell me? What did you gain? What will you evergain? An unending curse!. .. But, ah, ye've no souls. "

He called very loudly, as if with a passionate relief, his voice givinglife to an unsuspected, misgiving echo:

"Guards! Soldiers!. .. You shall be shot, now!"

He was going to cut the knot that way. Two soldiers pushed the doornoisily open, their muskets advanced. He took no notice of them; andthey retained an attitude of military stupidity, their eyes upon him. Hewhispered:

"No, no! Not yet!"

Then he looked at me searchingly, as if he still hoped to get somecertainty from my face, some inkling, perhaps some inspiration of whatwould persuade me to speak. Then he shook his wrists violently, as if infear of himself. 

"Take him away, " he said. "Away! Out of reach of my hands. Out of reachof my hands. "

I was trembling a good deal; when the soldiers entered I thought I hadgot to my last minute. But, as it was, he had not learnt a thingfrom me. Not a thing. And I did not see where else he could go forinformation. 

CHAPTER TWO

The entrance to the common prison of Havana was a sort of loftytunnel, finished by great, iron-rusted, wooden gates. A civil guard wasexhibiting the judge's warrant for my committal to a white-haired man, with a red face and blue eyes, that seemed to look through tumbledbushes of silver eyebrows--the _alcayde_ of the prison. He bowed, andrattled two farcically large keys. A practicable postern was ajar on theyellow wood of the studded gates. It was as if it afforded a glimpseof the other side of the world. The venerable turnkey, a gnome ina steeple-crowned hat, protruded a blood-red hand backwards in thedirection of the postern. 

"Señor Caballero, " he croaked, "I pray you to consider this house yourown. My servants are yours. "

Within was a gravel yard, shut in by portentous lead-white house-sideswith black window holes. Under each row of windows was a vast vaultedtunnel, caged with iron bars, for all the world like beasts' dens. Itbeing day, the beasts were out and lounging about the _patio_. They hadan effect of infinite tranquillity, as if they were ladies and gentlemenparading in a Sunday avenue. Perhaps twenty of them, in snowy whiteshirts and black velvet knee-breeches, strutted like pigeons in a knot, some with one woman on the arm, some with two. Bundles of variegatedrags lay against the walls, as if they were sweepings. Well, they werethe sweepings of Havana jail. The men in white and black were the greatthieves. .. And there were children, too--the place was the cityorphanage. For the fifth part of a second my advent made no difference. Then, at the far end, one of the men in black and white separatedhimself, and came swiftly to me across the sunny _patio_. The othersfollowed slowly, with pea-fowl steps, their women hanging to themand whispering. The bundles of rags rose up towards me; others slunkfurtively out of the barred dens. The man who was approaching had thehead of a Julius Cæsar of fifty, for all the world as if he had stolen abust and endowed it with yellow skin and stubby gray and silver hair. He saluted me with intense gravity and an imperial glance of yelloweyes along a hooked nose. His linen was the most spotless broidered andembossed stuff; îrom the crimson scarf round his waist protruded theshagreen and silver handle of a long dagger. He said:

"Señor, I have the honour to salute you. I am Crisostomo Garcia. I askthe courtesy of your trousers. "

I did not answer him. I did not see what he wanted with my trousers, which weren't anyway as valuable as his own. The others were closingin on me like a solid wall. I leant back against the gate; I was notfrightened, but I was mightily excited. The man like Cæsar lookedfiercely at me, swayed a long way back on his haunches, and imperiouslymotioned the crowd to recede. 

"Señor Inglesito, " he said, "the gift I have the honour to ask of you isthe price of my protection. Without it these, my brothers, will tear youlimb from limb, there will nothing of you remain. "

His brothers set up a stealthy, sinister growl, that went round amongthe heads like the mutter of an obscene echo among the mountain-tops. Iwondered whether this, perhaps, was the man who, O'Brien said, wouldput a knife in my back. I hadn't any knife; I might knock the fellow'steeth down his throat, though. 

The _alcayde_ thrust his immense hat, blood-red face, and long, ragged, silver locks out of the little door. His features were convulsed withindignation. He had been whispering with the Civil Guard. 

"Are you mad, gentlemen?" he said. "Do you wish to visit hell beforeyour times? Do you know who the senor is? Did you ever hear of Carlos elDemonio? This is the _Inglesito_ of Rio Medio!"

It was plain that my deeds, such as they were, reported by O'Brienspies, by the _Lugareños_, by all sorts of credulous gossipers, had gotme the devil of a reputation in the _patio_ of the jail. Men detachedthemselves from the crowd, and went running about to announce myarrival. The _alcayde_ drew his long body into the _patio_, and turnedto lock the little door with an immense key. In the crowd all sortsof little movements happened. Women crossed themselves, and furtivelythrust pairs of crooked, skinny, brown, black-nailed fingers in mydirection. The man like Cæsar said:

"I ask your pardon, Señor Caballero. I did not know. How could I tell?You are free of all the _patios_ in this land. "

The tall _alcayde_ finished grinding the immense key in the lock, andtouched me on the arm. 

"If the senor will follow me, " he said. "I will do the honours of thishumble mansion, and indicate a choice of rooms where he may be free fromthe visits of these gentry. "

We went up steps, and through long, shadowy corridors, with here andthere a dark, lounging figure, like a stag seen in the dim aisles of awood. The _alcayde_ threw open a door. 

The room was like a blazing oblong-box, filled with light, but withoutwindow or chimney. Two men were fencing in the illumination of sometwenty candles stuck all round the mildewed white walls on lumps ofclay. There was a blaze of silver things, like an altar of a wealthychurch, from a black, carved table in the far corner. The two men, inshirts and breeches, revolved round each other, their rapiers clinking, their left arms scarved, holding buttoned daggers. The _alcayde_proclaimed:

"Don Vincente Salazar, I have the honour to announce an English senor. "

The man with his face to me tossed his rapier impatiently into a corner. He was a plump, dark Cuban, with a brooding truculence. The other facedround quickly. His cheeks shone in the candle-light like polished yellowleather, his eyes were narrow slits, his face lugubrious. He scrutinizedme intently, then drawled:

"My! You?. .. Hang me if I didn't think it would be you!"

He had the air of surveying a monstrosity, and pulled the neck of hisdirty print shirt open, panting. He slouched out into the corridor, andbegan whispering eagerly to the _alcayde_. The little Cuban glowered atme; I said I had the honour to salute him. 

He muttered something contemptuous between his teeth. Well, if he didn'twant to talk to me, I didn't want to talk to him. It had struck me thatthe tall, sallow man was undoubtedly the second mate of the _Thames_. Nicholas, the real Nikola el Escoces! The Cuban grumbled suddenly:

"You, Señor, are without doubt one of the spies of that friend of thepriests, that O'Brien. Tell him to beware--that I bid him beware. I, DonVincente Salazar de Valdepefias y Forli y. .. "

I remembered the name; he was once the suitor of Seraphina--the manO'Brien had put out of the way. He continued with a grotesque frown ofportentous significance:

"To-morrow I leave this place. And your compatriot is very much afraid, Señor. Let him fear! Let him fear! But a thousand spies should not savehim. "

The tall _alcayde_ came hurriedly back and stood bowing between us. Heapologized abjectly to the Cuban for intruding me upon him. But the roomwas the best in the place at the disposal of the prisoners of the JuezO'Brien. And I was a noted _caballero_. Heaven knows what I had not donein Rio Medio. Burnt, slain, ravished. .. . The Señor Juez was understoodto be much incensed against me. The gloomy Cuban at once rushed upon me, as if he would have taken me into his arms. 

"The _Inglesito_ of Rio Medio!" he said. "Ha, ha! Much have I heard ofyou. Much of the senor's valiance! Many tales! That foul eater of thecarrion of the priests wishes your life! Ah, but let him beware! I shallsave you, Señor--I, Don Vincente Salazar. "

He presented me with the room--a remarkably bare place but for hisproperties: silver branch candlesticks, a silver chafing-dish as largeas a basin. They might have been chased by Cellini--one used to findthings like that in Cuba in those days, and Salazar was the personto have them. Afterwards, at the time of the first insurrection, hiseight-mule harness was sold for four thousand pounds in Paris--by reasonof the gold and pearls upon it. The atmosphere, he explained, was fetid, but his man was coming to burn sandal-wood and beat the air with fans. 

"And to-morrow!" he said, his eyes rolling. Suddenly he stopped. "Señor, " he said, "is it true that my venerated friend, my more thanfather, has been murdered--at the instigation of that fiend? Is it truethat the senorita has disappeared? These tales are told. "

I said it was very true. 

"They shall be avenged, " he declared, "to-morrow! I shall seek out thesenorita. I shall find her. I shall find her! For me she was destined bymy venerable friend. "

He snatched a black velvet jacket from the table and put it on. 

"Afterwards, Señor, you shall relate. Have no fear. I shall save you. Ishall save all men oppressed by this scourge of the land. For the momentafford me the opportunity to meditate. " He crossed his arms, and droppedhis round head. "Alas, yes!" he meditated. 

Suddenly he waved towards the door. "Señor, " he said swiftly, "I musthave air; I stifle. Come with me to the corridor. .. . "

He went towards the window giving on to the _patio_; he stood in theshadow, his arms folded, his head hanging dejectedly. At the moment itgrew suddenly dark, as if a veil had been thrown over a lamp. The sunhad set outside the walls. A drum began to beat. Down below in theobscurity the crowd separated into three strings and moved slowlytowards the barren tunnels. Under our feet the white shirts disappeared;the ragged crowd gravitated to the left; the small children strung intothe square cage-door. The drum beat again and the crowd hurried. Thenthere was a clang of closing grilles and lights began to show behind thebars from deep recesses. In a little time there was a repulsive hash ofheads and limbs to be seen under the arches vanishing a long way within, and a little light washed across the gravel of the _patio_ from within. 

"Señor, " the Cuban said suddenly, "I will pronounce his panegyric. He was a man of a great gentleness, of an inevitable nobility, of aninvariable courtesy. Where, in this degenerate age, shall we find thelike!" He stopped to breathe a sound of intense exasperation. 

"When I think of these Irish, . .. " he said. "Of that O'Brien. .. . "A servant was arranging the shining room that we had left. Salazarinterrupted himself to give some orders about a banquet, then returnedto me. "I tell you I am here for introducing my knife to the spine ofsome sort of Madrid _embustero_, a man who was insolent to my _amiga_Clara. Do you believe that for that this O'Brien, by the influence ofthe priests whose soles he licks with his tongue, has had me inclosedfor many months? Because he feared me! Aha! I was about to expose him tothe noble don who is now dead! I was about to wed the Señorita whohas disappeared. But to-morrow. .. I shall expose his intrigue to theCaptain-General. You, Señor, shall be my witness! I extend my protectionto you. .. . " He crossed his arms and spoke with much deliberation. "Señor, this Irishman incommodes me, Don Vincente Salazar de Valdepeñasy Forli. .. . " He nodded his head expressively. "Señor, we offered theseIrish the shelter of our robe for that your Government was makingmartyrs of them who were good Christians, and it behoves us to act indespite of your Government, who are heretics and not to be toleratedupon God's Christian earth. But, Señor, if they incommoded yourGovernment as they do us, I do not wonder that there was a desire toremove them. Señor, the life of that man is not worth the price of eightmules, which is the price I have paid for my release. I might walk freeat this moment, but it is not fitting that I should slink away undercover of darkness. I shall go out in the daylight with my carriage. AndI will have an offering to show my friends who, like me, are incommodedby this. .. . " The man was a monomaniac; but it struck me that, if I hadbeen O'Brien, I should have felt uncomfortable. 

In the dark of the corridor a long shape appeared, lounging. The Cubanbeside me started hospitably forward. 

"_Vamos_, " he said briskly; "to the banquet. .. . " He waved his handtowards the shining door and stood aside. We entered. 

The other man was undoubtedly the Nova Scotian mate of the _Thames_, theman who had dissuaded me from following Carlos on the day we sailed intoKingston Harbour. He was chewing a toothpick, and at the ruminant motionof his knife-jaws I seemed to see him, sitting naked to the waist inhis bunk, instead of upright there in red trousers and a blue shirt--animmense lank-length of each. I pieced his history together in a sort offlash. He was the true Nikola el Escoces; his name was Nichols, and hecame from Nova Scotia. He had been the chief of O'Brien's _Lugareños_. He surveyed me now with a twinkle in his eyes, his yellow jaws asshiny-shaven as of old; his arms as much like a semaphore. He saidmockingly:

"So you went there, after all?"

But the Cuban was pressing us towards his banquet; there was _gaspacho_in silver plates, and a man in livery holding something in a napkin. Itworried me. We surveyed each other in silence. I wondered what Nicholsknew; what it would be safe to tell him; how much he could help me? Oneor other of these men undoubtedly might. The Cuban was an imbecile; buthe might have some influence--and if he really were going out on themorrow, and really did go to the Captain-General, he certainly couldfurther his own revenge on O'Brien by helping me. .. . But as forNichols. .. . 

Salazar began to tell a long, exaggerated story about his cook, whom hehad imported from Paris. 

"Think, " he said; "I bring the fool two thousand miles--and then--noteven able to begin on a land-crab. A fool!"

The Nova Scotian cast an uninterested side glance at him, and said inEnglish, which Salazar did not understand:

"So you went there, after all? And now _he's_ got you. " I did not answerhim. "I know all about you, " he added. 

"It's more than I do about you, " I said. 

He rose and suddenly jerked the door open, peered on each side of thecorridor, and then sat down again. 

"I'm not afraid to tell, " he said defiantly. "I'm not afraid ofanything. I'm safe. "

The Cuban said to me in Spanish: "This senor is my friend. Everyone whohates that devil is my friend. "

"I'm safe, " Nichols repeated. "I know too much about our friend theraparee. " He lowered his voice. "They say you're to be given up forpiracy, eh?" His eyes had an extraordinarily anxious leer. "You are now, eh? For how much? Can't you tell a man? We're in the same boat! I kinhelp you!"

Salazar accidentally knocked a silver goblet off the table and, at thesound, Nichols sprang half off his chair. He glared in a wild starearound him then grasped at a flagon of _aguardiente_ and drank. 

"I'm not afraid of any damn thing" he said. "I've got a hold on thatman. He dursen't give me up. I kin see! He's going to give you up andsay you're responsible for it all. "

"I don't know what he's going to do, " I answered. 

"Will you not, Señor, " Salazar said suddenly, "relate, if you canwithout distress, the heroic death of that venerated man?"

I glanced involuntarily at Nichols. "The distress, " I said, "would bevery great. I was Don Balthasar's kinsman. The Señor O'Brien had a greatfear of my influence in the Casa. It was in trying to take me awaythat Don Balthasar, who defended me, was slain by the _Lugareños_ ofO'Brien. "

Salazar said, "Aha! Aha! We are kindred spirits. Hated and loved by thesame souls. This fiend, Señor. And then. .. . "

"I escaped by sea--in an open boat, in the confusion. When I reachedHavana, the _Juez_ had me arrested. "

Salazar raised both hands; his gestures, made for large, grave men, werecomic in him. They reduced Spanish manners to absurdity. He said:

"That man dies. That man dies. To-morrow I go to the Captain-General. He shall hear this story of yours, Señor. He shall know of thesemachinations which bring honest men to this place. We are a band ofbrothers. .. . "

"That's what I say. " Nichols leered at me. "We're all in the same boat. "

I expect he noticed that I wasn't moved by his declaration. He said, still in English:

"Let us be open. Let's have a council of war. This O'Brien hates mebecause I wouldn't fire on my own countrymen. " He glanced furtively atme. "I wouldn't, " he asserted; "he wanted me to fire into their boats;but I wouldn't. Don't you believe the tales they tell about me! Theytell worse about you. Who says I would fire on my countrymen? Where'sthe man who says it?" He had been drinking more brandy and glaredferociously at me. "None of your tricks, my hearty, " he said. "None ofyour getting out and spreading tales. O'Brien's my friend; he'll nevergive me up. He dursen't. I know too much. You're a pirate! No doubt itwas you who fired into them boats. By God I'll be witness against you ifthey give me up. I'll show you up. "

All the while the little Cuban talked swiftly and with a saturnineenthusiasm. He passed the wine rapidly. 

"My own countrymen!" Nichols shouted. "Never! I shot a Yankeelieutenant--Allen he was--with my own hand. That's another thing. I'mnot a man to trifle with. No, sir. Don't you try it. .. . Why, I've papersthat would hang O'Brien. I sent them home to Halifax. I know a trickworth his. By God, let him try it! Let him only try it. He dursen't giveme up. .. . "

The man in livery came in to snuff the candles. Nichols sprang from hisseat in a panic and drew his knife with frantic haste. He continued, glaring at me from the wall, the knife in his hand:

"Don't you dream of tricks. I've cut more throats than you've kissedgals in your little life. "

Salazar himself drew an immense pointed knife with a shagreen hilt. Hekissed it rapturously. 

"Aha!. .. Aha!" he said, "bear this kiss into his ribs at the back. " Hiseyes glistened with this mania. "I swear it; when I next see this dog;this friend of the priests. " He threw the knife on the table. "Look, " hesaid, "was ever steel truer or more thirsty?"

"Don't you make no mistake, " Nichols continued to me. "Don't you thinkto presume. O'Brien's my friend. I'm here snug and out of the way of theold fool of an admiral. That's why he's kept waiting off the Morro. Whenhe goes, I walk out free. Don't you try to frighten me. I'm not a man tobe frightened. "

Salazar bubbled: "Ah, but now the wine flows and is red. We are a bandof brothers, each loving the other. Brothers, let us drink. "

The air of close confinement, the blaze, the feel of the jail, pressedupon me, and I felt sore, suddenly, at having eaten and drunk with thosetwo. The idea of Seraphina, asleep perhaps, crying perhaps, somethingpure and distant and very blissful, came in upon me irresistibly. 

The little Cuban said, "We have had a very delightful conversation. Itis very plain this O'Brien must die. "

I rose to my feet. "Gentlemen, " I said in Spanish, "I am very weary; Iwill go and sleep in the corridor. "

The Cuban sprang towards me with an immense anxiety of hospitableness. I was to sleep on his couch, the couch of cloth of gold. It wasimpossible, it was insulting, that I should think of sleeping in thecorridor. He thrust me gently down upon it, making with his plump handsthe motions of smoothing it to receive me. I lay down and turned my faceto the wall. 

It wasn't possible to sleep, even though the little Cuban, with a tendersolicitude, went round the walls blowing out the candles. He might beuseful to me, might really explain matters to the Captain-General, ormight even, as a last resource, take a letter from me to the BritishConsul. But I should have to be alone with him. Nichols was anabominable scoundrel; bloodthirsty to the defenceless; a liar; cravenbefore the ghost of a threat. No doubt O'Brien did not want to give himup. Perhaps he _had_ papers. And no doubt, once he could find a trace ofSeraphina's whereabouts, O'Brien would give me up. All I could do was tohope for a gain of time. And yet, if I gained time, it could only meanthat I should in the end be given up to the admiral. 

And Seraphina's whereabouts. It came over me lamentably that I myselfdid not know. The _Lion_ might have sailed. It was possible. She mightbe at sea. Then, perhaps, my only chance of ever seeing her again lay inmy being given up to the admiral, to stand in England a trial, perhapsfor piracy, perhaps for treason. I might meet her only in England, aftermany years of imprisonment. It wasn't possible. I would not believe inthe possibility. How I loved her! How wildly, how irrationally--thiswoman of another race, of another world, bound to me by sufferingstogether, by joys together. Irrationally! Looking at the matter now, the reason is plain enough. Before then I had not lived. I had onlywaited--for her and for what she stood for. It was in my blood, in myrace, in my tradition, in my training. We, all of us for generations, had made for efficiency, for drill, for restraint. Our Romance was justthis very Spanish contrast, this obliquity of vision, this slighttilt of the convex mirror that shaped the same world so differently toonlookers at different points of its circle. 

I could feel a little of it even then, when there was only the merestchance of my going back to England and getting back towards our oldposition on the rim of the mirror. The deviousness, the wayward passion, even the sempiternal abuses of the land were already beginning to takethe aspect of something like quaint impotence. It was charm that, now Iwas on the road away, was becoming apparent. The inconveniences of life, the physical discomforts, the smells of streets, the heat, dropped intothe background. I felt that I did not want to go away, irrevocably froma land sanctioned by her presence, her young life. I turned uneasilyto the other side. At the heavy black table, in the light of a singlecandle, the Cuban and the Nova Scotian were discussing, their headsclose together. 

"I tell you no, " Nichols was saying in a fluent, abominable, literaltranslation into Spanish. "Take the knife so. .. Thumb upwards. Stab downin the soft between the neck and the shoulder-blade. You get right intothe lungs with the point. I've tried it: ten times. Never stick theback. The chances are he moves, and you hit a bone. There are no bonesthere. It's the way they kill pigs in New Jersey. "

The Cuban bent his brows as if he were reflecting over a chessboard. "Ma. .. . " he pondered. His knife was lying on the table. He unsheathedit, then got up, and moved behind the seated Nova Scotian. 

"You say. .. There?" he asked, pressing his little finger at the base ofNichols' skinny column of a neck. "And then. .. " He measured the lengthof the knife on Nichols's back twice with elaborate care, breathingthrough his nostrils. Then he said with a convinced, musing air, "It istrue. It would go down into the lungs. "

"And there are arteries and things, " Nichols said. 

"Yes, yes, " the Cuban answered, sheathing the knife and thrusting itinto his belt. 

"With a knife that length it's perfect. " Nichols waved his shadowy handtowards Salazar's scarf. Salazar moved off a little. 

"I see the advantages, " he said. "No crying out, because of the blood inthe lungs. I thank yous Señor Escoces. "

Nichols rose, lurching to his full height, and looked in my direction. Iclosed my eyes. I did not wish him to talk to me. I heard him say:

"Well, _hasta mas ver_. I shall get away from here. Good-night. "

He swayed an immense shadow through the door. Salazar took the candleand followed him into the corridor. 

Yes, that was it, why she was so great a part, a whole wall, a wholebeam of my life's house. I saw her suddenly in the blackness, her fullred lips, her quivering nostrils, the curve of her breasts, her lithemovements from the hips, the way she set her feet down, the white flowerwaxen in the darkness of her hair, and the robin-wing flutter of herlids over her gray eyes when she smiled. I moved convulsively in myintense desire. I would have given my soul, my share of eternity, myhonour, only to see that flutter of the lids over the shining gray eyes. I never felt I was beneath the imponderable pressure of a prison's walltill then. She was infinite miles away; I could not even imagine whatinanimate things surrounded her. She must be talking to someone else;fluttering her lids like that. I recognized with a physical agony thatwas more than jealousy how slight was my hold upon her. It was not inher race, in her blood as in mine, to love me and my type. She had livedall her life in the middle of Romance, and the very fire and passionof her South must make me dim prose to her. I remember the flickerof Salazar's returning candle, cast in lines like an advancing scytheacross the two walls from the corridor. I slept. 

I had the feeling of appalled horror suddenly invading my sleep; a vastvoice seemed to be exclaiming:

"Tell me where she is!"

I looked at the glowing horn of a lanthorn. It was O'Brien who held it. He stood over me, very sombre. 

"Tell me where she is, " he said, the moment my eyes opened. 

I said, "She's. .. She's------I don't know. "

It appalls me even now to think how narrow was my escape. It was onlybecause I had gone to sleep in the thought that I did not know, that Ianswered that I did not know. Ah--he was a cunning devil! To suddenlywake one; to get one's thoughts before one had had time to think! I laylooking at him, shivering. I couldn't even see much of his face. 

"Where is she?" he said again. "Where? Dead? Dead? God have mercy onyour soul if the child is dead!"

I was still trembling. If I had told him!--I could hardly believe I hadnot. He continued bending over me with an attitude that hideously mockedsolicitude. 

"Where is she?" he asked again. 

"Ransack the island, " I said. He glared at me, lifting the lamp. "Thewhole earth, if you like. "

He ground his teeth, bending very low over me; then stood up, raisinghis head into the shadow above the lamp. 

"What do I care for all the admirals?" he was speaking to himself. "No ship shall leave Havana till. .. . " He groaned. I heard him slap hisforehead, and say distractedly, "But perhaps she is not in a ship. "

There was a silence in which I heard him breathe heavily, and then heamazed me by saying:

"Have pity. "

I laughed, lying on my back. "On you!"

He bent down. "Fool! on yourself. "

A vast and towering shadow ran along the wall. 

There wasn't a sound. The face of Salazar appeared behind him, and anuplifted hand grasping a knife. O'Brien saw the horror in my eyes. Igasped to him: "Look. .. . " and before he could move the knife went softlyhome between neck and shoulder. Salazar glided to the door and turned towave his hand at me. O'Brien's lips were pressed tightly together, thehandle of the knife was against his ear, the lanthorn hung at the end ofhis rigid arm for a moment. As he lowered it, the blood spurted fromhis shoulder as if from a burst stand-pipe, only black and warm. It fellover my face, over my hands, everywhere. For a minute of eternity hisagonized eyes searched my features, as if to discern whether I hadconnived, whether I condoned. 

I had started up, my face coming right against his. I felt an immensehorror. What did it mean? What had he done? He had been such a power forso long, so inevitably, over my whole life that I could not even beginto understand that this was not some new subtle villainy of his. Heshook his head slowly, his ear disturbing the knife. 

Then he turned jerkily on his heel, the lanthorn swinging round andleaving me in his shadow. There were ten paces to reach the door. Itwas like the finish of a race whether he would cover the remaining sevenafter the first three steps. The dangling lanthorn shed small patches oflight through the holes in the metal top, like sunlight through leaves, upon the gloom of the remote ceiling. At the fifth step he pressed hishand spasmodically to his mouth; at the sixth he wavered to one side. I made a sudden motion as if to save him from falling. He was dying!He was dying! I hardly realized what it meant. This immense weight wasbeing removed from me. I had no need to fear him any more. I couldn'tunderstand, I could only look. This was his passing. This. .. . 

He sank, knelt down, placing the Ian thorn on the floor. He covered hisface with his hands and began to cough incessantly, like a man dying ofconsumption. The glowing top of the lanthorn hissed and sputtered out inlittle sharp blows, like hammer strokes. .. Carlos had coughed like that. Carlos was dead. Now O'Brien! He was going. I should escape. It was allover. Was it all over? He bowed stiffly forward, placing his hands onthe stones, then lay over on his side with his face to the light, hiseyes glaring at it. I sat motionless, watching him. The lanthorn litthe carved leg of the black table and a dusty circle of the flags. The spurts of blood from his shoulder grew less long in answer to thepulsing of his heart; his fists unclenched, he drew his legs up tohis body, then sank down. His eyes looked suddenly at mine and, as thefeatures slowly relaxed, the smile seemed to come back, enigmatic, roundhis mouth. 

He was dead; he was gone; I was free! He would never know where she was;never! He had gone, with the question on his lips; with the agony ofuncertainty in his eyes. From the door came an immense, grotesque, andhorrible chuckle. 

"Aha!-Aha! I have saved you, Señor, I have protected you. We are asbrothers. "

Against the tenuous blue light of the dawn Salazar was gesticulating inthe doorway. I felt a sudden repulsion; a feeling of intense disgust. O'Brien lying there, I almost wished alive again--I wanted to havehim again, rather than that I should have been relieved of him by thatatrocious murder. I sat looking at both of them. 

Saved! By that lunatic? I suddenly appreciated the agony of mind thatalone could have brought O'Brien, the cautious, the all-seeing, intothis place--. To ask me a question that for him was answered now. Answered for him more than for me. 

Where was Seraphina? Where? How should I come to her? O'Brien was dead. And I. .. . Could I walk out of this place and go to her? O'Brien wasdead. But I. .. 

I suddenly realized that now I was the pirate Nikola el Escoces--thatnow he was no more there, nothing could save me from being handed overto the admiral. Nothing. 

Salazar outside the door began to call boastfully towards the sound ofapproaching footsteps. '

"Aha! Aha! Come all of you! See what I have done! Come, Señor Alcayde!Come, brave soldiers. .. "

In that way died this man whose passion had for so long hung over mylife like a shadow. Looking at the matter now, I am, perhaps, glad thathe fell neither by my hand nor in my quarrel. I assuredly had injuredhim the first; I had come upon his ground; I had thwarted him; I hadbeen a heavy weight at a time when his fortunes had been failing. Failing they undoubtedly were. He had run his course too far. 

And, if his death removed him out of my path, the legacy of his intriguecaused me suffering enough. Had he lived, there is no knowing what hemight have done. He was bound to deliver someone to the British--eithermyself or Nichols. Perhaps, at the last moment, he would have kept me inHavana. There is no saying. 

Undoubtedly he had not wished to deliver Nichols; either because hereally knew too much or because he had scruples. Nichols had certainlybeen faithful to him. And, with his fine irony, it was delightful to himto think that I should die a felon's death in England. For those reasonshe had identified me with Nikola el Escoces, intending to give upwhichever suited him at the last moment. 

Now that was settled for him and for me. The delivery was to takeplace at dawn, and O'Brien not to be found, the old Judge of the FirstInstance had been sent to identify the prisoner. He selected me, whom, of course, he recognized. There was no question of Nichols, who had beenimprisoned on a charge of theft trumped up by O'Brien. 

Salazar, whether he would have gone to the Captain-General or not, wasnow entirely useless. He was retained to answer the charge of murder. And to any protestations I could make, the old _Juez_ was entirely deaf. 

"The senor must make representations to his own authorities, " he said. "I have warrant for what I have done. "

It was impossible to expose O'Brien to him. The soldiers of the escort, in the dawn before the prison gates, simply laughed at me. 

They marched me down through the gray mists, to the water's edge. Twosoldiers held my arms; O'Brien's blood was drying on my face and on myclothes. I was, even to myself, a miserable object. Among the négresseson the slimy boat-steps a thick, short man was asking questions. Heopened amazed eyes at the sight of me. It was Williams--the _Lion_ wasnot yet gone then. If he spoke to me, or gave token of connection withSeraphina, the Spaniards would understand. They would take her from himcertainly; perhaps immure her in a convent. And now that I was boundirrevocably for England, she must go, too. He was shouldering his waytowards my guards. 

"Silence!" I shouted, without looking at him. "Go away, make sail. .. . Tell Sebright. .. . "

My guards seemed to think I had gone mad; they laid hands upon me. Ididn't struggle, and we passed down towards the landing steps, brushingWilliams aside. He stood perturbedly gazing after me; then I saw himasking questions of a civil guard. A man-of-war's boat, the ensigntrailing in the glassy water, the glazed hats of the seamen bobbing likeclockwork, was flying towards us. Here was England! Here was home! Ishould have to clear myself of felony, to strain every nerve and cheatthe gallows. If only Williams understood, if only he did not make a foolof himself. I couldn't see him any more; a jabbering crowd all roundus was being kept at a distance by the muskets of the soldiers. My onlychance was Sebright's intelligence. He might prevent Williams making afool of himself. The commander of the guard said to the lieutenant fromthe flagship, who had landed, attended by the master-at-arms:

"I have the honour to deliver to your worship's custody the prisonerpromised to his excellency the English admiral. Here are the papersdisclosing his crimes to the justice. I beg for a receipt. "

A shabby _escrivano_ from the prison advanced bowing, with an inkhorn, shaking a wet goose-quill. A _guardia civil_ offered his back. Thelieutenant signed a paper hastily, then looking hard at me, gave theorder:

"Master-at-arms, handcuff one of the prisoner's hands to your own wrist. He is a desperate character. "

CHAPTER THREE

The first decent word I had spoken to me after that for months camefrom my turnkey at Newgate. It was when he welcomed me back from myexamination before the Thames Court magistrate. The magistrate, abad-tempered man, snuffy, with red eyes, and the air of being a piece ofworn and dirty furniture of his court, had snapped at me when I tried tospeak:

"Keep your lies for the Admiralty Session. I've only time to commit you. Damn your Spaniards; why can't they translate their own papers;" hadsigned something with a squeaky quill, tossed it to his clerk, andgrunted, "Next case. "

I had gone back to Newgate. 

The turnkey, a man with the air of an innkeeper, bandy-legged, witha bulbous, purple-veined nose and watering eyes, slipped out of thegatehouse door, whilst the great, hollow-sounding gate still shookbehind me. He said:

"If you hurries up you'll see a bit of life. .. . Do you good. Condemnedsermon. Being preached in the chapel now; sheriffs and all. They swingtomorrow--three of them. Quick with the stumps. "

He hurried me over the desolate mossy-green cobbles of the greatsolitary yard into a square, tall, bare, whitewashed place. Alreadyfrom the outside one caught a droning voice. There might have been threehundred people there, boxed off in pews, with turnkeys at each end. A vast king's arms, a splash of red and blue gilt, sprawled above atwo-tiered pulpit that was like the trunk of a large broken tree. Theturnkey pulled my hat off, and nudged me into a box beside the door. 

"Kneel down, " he whispered hoarsely. 

I knelt. A man with a new wig was droning out words, waving his handsnow and then from the top of the tall pulpit. Beneath him a smaller manin an old wig was dozing, his head bent forward. The place was dirty, and ill-lighted by the tall, grimy windows, heavily barred. A pair ofcandles flickered beside the preacher's right arm. .. . 

"They that go down to the sea in ships, my poor brethren, " he droned, "lying under the shadow. .. "

He directed his hands towards a tall deal box painted black, isolated inthe centre of the lower floor. A man with a red head sat in it, his armsfolded; another had his arms covering his head, which leant abjectlyforward on the rail in front. There were large rusty gyves upon hiswrists. 

"But observe, my poor friends, " the chaplain droned on, "the psalmistsaith, 'At the last He shall bring them unto the desired haven. ' Now. .. "

The turnkey whispered suddenly into my ear: "Them's the condemned he'spreaching at, them in the black pew. See Roguey Cullen wink at the womanprisoners up there in the gallery. .. . Him with the red hair. .. . Allswings to-morrow. "

"After they have staggered and reeled to and fro, and been amazed. .. Observe. After they have been tempted; even after they have fallen. .. . "

The sheriffs had their eyes decorously closed. The clerk reached up frombelow the preacher, and snuffed one of the candles. The preacher pausedto rearrange his shining wig. Little clouds of powder flew out where hetouched it. He struck his purple velvet cushion, and continued:

"At the last, I say, He shall bring them to the haven they had desired. "

A jarring shriek rose out of the black pew, and an insensate janglingof irons rattled against the hollow wood. The ironed man, whose headhad been hidden, was writhing in an epileptic fit. The governor begansignalling to the jailers, and the whole dismal assembly rose to itsfeet, and craned to get a sight. The jailers began hurrying them out ofthe building. The redheaded man was crouching in the far corner of theblack box. 

The turnkey caught the end of my sleeve, and hurried me out of the door. 

"Come away, " he said. "Come out of it. .. . Damn my good nature. "

We went swiftly through the tall, gloomy, echoing stone passages. Allthe time there was the noise of the prisoners being marshalled somewhereinto their distant yards and cells. We went across the bottom of a well, where the weeping December light struck ghastly down on to thestones, into a sort of rabbit-warren of black passages and descendingstaircases, a horror of cold, solitude, and night. Iron door after irondoor clanged to behind us in the stony blackness. After an interminabletraversing, the turnkey, still with his hand on my sleeve, jerked meinto my familiar cell. I hadn't thought to be glad to get back to thatdim, frozen, damp-chilled little hole; with its hateful stone walls, stone ceiling, stone floor, stone bed-slab, and stone table; its ropemat, foul stable-blanket, its horrible sense of eternal burial, out ofsound, out of sight under a mined mountain of black stones. It was sotiny that the turnkey, entering after me, seemed to be pressed close upto my chest, and so dark that I could not see the colour of the dirtyhair that fell matted from the bald patch on the top of his skull; sofamiliar that I knew the feel of every little worming of rust on theiron candlestick. He wiped his face with a brown rag of handkerchief, and said:

"Curse me if ever I go into that place again. " After a time he added:"Unless 'tis a matter of duty. "

I didn't say anything; my nerves were still jangling to that shrieking, and to the clang of the iron doors that had closed behind me. I had anirresistible impulse to get hold of the iron candlestick and smash ithome through the skull of the turnkey--as I had done to the men who hadkilled Seraphina's father. .. To kill this man, then to creep along theblack passages and murder man after man beside those iron doors until Igot to the open air. 

He began again. "You'd think we'd get used to it--you'd think wewould--but 'tis a strain for us. You never knows what the prisoners willdo at a scene like that there. It drives 'em mad. Look at this scar. Machell the forger done that for me, 'fore he was condemned, after asermon like that--a quiet, gentlemanly man, much like you. Lord, yes, 'tis a strain. .. . " He paused, still wiping his face, then went on:"_And_ I swear that when I sees them men sit there in that black pew, an' hev heard the hammers going clack, clack on the scaffolding outside, and knew that they hadn't no more chance than you have to get out ofthere. .. " He pointed his short thumb towards the handkerchief of anopening, where the little blurr of blue light wavered through the twoiron frames crossed in the nine feet of well. "Lord, you _never_ getsused to it. You _wants_ them to escape; 'tis in the air through thewhole prison, even the debtors. I tells myself again and again, 'You'rea fool for your pains. ' But it's the same with the others--my mates. Youcan't get it out of your mind. That little kid now. I've seen childrenswing; but that little kid--as sure to swing as what. .. As what _you_are. .. . "

"You think I am going to swing?" I asked. 

I didn't want to kill him any more; I wanted too much to hear himtalk. I hadn't heard anything for months and months of solitude, ofdarkness--on board the admiral's ship, stranded in the guardship atPlymouth, bumping round the coast, and now here in Newgate. And it hadbeen darkness all the time. Jove! That Cuban time, with its movements, its pettiness, its intrigue, its warmth, even its villainies showedplainly enough in the chill of that blackness. It had been romance, thatlife. 

Little, and far away, and irrevocably done with, it showed all golden. There wasn't any romance where I lay then; and there had been irons onmy wrists; gruff hatred, the darkness, and always despair. 

On board the flagship coming home I had been chained down in thecable-tier--a place where I could feel every straining of the greatship. Once these had risen to a pandemonium, a frightful tumult. Therewas a great gale outside. A sailor came down with a lanthorn, and tossedmy biscuit to me. 

"You d------d pirate, " he said, "maybe it's you saving us fromdrowning. "

"Is the gale very bad?" I had called. 

He muttered--and the fact that he spoke to me at all showed how greatthe strain of the weather must have been to wring any words out of him:

"Bad--there's a large Indiaman gone. We saw her one minute and then. .. "He went away, muttering. 

And suddenly the thought had come to me. What if the Indiaman were the_Lion_--the _Lion_ with Seraphina on board? The man would not speak tome when he came again. No one would speak to me; I was a pirate who hadfired on his own countrymen. And the thought had pursued me right intoNewgate--if she were dead; if I had taken her from that security, fromthat peace, to end there. .. . And to end myself. 

"Swing!" the turnkey said; "you'll swing right enough. " He slapped thegreat key on his flabby hand. "You can tell that by the signs. You, being an Admiralty case, ought to have been in the Marshalsea. Andyou're ordered solitary cell, and I'm tipped the straight wink againstyour speaking a blessed word to a blessed soul. Why don't they let yousee an attorney? Why? Because they _mean_ you to swing. "

I said, "Never mind that. Have you heard of a ship called the _Lion?_Can you find out about her?"

He shook his head cunningly, and did not answer. If the _Lion_ had beenhere, I must have heard. They couldn't have left me here. 

I said, "For God's sake find out. Get me a shipping gazette. "

He affected not to hear. 

"There's money in plenty, " I said. 

He winked ponderously and began again. "Oh, you'll swing all right. Aman with nothing against him has a chance; with the rhino he has it, even if he's guilty. But you'll _swing_. Charlie, who brought you backjust now, had a chat with the 'Torney-General's devil's clerk's clerk, while old Nog o' Bow Street was trying to read their Spanish. He saysit's a Gov'nment matter. They wants to hang you bad, they do, so's togo to the Jacky Spaniards and say, 'He were a nob, a nobby nob. ' (Soyou are, aren't you? One uncle an earl and t'other a dean, if so be whatthey say's true. ) 'He were a nobby nob and we swung 'im. Go you'n dolikewise. ' They want a striking example t' keep the West India tradequiet. .. " He wiped his forehead and moved my water jug of red earth onthe dirty deal table under the window, for all the world like a host infront of a guest. "They means you to swing, " he said. "They've silencedthe Thames Court reporters. Not a noospaper will publish a correctreport t'morrer. And you haven't see nobody, nor you won't, not if I canhelp it. "

He broke off and looked at me with an expression of candour. 

"Mind you, " he said, "I'm not uffish. To 'n ornery gentleman--of theroad or what you will--I'm not, if so be he's the necessary. I'd take aletter like another. But for you, no--fear. Not that I've my knife intoyou. What I can do to make you comfor'ble I will do, _both_ now an'hereafter. But when I gets the wink, I looks after my skin. So'd anyman. You don't see nobody, nor you won't; nor your nobby relationswon't have the word. Till the Hadmir'lty trile. Charlie says it'sunconstitutional, you ought to see your 'torney, if you've one, or yourfather's got one. But Lor', I says, 'Charlie, if they wants it they getsit. This ain't no _habeas carpis_, give-the-man-a-chance case. It's theHadmir'lty. And not a man tried for piracy this thirty year. See whata show it gives them, what bloody Radicle knows or keeres what theperceedin's should be? Who's a-goin' t' make a question out of it? Goaway, ' says I to Charlie. And that's it straight. "

He went towards the door, then turned. 

"You should be in the Marshalsea common yard; even I knows that. Butthey've the wink there. 'Too full, ' says they. Too full be d------d. I've know'd the time--after the Vansdell smash it were--when they foundroom for three hundred more improvident debtors over and above whatthey're charted for. Too full! Their common yard! They don't want you tospeak to a soul, an' you won't till this day week, when the Hadmir'ltySession is in full swing. " He went out and locked the door, snorting, "Too full at the Marshalsea!. .. Go away!"

"Find out about the _Lion_, " I called, as the door closed. 

It cleared the air for me, that speech. I understood that they wanted tohang me, and I wanted not to be hung, desperately, from that moment. I had not much cared before; I had--call it, moped. I had not reallybelieved, really sensed it out. It isn't easy to conceive that one isgoing to be hanged, I doubt if one does even with the rope round one'sneck. I hadn't much wanted to live, but now I wanted to fight--one goodfight before I went under for good and all, condemned or acquitted. There wasn't anything left for me to live for, Seraphina could not bealive. The _Lion_ must have been lost. 

But I was going to make a fight for it; curse it, I was going to givethem trouble. My "them" was not so much the Government that meant tohang me as the unseen powers that suffered such a state of things, thatallowed a number of little meannesses, accidents, fatalities, to hangme. I began to worry the turnkey. He gave me no help, only shreds ofinformation that let me see more plainly than ever how set "they" wereon sacrificing me to their exigencies. 

The whole West Indian trade in London was in an uproar over the PirateQuestion and over the Slave Question. Jamaica was still squealing forSeparation before the premonitory grumbles of Abolition. Horton Pen, over there, came back with astonishing clearness before me. I seemed tohear old, wall-eyed, sandy-headed Macdonald, agitating his immense bulkof ill-fitting white clothes in front of his newspaper, and bellowing inhis ox-voice:

"Abolition, they give us Abolition. .. Or ram it down our throats. _They_who haven't even the spunk to rid us o' the d------d pirates, not thespunk to catch and hang one. .. . Jock, me lahd, we's abolush them beforethey sail touch our neegurs. .. . Let them clear oor seas, let them hang_one_ pirate, and then talk. "

I was the one they were going to hang, to consolidate the bond with theold island. The cement wanted a little blood in the mixing. Damn them!I was going to make a fight; they had torn me from Seraphina, to fulfilltheir own accursed ends. I felt myself grow harsh and strong, as a treefeels itself grow gnarled by winter storms. I said to the turnkey againand again:

"Man, I will promise you a thousand pounds or a pension for life, if youwill get a letter through to my mother or Squire Rooksby of Horton. "

He said he daren't do it; enough was known of him to hang him if hegave offence. His flabby fingers trembled, and his eyes grew large withsuccessive shocks of cupidity. He became afraid of coming near me; ofthe strain of the temptation. On the next day he did not speak a word, nor the next, nor the next. I began to grow horribly afraid of beinghung. The day before the trial arrived. Towards noon he flung the dooropen. 

"Here's paper, here's pens, " he said. "You can prepare your defence. Youmay write letters. Oh, hell! why did not they let it come sooner, I'dhave had your thousand pounds. I'll run a letter down to your peoplefast as the devil could take it. I know a man, a gentleman of the road. For twenty pun promised, split between us, he'll travel faster'n Turpindid to York. " He was waving a large sheet of newspaper agitatedly. 

"What does it mean?" I asked. My head was whirling. 

"Radical papers got a-holt of it, " he said. "Trust them for nosing out. And the Government's answering them. They say you're going to sufferfor your crimes. Hark to this. .. Um, um. .. 'The wretched felon now inNewgate will incur the just penalty. .. ' Then they slaps the West Indiesin the face. 'When the planters threaten to recur to some other powerfor protection, they, of course, believe that the loss of the colonieswould be severely felt. But. .. '"

"The _Lion's_ home, " I said. 

It burst upon me that she was--that she must be. Williams--orSebright--he was the man, had been speaking up for me. Or Seraphina hadbeen to the Spanish ambassador. 

She was back; I should see her. I started up. 

"The _Lion's_ home, " I repeated. 

The turnkey snarled, "She was posted as overdue three days ago. "

I couldn't believe it was true. 

"I saw it in the papers, " he grumbled on. "I dursn't tell you. " Hecontinued violently, "Blow my dickey. It would make a cat sick. "

My sudden exaltation, my sudden despair, gave way to indifference. 

"Oh, coming, coming!" he shouted, in answer to an immense bellowing crythat loomed down the passage without. 

I heard him grumble, "Of course, of course. I shan't make a penny. " Thenhe caught hold of my arm. "Here, come along, someone to see you in thepress-yard. "

He pulled me along the noisome, black warren of passages, slamming theinner door viciously behind him. 

The press-yard--the exercising ground for the condemned--was empty; thelast batch had gone out, _my_ batch would be the next to come in, theturnkey said suddenly. It was a well of a place, high black walls goingup into the desolate, weeping sky, and quite tiny. At one end was a sortof slit in the wall, closed with tall, immense windows. From there afaint sort of rabbit's squeak was going up through the immense roll andrumble of traffic on the other side of the wall. The turnkey pushed metowards it. 

"Go on, " he said. "I'll not listen; I ought to. But, curse me, I'm nota bad sort, " he added gloomily; "I dare say you'll make it worth mywhile. "

I went and peered through the bars at a faint object pressed againstother bars in just another slit across a black passage. 

"What, Jackie, boy; what, Jackie?" Blinking his eyes, as if the dimlight were too strong for them, a thin, bent man stood there in abrilliant new court coat. His face was meagre in the extreme, the noseand cheekbones polished and transparent like a bigaroon cherry. A thintuft of reddish hair was brushed back from his high, shining forehead. It was my father. He exclaimed:

"What, Jackie, boy! How old you look!" then waved his arm towards me. "In trouble?" he said. "You in trouble?"

He rubbed his thin hands together, and looked round the place with acultured man's air of disgust. I said, "Father!" and he suddenly beganto talk very fast and agitatedly of what he had been doing for me. Mymother, he said, was crippled with rheumatism, and Rooksby and Veronicaon the preceding Thursday had set sail for Jamaica. He had read to mymother, beside her bed, the newspaper containing an account of my case;and she had given him money, and he had started with violent haste forLondon. The haste and the rush were still dazing him. He had lived downthere in the farmhouse beneath the downs, with the stackyards under hiseyes, with his books of verse and his few prints on the wall------MyGod, how it all came back to me. 

In his disjointed speeches, I could see how exactly the same it allremained. The same old surly man with a squint had driven him along themuddy roads in the same ancient gig, past the bare elms, to meet thecoach. And my father had never been in London since he had walked thestreets with the Prince Regent's friends. 

Whilst he talked to me there, lines of verse kept coming to his lips;and, after the habitual pleasure of the apt quotation, he felt acutelyshocked at the inappropriateness of the place, the press-yard, withthe dim light weeping downwards between immensely high walls, and thedesultory snowflakes that dropped between us. And he had tried so hard, in his emergency, to be practical. When he had reached London, beforeeven attempting to see me, he had run from minister to minister tryingto influence them in my favour--and he reached me in Newgate withnothing at all effected. 

I seemed to know him then, so intimately, so much better than anythingelse in the world. 

He began, "I had my idea in the up-coach last night. I thought, 'A verygreat personage was indebted to me in the old days (more indebted thanyou are aware of, Johnnie). I will intercede with him. ' That was why myfirst step was to my old tailor's in Conduit Street. Because. .. What isfit for a farm for a palace were low. " He stopped, reflected, then said, "What is fit for _the_ farm for _the_ palace were low. "

He felt across his coat for his breast pocket. It was what he had doneyears and years ago, and all these years between, inscribe ideas forlines of verse in his pocket-book. I said:

"You have seen the king?"

His face lengthened a little. "Not _seen_ him. But I found one of theduke's secretaries, a pleasant young fellow. .. Not such as we used tobe. But the duke was kind enough to interest himself. Perhaps my namehas lived in the land. I was called Curricle Kemp, as I may have toldyou, because I drove a vermilion one with green and gilt wheels. .. . "

His face, peering at me through the bars, had, for a moment, a flushof pride. Then he suddenly remembered, and, as if to propitiate his ownreproof, he went on:

"I saw the Secretary of State, and he assured me, very civilly, thatnot even the highest personage in the land. .. . " He dropped his voice, "Jackie, boy, " he said, his narrow-lidded eyes peering miserably acrossat me, "there's not even hope of a reprieve afterwards. "

I leaned my face wearily against the iron bars. What, after all, was theuse of fighting if the _Lion_ were not back?

Then, suddenly, as the sound of his words echoed down the bare, black corridors, he seemed to realize the horror of it. His face grewabsolutely white, he held his head erect, as if listening to a distantsound. And then he began to cry--horribly, and for a long time. 

It was I that had to comfort him. His head had bowed at the convictionof his hopeless uselessness; all through his own life he had been madeineffectual by his indulgence in perfectly innocent, perfectly trivialenjoyments, and now, in this extremity of his only son, he was renderedalmost fantastically of no avail. 

"No, no, sir! You have done all that any one could; you couldn't breakthese walls down. Nothing else would help. "

Small, hopeless sobs shook him continually. His thin, delicate whitefingers gripped the black grille, with the convulsive grasp of a veryweak man. It was more distressing to me than anything I had ever seen orfelt. The mere desire, the intense desire to comfort him, made me geta grip upon myself again. And I remembered that, now that I couldcommunicate with the outer air, it was absolutely easy; he would save mylife. I said:

"You have only to go to Clapham, sir. "

And the moment I was in a state to command him, to direct him, to givehim something to do, he became a changed man. He looked up and listened. I told him to go to Major Cowper's. It would be easy enough to find himat Clapham. Cowper, I remembered, could testify to my having been seizedby Tomas Castro. He had seen me fight on the decks. And what was more, he would certainly know the addresses of Kingston planters, if any werein London. They could testify that I had been in Jamaica all the whileNikola el Escoces was in Rio Medio. I knew there were some. My fatherwas fidgeting to be gone. He had his name marked for him, and a willdirecting his own. He was not the same man. But I particularly told himto send me a lawyer first of all. 

"Yes, yes!" he said, fidgeting to go, "to Major Cowper's. Let me writehis address. "

"And a solicitor, " I said. "Send him to me on your way there. "

"Yes, yes, " he said, "I shall be able to be of use to the solicitor. Asa rule, they are men of no great perspicacity. "

And he went hurriedly away. 

The real torture, the agony of suspense began then. I steadied my nervesby trying to draw up notes for my speech to the jury on the morrow. Thatwas the turnkey's idea. 

He said, "Slap your chest, 'peal to the honour of a British gent, andpitch it in strong. "

It was not much good; I could not keep to any logical sequence ofthought, my mind was forever wandering to what my father was doing. Ipictured him in his new blue coat, running agitatedly through crowdedstreets, his coat-tails flying behind his thin legs. The hours draggedon, and it was a matter of minutes. I had to hold upon the table edge tokeep myself from raging about the cell. I tried to bury myself again inthe scheme for my defence. I wondered whom my father would have found. There was a man called Cary who had gone home from Kingston. He had abald head and blue eyes; he must remember me. If he would corroborate!And the lawyer, when he came, might take another line of defence. Itbegan to fall dusk slowly, through the small barred windows. 

The entire night passed without a word from my father. I paced up anddown the whole time, composing speeches to the jury. And then the daybroke. I calmed myself with a sort of frantic energy. 

Early the jailer came in, and began fussing about my cell. 

"Case comes on about one, " he said. "Grand jury at half after twelve. No fear they won't return a true bill. Grand jury, five West Indiamerchants. They means to have you. 'Torney-General, S'lic'tor-General. S'r Robert Mead, and five juniors agin you. .. You take my tip. Throwyourself on the mercy of the court, and make a rousing speech witha young 'ooman in it. Not that you'll get much mercy from them. TheyAdmir'lty jedges is all hangers. 'S we say, 'Oncet the anchor goes upin the Old Bailey, there ain't no hope. We begins to clean out thec'ndemned cell, here. Sticks the anchor up over their heads, when it isHadmir'lty case, '" he commented. 

I listened to him with strained attention. I made up my mind to miss nota word uttered that day. It was my only chance. 

"You don't know any one from Jamaica?" I asked. 

He shook his bullet head, and tapped his purple nose. "Can't be done, "he said. "You'd get a ornery hallybi fer a guinea a head, but they'dkeep out of this case. They've necks like you and me. "

Whilst he was speaking, the whole of the outer world, as far as itaffected me, came suddenly in upon me--that was what I meant to thegreat city that lay all round, the world, in the centre of which was mycell. To the great mass, I was matter for a sensation; to them I mightprove myself beneficial in this business. Perhaps there were others whowere thinking I might be useful in one way or another. There were theministers of the Crown, who did not care much whether Jamaica separatedor not. But they wanted to hang me because they would be able to saydisdainfully to the planters, "Separate if you like; we've done ourduty, we've hanged a man. "

All those people had their eyes on me, and they were about the only oneswho knew of my existence. That was the end of my Romance! Romance! Thebroadsheet sellers would see to it afterwards with a "Dying confession. "

CHAPTER FOUR

I never saw my father again until I was in the prisoner's anteroom atthe Old Bailey. It was full of lounging men, whose fleshy limbs bulgedout against the tight, loud checks of their coats and trousers. Thesewere jailers waiting to bring in their prisoners. On the other sideof one black door the Grand Jury was deliberating on my case, behindanother the court was in waiting to try me. I was in a sort of tiredlull. All night I had been pacing up and down, trying to bring my brainto think of points--points in my defence. It was very difficult. I knewthat I must keep cool, be calm, be lucid, be convincing; and my brainhad reeled at times, even in the darkness of the cell. I knew it hadreeled, because I remembered that once I had fallen against the stoneof one of the walls, and once against the door. Here, in the light, withonly a door between myself and the last scene, I regained my hold. I wasgoing to fight every inch from start to finish. I was going to let nochink of their armour go untried. I was going to make a good fight. Myteeth chattered like castanets, jarring in my jaws until it was painful. But that was only with the cold. 

A hubbub of expostulation was going on at the third door. My turnkeycalled suddenly:

"Let the genman in, Charlie. Pal o' ourn, " and my father ran huntedlyinto the room. He began an endless tale of a hackney coachman who hadstood in front of the door of his coach to prevent his number beingtaken; of a crowd of caddee-smashers, who had hustled him and filchedhis purse. "Of course, I made a fight for it, " he said, "a damn goodfight, considering. It's in the blood. But the watch came, and, inshort--on such an occasion as this there is no time for words--I passedthe night in the watch-house. Many and many a night I passed there whenI and Lord------But I am losing time. "

"You ain't fit to walk the streets of London alone, sir, " the turnkeysaid. 

My father gave him a corner of his narrow-lidded eyes. "My man, " hesaid, "I walked the streets with the highest in the land before yourmother bore you in Bridewell, or whatever jail it was. "

"Oh, no offence, " the turnkey muttered. 

I said, "Did you find Cowper, sir? Will he give evidence?"

"Jackie, " he said agitatedly, as if he were afraid of offending me, "hesaid you had filched his wife's rings. "

That, in fact, was what Major Cowper _had_ said--that I had dropped intotheir ship near Port Royal Heads, and had afterwards gone away with thepirates who had filched his wife's rings. My father, in his indignation, had not even deigned to ask him for the address of Jamaica planters inLondon; and on his way back to find a solicitor he had come into contactwith those street rowdies and the watch. He had only just come frombefore the magistrates. 

A man with one eye poked his head suddenly from behind the Grand Jurydoor. He jerked his head in my direction. 

"True bill against that 'ere, " he said, then drew his head in again. 

"Jackie, boy, " my father said, putting a thin hand on my wrist, andgazing imploringly into my eyes, "I'm. .. I'm . .. I can't tell youhow. .. . "

I said, "It doesn't matter, father. " I felt a foretaste of how my pastwould rise up to crush me. Cowper had let that wife of his coercehim into swearing my life away. I remembered vividly his blubberingprotestations of friendship when I persuaded Tomas Castro to return himhis black deed-box with the brass handle, on that deck littered withrubbish. .. . "Oh, God bless you, God bless you. You have saved me fromstarvation. .. . " There had been tears in his old blue eyes. "If you needit I will go anywhere. .. Do anything to help you. On the honour of agentleman and a soldier. " I had, of course, recommended his wife to giveup her rings when the pirates were threatening her in the cabin. Theother door opened, another man said:

"Now, then, in with that carrion. D'you want to keep the judgeswaiting?"

I stepped through the door straight down into the dock; there was a rowof spikes in the front of it. I wasn't afraid; three men in enormouswigs and ermine robes faced me; four in short wigs had their headstogether like parrots on a branch. A fat man, bareheaded, with a giltchain round his neck, slipped from behind into a seat beside the highestplaced judge. He was wiping his mouth and munching with his jaws. Oneach side of the judges, beyond the short-wigged assessors, were chairsfull of ladies and gentlemen. They all had their eyes upon me. I saw itall very plainly. I was going to see everything, to keep my eyes open, not to let any chance escape. I wondered why a young girl with blue eyesand pink cheeks tittered and shrugged her shoulders. I did not know whatwas amusing. What astonished me was the smallness, the dirt, the want ofdignity of the room itself. I thought they must be trying a case of myimportance there by mistake. 

Presently I noticed a great gilt anchor above the judges' heads. Iwondered why it was there, until I remembered it was an Admiralty Court. I thought suddenly, "Ah! if I had thought to tell my father to go andsee if the _Lion_ had come in in the night!"

A man was bawling out a number of names. .. . "Peter Plimley, gent. , anychallenge. .. . Lazarus Cohen, merchant, any challenge. .. . "

The turnkey beside me leant with his back against the spikes. He wastalking to the man who had called us in. 

"Lazarus Cohen, West Indian merchant. .. . Lord, well, I'd challenge. .. . "

The other man said, "S--sh. "

"His old dad give me five shiners to put him up to a thing if I could, "the turnkey said again. 

I didn't catch his meaning until an old man with a very ragged gownwas handing up a book to a row of others in a box so near that I couldalmost have touched them. Then I realized that the turnkey had beenwinking to me to challenge the jury. I called out at the highest of thejudges:

"I protest against that jury. It is packed. Half of them, at least, areWest Indian merchants. "

There was a stir all over the court. I realized then that what hadseemed only a mass of stuffs of some sort were human beings all lookingat me. The judge I had called to opened a pair of dim eyes upon me, clasped and unclasped his hands, very dry, ancient, wrinkled. The judgeon his right called angrily:

"Nonsense, it is too late. .. . They are being sworn. You should havespoken when the names were read. " Underneath his wig was an immenselybroad face with glaring yellow eyes. 

I said, "It is scandalous. You want to murder me, How should I know whatyou do in your courts? I say the jury is packed. "

The very old judge closed his eyes, opened them again, then gasped out:

"Silence. We are here to try you. This is a court of law. "

The turnkey pulled my sleeve under cover of the planking. "Treat himcivil, " he whispered, "Lord Justice Stowell of the Hadmir'lty. 'Tother'sBaron Garrow of the Common Law; a beast; him as hanged that kid. You cansass him; it doesn't matter. "

Lord Stowell waved his hand to the clerk with the ragged gown; the bookpassed from hand to hand along the faces of the jury, the clerk gabblingall the while. The old judge said suddenly, in an astonishingly deep, majestic voice:

"Prisoner at the bar, you must understand that we are here to give youan impartial trial according to the laws of this land. If you desireadvice as to the procedure of this court you can have it. "

I said, "I still protest against that Jury. I am an innocent man, and------"

He answered querulously, "Yes, yes, afterwards. " And then creaked, "Nowthe indictment. .. . "

Someone hidden from me by three barristers began to read in a loud voicenot very easy to follow. I caught:

"For that the said John Kemp, alias Nichols, alias Nikola el Escoces, alias el Demonio, alias el Diabletto, on the twelfth of May last, didfeloniously and upon the high seas piratically seize a certain shipcalled the _Victoria_. .. Um. .. Um, the properties of Hyman Cohen andothers. .. And did steal and take therefrom six hundred and thirtybarrels of coffee of the value of. .. Um. .. Um. .. Um. .. One hundred andone barrels of coffee of the value of. .. Ninety-four half kegs. .. Anddivers others. .. "

I gave an immense sigh. .. . That was it, then. I had heard of the_Victoria_; it was when I was at Horton that the news of her lossreached us. Old Macdonald had sworn; it was the day a negro calledApollo had taken to the bush. I ought to be able to prove that. Afterwards, one of the judges asked me if I pleaded guilty or notguilty. I began a long wrangle about being John Kemp but not Nikola elEscoces. I was going to fight every inch of the way. They said:

"You will have your say afterwards. At present, guilty or not guilty?"

I refused to plead at all; I was not the man. The third judge woke up, and said hurriedly:

"That is a plea of not guilty, enter it as such. " Then he went to sleepagain. The young girl on the bench beside him laughed joyously, and Mr. Baron Garrow nodded round at her, then snapped viciously at me:

"You don't make your case any better by this sort of foolery. " His eyesglared at me like an awakened owl's. 

I said, "I'm fighting for my neck. .. And you'll have to fight, too, toget it. "

The old judge said angrily, "Silence, or you will have to be removed. "

I said, "I am fighting for my life. "

There was a sort of buzz all round the court. 

Lord Stowell said, "Yes, yes;" and then, "Now, Mr. King's Advocate, Isuppose Mr. Alfonso Jervis opens for you. "

A dusty wig swam up from just below my left hand, almost to a level withthe dock. 

The old judge shut his eyes, with an air of a man who _is_ going along journey in a post-chaise. Mr. Baron Garrow dipped his pen into aninvisible ink-pot, and scratched it on his desk. A long story began todrone from under the wig, an interminable farrago of dull nonsense, ina hypochondriacal voice; a long tale about piracy in general; piracy inthe times of the Greeks, piracy in the times of William the Conqueror. .. _pirata nequissima Eustachio_, and thanking God that a case of the sorthad not been heard in that court for an immense lapse of years. Belowme was an array of wigs, on each side a compressed mass of humanity, squeezed so tight that all the eyeballs seemed to be starting out ofthe heads towards me. From the wig below, a translation of the floridphrases of the Spanish papers was coming:

"His very Catholic Majesty, out of his great love for his ancient friendand ally, his Britannic Majesty, did surrender the body of the notoriousEl Demonio, called also. .. "

I began to wonder who had composed that precious document, whether itwas the _Juez de la Primera Instancia_, bending his yellow face andsloe-black eyes above the paper, over there in Havana--or whether it wasO'Brien, who was dead since the writing. 

All the while the barrister was droning on. I did not listen becauseI had heard all that before--in the room of the Judge of the FirstInstance at Havana. Suddenly appearing behind the backs of the row ofgentlefolk on the bench was the pale, thin face of my father. I wonderedwhich of his great friends had got him his seat. He was nodding to meand smiling faintly. I nodded, too, and smiled back. I was going to showthem that I was not cowed. The voice of the barrister said:

"M'luds and gentlemen of the jury, that finishes the Spanish evidence, which was taken on commission on the island of Cuba. We shall producethe officer of H. M. S. Elephant, to whom he was surrendered by theSpanish authorities at Havana, thus proving the prisoner to be thepirate Nikola, and no other. We come, now, to the specific instance, m'luds and gentlemen, an instance as vile. .. "

It was some little time before I had grasped how absolutely the Spanishevidence damned me. It was as if, once I fell into the hands of theEnglish officer on Havana quays, the identity of Nikola could by nomanner of means be shaken from round my neck. The barrister came to thefacts. 

A Kingston ship had been boarded. .. And there was the old story overagain. I seemed to see the Rio Medio schooner rushing towards where Iand old Cowper and old Lumsden looked back from the poop to see her comealongside; the strings of brown pirates pour in empty-handed, andout laden. Only in the case of the _Victoria_ there were added theferocities of "the prisoner at the bar, m'luds and gentlemen of thejury, a fiend in human shape, as we shall prove with the aid of the mostrespectable witnesses. .. . "

The man in the wig sat down, and, before I understood what washappening, a fat, rosy man--the Attorney-General--whose cheerful gillsgave him a grotesque resemblance to a sucking pig, was calling "EdwardSadler, " and the name blared like sudden fire leaping up all over thecourt. The Attorney-General wagged his gown into a kind of bunch behindhis hips, and a man, young, fair, with a reddish beard and a shiny suitof clothes, sprang into a little box facing the jury. He bowed nervouslyin several directions, and laughed gently; then he looked at me andscowled. The Attorney-General cleared his throat pleasantly. .. 

"Mr. Edward Sadler, you were, on May 25th, chief mate of the good ship_Victoria. .. . _"

The fair man with the beard told his story, the old story of the shipwith its cargo of coffee and dye-wood; its good passage past the GranCaymanos; the becalming off the Cuban shore in latitude so and so, andthe boarding of a black schooner, calling itself a Mexican privateer. Icould see all that. 

"The prisoner at the bar came alongside in a boat, with seventeenSpaniards, " he said, in a clear, expressionless voice, looking me fullin the face. 

I called out to the old judge, "My Lord. .. I protest. This is perjury. Iwas not the man. It Was Nichols, a Nova Scotian. "

Mr. Baron Garrow roared, "Silence, " his face suffused with blood. 

Old Lord Stowell quavered, "You must respect the procedure. .. . "

"Am I to hear my life sworn away without a word?" I asked. 

He drew himself frostily into his robes. "God forbid, " he said; "but atthe proper time you can cross-examine, if you think fit. "

The Attorney-General smiled at the jury-box and addressed himself toSadler, with an air of patience very much tried:

"You swear the prisoner is the man?"

The fair man turned his sharp eyes upon me. I called, "For God's sake, don't perjure yourself. You are a decent man. "

"No, I won't swear, " he said slowly. "I think he was. He had his faceblacked then, of course. When I had sight of him at the Thames Court Ithought he was; and seeing the Spanish evidence, I don't see where's theroom. .. . "

"The Spanish evidence is part of the plot, " I said. 

The Attorney-General snickered. "Go on, Mr. Sadler, " he said. "Let'shave the rest of the plot unfolded. "

A juryman laughed suddenly, and resumed an abashed sudden silence. Sadler went on to tell the old story. .. . I saw it all as he spoke; onlygaunt, shiny-faced, yellow Nichols was chewing and hitching his trousersin place of my Tomas, with his sanguine oaths and jerked gestures. Andthere was Nichol's wanton, aimless ferocity. 

"He had two pistols, which he fired twice each, while we were hoistingthe studding-sails by his order, to keep up with the schooner. He firedtwice into the crew. One of the men hit died afterwards. .. . "

Later, another vessel, an American, had appeared in the offing, and thepirates had gone in chase of her. He finished, and Lord Stowell movedone of his ancient hands. It was as if a gray lizard had moved on hisdesk, a little toward me. 

"Now, prisoner, " he said. 

I drew a deep breath. I thought for a minute that, after all, there wasa little fair play in the game--that I had a decent, fair, blue-eyedman in front of me. He looked hard at me; I hard at him; it was as ifwe were going to wrestle for a belt. The young girl on the bench had herlips parted and leant forward, her head a little on one side. 

I said, "You won't swear I was the man. .. Nikola el Escoces?"

He looked meditatively into my eyes; it was a duel between us. 

"I won't swear, " he said. "You had your face blacked, and didn't wear abeard. "

A soft growth of hair had come out over my cheeks whilst I lay inprison. I rubbed my hand against it, and thought that he had drawn firstblood. 

"You must not say 'you, '" I said. "I swear I was not the man. Did hetalk like me?"

"Can't say that he did, " Sadler answered, moving from one foot to theother. 

"Had he got eyes like me, or a nose, or a mouth?"

"Can't say, " he answered again. "His face was blacked. "

"Didn't he talk Blue Nose--in the Nova Scotian way?"

"Well, he did, " Sadler assented slowly. "But any one could for adisguise. It's as easy as. .. "

Beside me, the turnkey whispered suddenly, "Pull him up; stop hismouth. "

I said, "Wasn't he an older man? Didn't he look between forty andfifty?"

"What do _you_ look like?" the chief mate asked. 

"I'm twenty-four, " I answered; "I can prove it. "

"Well, you look forty and older, " he answered negligently. "So did he. "

His cool, disinterested manner overwhelmed me like the blow of animmense wave; it proved so absolutely that I had parted with allsemblance of youth. It was something added to the immense waste ofwaters between myself and Seraphina; an immense waste of years. I didnot ask much of the next witness; Sadler had made me afraid. SeptimusHearn, the master of the _Victoria_, was a man with eyes as blue andas cold as bits of round blue pebble; a little goat's beard, iron-gray;apple-coloured cheeks, and small gold earrings in his ears. He hadan extraordinarily mournful voice, and a retrospective melancholy ofmanner. He was just such another master of a trader as Captain Lumsdenhad been, and it was the same story over again, with little differenttouches, the hard blue eyes gazing far over the top of my head; thegnarled hands moving restlessly on the rim of his hat. 

"Afterwards the prisoner ordered the steward to give us a drink ofbrandy. A glass was offered me, but I refused to drink it, and he said, 'Who is it that refuses to drink a glass of brandy?' He asked me whatcountryman I was, and if I was an American. "

There were two others from the unfortunate _Victoria_--a Thomas Davis, boatswain, who had had one of Nikola's pistol-balls in his hip; and asort of steward--I have forgotten his name--who had a scar of a cutlasswound on his forehead. 

It was horrible enough; but what distressed me more was that I couldnot see what sort of impression I was making. Once the judge who wasgenerally asleep woke up and began to scratch furiously with his quill;once three of the assessors--the men in short wigs--began an animatedconversation; one man with a thin, dark face laughed noiselessly, showing teeth like a white waterfall. A man in the body of the court onmy left had an enormous swelling, blood-red, and looking as if a touchmust burst it, under his chin; at one time he winked his eyes furiouslyfor a long time on end. It seemed to me that something in the evidencemust be affecting all these people. The turnkey beside me said to hismate, "Twig old Justice Best making notes in his stud-calendar, " andsuddenly the conviction forced itself upon me that the whole thing, thelong weary trial, the evidence, the parade of fairness, was being gonethrough in a spirit of mockery, as a mere formality; that the judges andthe assessors, and the man with the goitre took no interest whatever inmy case. It was a foregone conclusion. 

A tiny, fair man, with pale hair oiled and rather long for those days, and with green and red signet rings on fingers that he was foreverrunning through that hair, came mincingly into the witness-box. Heheld for a long time what seemed to be an amiable conversation with SirRobert Gifford, a tall, portentous-looking man, who had black beetlingbrows, like tufts of black horsehair sticking in the crannies of acliff. The conversation went like this:

"You are the Hon. Thomas Oldham?"

"Yes, yes. "

"You know Kingston, Jamaica, very well?"

"I was there four years--two as the secretary to the cabinet of hisGrace the Duke of Manchester, two as civil secretary to the admiral onthe station. "

"You saw the prisoner?"

"Yes, three times. "

I drew an immense breath; I thought for a moment that they had deliveredthemselves into my hands. The thing must prove of itself that I had beenin Jamaica, not in Rio Medio, through those two years. My heart beganto thump like a great solemn drum, like Paul's bell when the kingdied--solemn, insistent, dominating everything. The little man wasgiving an account of the "'bawminable" state of confusion into whichthe island's trade was thrown by the misdeeds of a pirate called Nikolael Demonio. 

"I assure you, my luds, " he squeaked, turning suddenly to the judges, "the island was wrought up into a pitch of. .. Ah. .. Almost disloyalty. The. .. Ah. .. Planters were clamouring for. .. Ah. .. Separation. And, tobe sure, I trust you'll hang the prisoner, for if you don't. .. "

Lord Stowell shivered, and said suddenly with haste, "Mr. Oldham, address yourself to Sir Robert. "

I was almost happy; the cloven hoof had peeped so damningly out. Thelittle man bowed briskly to the old judge, asked for a chair, sathimself down, and arranged his coat-tails. 

"As I was saying, " he prattled on, "the trouble and the worry that thisman caused to His Grace, myself, and Admiral Rowley were inconceivable. You have no idea, you. .. Ah. .. Can't conceive. And no wonder, for, as itturned out, the island was simply honeycombed by his spies and agents. You have no idea; people who seemed most respectable, people weourselves had dealings with. .. "

He rattled on at immense length, the barrister taking huge pinchesof yellow snuff, and smiling genially with the air of a horse-trainerwatching a pony go faultlessly through difficult tricks. Every now andthen he flicked his whip. 

"Mr. Oldham, you saw the prisoner three times. If it does not overtaxyour memory pray tell us. " And the little creature pranced off in a newdirection. 

"Tax my memory! Gad, I like that. You remember a man who has had yourblood as near as could be, don't you?"

I had been looking at him eagerly, but my interest faded away now. Itwas going to be the old confusing of my identity with Nikola's. And yetI seemed to know the little beggar's falsetto; it was a voice one doesnot forget. 

"Remember!" he squeaked. "Gad, gentlemen of the jury, he came as near aspossible------You have no idea what a ferocious devil it is. "

I was wondering why on earth Nichols should have wanted to kill such alittle thing. Because it was obvious that it must have been Nichols. 

"As near as possible murdered myself and Admiral Rowley and a Mr. Topnambo, a most enlightened and loyal. .. Ah. .. Inhabitant of theisland, on the steps of a public inn. "

I had it then. It was the little man David Mac-donald had rolled downthe steps with, that night at the Ferry Inn on the Spanish Town road. 

"He was lying in wait for us with a gang of assassins. I was stabbedon the upper lip. I lost so much blood. .. Had to be invalided. .. Cannotthink of horrible episode without shuddering. "

He had seen me then, and when Ramon ("a Spaniard who was afterwardsproved to be a spy of El Demonio's--of the prisoner's. He was hungsince") had driven me from the place of execution after the hanging ofthe seven pirates; and he had come into Ramon's store at the momentwhen Carlos ("a piratical devil if ever there was one, " the little manprotested) had drawn me into the back room, where Don Balthasar andO'Brien and Seraphina sat waiting. The men who were employed to watchRamon's had never seen me leave again, and afterwards a secret tunnelwas discovered leading down to the quay. 

"This, apparently, was the way by which the prisoner used to arrive andquit the island secretly, " he finished his evidence in chief, and thebeetle-browed, portly barrister sat down. I was not so stupid but whatI could see a little, even then, how the most innocent events of my pastwere going to rise up and crush me; but I was certain I could twist himinto admitting the goodness of my tale which hadn't yet been told. Heknew I had been in Jamaica, and, put what construction he liked on it, he would have to admit it. I called out:

"Thank God, my turn's come at last!"

The faces of the Attorney-General, the King's Advocate, Sir RobertGifford, Mr. Lawes, Mr. Jervis, of all the seven counsel that werearrayed to crush me, lengthened into simultaneous grins, varying at thejury-box. But I didn't care; I grinned, too. I was going to show them. 

It was as if I flew at the throat of that little man. It seemed to methat I must be able to crush a creature whose malice was as obvious andas nugatory as the green and red rings that he exhibited in his hairevery few minutes. He wanted to show the jury that he had rings; thathe was a mincing swell; that I hadn't and that I was a bloody pirate. Isaid:

"You know that during the whole two years Nichols was at Rio I wasan improver at Horton Pen with the Macdonalds, the agents of mybrother-in-law, Sir Ralph Rooksby. You must know these things. You wereone of the Duke of Manchester's spies. "

We used to call the Duke's privy council that. "I certainly knownothing of the sort, " he said, folding his hands along the edge of thewitness-box, as if he had just thought of exhibiting his rings in thatmanner. He was abominably cool. I said:

"You must have heard of me. The Topnambos knew me. "

"The Topnambos used to talk of a blackguard with a name like Kemp whokept himself mighty out of the way in the Vale. "

"You knew I was on the island, " I pinned him down. 

"You used to _come_ to the island, " he corrected. "I've just explainedhow. But you were not there much, or we should have been able to layhands on you. We wanted to. There was a warrant out after you tried tomurder us. But you had been smuggled away by Ramon. "

I tried again:

"You have heard of my brother-in-law, Sir Ralph Rooksby?"

I wanted to show that, if I hadn't rings, I had relations. 

"Nevah heard of the man in my life, " he said. 

"He was the largest land proprietor on the island, " I said. 

"Dessay, " he said; "I knew forty of the largest. Mostly sharpers in theboosing-kens. " He yawned. 

I said viciously:

"It was your place to know the island. You knew Horton Pen--theMacdonalds?"

The face of jolly old Mrs. Mac. Came to my mind--the impeccable, Scotch, sober respectability. 

"Oh, I knew the Macdonalds, " he said--"_of_ them. The uncle was a damnrebellious, canting, planting Scotchman. Horton Pen was the centre ofthe Separation Movement. We could have hung _him_ if we'd wanted to. Thenephew was the writer of an odious blackmailing print. He calumniatedall the decent, loyal inhabitants. He was an agent of you pirates, too. We arrested him--got his papers; know all about your relations withhim. "

I said, "That's all nonsense. Let us hear"--the Attorney-General hadalways said that--"what you know of myself. "

"What I know of you, " he sniffed, "if it's a pleasuah, was somethinglike this. You came to the island in a mysterious way, gave out thatyou were an earl's son, and tried to get into the very excellent societyof. .. Ah. .. People like my friends, the Topnambos. But they would nothave you, and after that you kept yourself mighty close; no one ever sawyou but once or twice, and then it was riding about at night with thathumpbacked scoundrel of a blackmailer. 

"You, in fact, weren't on the island at all, except when you came tospy for the pirates. You used to have long confabulations with thatscoundrel Ramon, who kept you posted about the shipping. As for theblackmailer, with the humpback, David Macdonald, you kept him, you. .. Ah. .. Subsidized his filthy print to foment mutiny and murder among theblack fellows, and preach separation. You wanted to tie our hands, andprevent our. .. Ah. .. Prosecuting the preventive measures against you. When you found that it was no good you tried to murder the admiral andmyself, and that very excellent man Topnambo, coming from a ball. Afterthat you were seen encouraging seven of your. .. Ah. .. Pirate fellowswhom we were hanging, and you drove off in haste with your agent, Ramon, before we could lay hands on you, and vanished from the island. "

I didn't lose my grip; I went at him again, blindly, as if I were boxingwith my eyes full of blood, but my teeth set tight. I said:

"You used to buy things yourself of old Ramon; bought them for theadmiral to load his frigates with; things he sold at Key West. "

"That was one of the lies your scoundrel David Macdonald circulatedagainst us. "

"You bought things. .. Even whilst you were having his store watched. "

"Upon my soul!" he said. 

"You used to buy things. .. . " I pinned him. He looked suddenly at theKing's Advocate, then dropped his eyes. 

"Nevah bought a thing in my life, " he said. 

I knew the man had; Ramon had told me of his buying for the admiral morethan three hundred barrels of damaged coffee for thirty pounds. I was ina mad temper. I smashed my hand upon the spikes of the rail in front ofme, and although I saw hands move impulsively towards me all over thecourt, I did not know that my arm was impaled and the blood runningdown. 

"Perjurer, " I shouted, "Ramon himself told me. "

"Ah, you were mighty thick with Ramon. .. " he said. 

I let him stand down. I was done. Someone below said harshly, "Thatcloses our case, m'luds, " and the court rustled all over. Old LordStowell in front of me shivered a little, looked at the window, and thensaid:

"Prisoner at the bar, our procedure has it that if you wish to sayanything, you may now address the jury. Afterwards, if you had acounsel, he could call and examine your witnesses, if you have any. "

It was growing very dark in the court. I began to tell my story; it wasso plain, so evident, it shimmered there before me. .. And yet I knew itwas so useless. 

I remembered that in my cell I had reasoned out that I must be veryconstrained; very lucid about the opening. "On such and such a dayI landed at Kingston, to become an improver on the estate of mybrother-in-law. He is Sir Ralph Rooksby of Horton Priory in Kent. " I_did_ keep cool; I _was_ lucid; I spoke like that. I had my eyes fixedon the face of the young girl upon the bench. I remember it so well. Hereyes were fixed, fascinated, upon my hand. I tried to move it, and foundthat it was stuck upon the spike on which I had jammed it. I moved itcarelessly away, and only felt a little pain, as if from a pin-prick;but the blood was dripping on to the floor, pat, pat. Later on, a manlit the candles on the judge's desk, and the court looked different. There were deep shadows everywhere; and the illuminated face of LordStowell looked grimmer, less kind, more ancient, more impossibleto bring a ray of sympathy to. Down below, the barristers of theprosecution leaned back with their arms all folded, and the air of menresting in an interval of cutting down a large tree. The barristers whowere, merely listeners looked at me from time to time. I heard one say, "That man ought to have his hand bound up. " I was telling the story ofmy life, that was all I could do. 

"As for Ramon, how could I know he was in the pay of the pirates, evenif he were? I swear I did not know. Everyone on the island had dealingswith him, the admiral himself. That is not calumny. On my honour, theadmiral did have dealings. Some of you have had dealings with forgers, but that does not make you forgers. "

I warmed to it; I found words. I was telling the story for that younggirl. Suddenly I saw the white face of my father peep at me between thehead of an old man with an enormous nose, and a stout lady in a browncloak that had a number of little watchmen's capes. He smiled suddenly, and nodded again and again, opened his eyes, shut them; furtively waveda hand. It distracted me, threw me off my balance, my coolness was gone. It was as if something had snapped. After that I remembered very little;I think I may have quoted "The Prisoner of Chillon, " because he put itinto my head. 

I seemed to be back again in Cuba. Down below me the barristers weretalking. The King's Advocate pulled out a puce-coloured bandanna, and waved it abroad preparatorily to blowing his nose. A cloud of theperfume of a West Indian bean went up from it, sweet and warm. I hadsmelt it last at Rio, the sensation was so strong that I could not tellwhere I was. 

The candles made a yellow glow on the judge's desk; but it seemed to bethe blaze of light in the cell where Nichols and the Cuban had fenced. Ithought I was back in Cuba again. The people in the court disappearedin the deepening shadows. At times I could not speak. Then I would beginagain. 

If there were to be any possibility of saving my life, I had to tellwhat I had been through--and to tell it vividly--I had to narrate thestory of my life; and my whole life came into my mind. It was Seraphinawho was the essence of my life; who spoke with the voice of all Cuba, of all Spain, of all Romance. I began to talk about old Don BalthasarRiego. I began to talk about Manuel-del-Popolo, of his red shirt, hisblack eyes, his mandolin; I saw again the light of his fires flicker onthe other side of the ravine in front of the cave. 

And I rammed all that into my story, the story I was telling to thatyoung girl. I knew very well that I was carrying my audience with me;I knew how to do it, I had it in the blood. The old pale, faded, narrow-lidded father who was blinking and nodding at me had been one ofthe best raconteurs that ever was. I knew how. In the black shadows ofthe wall of the court I could feel the eyes upon me; I could see theparted lips of the young girl as she leaned further towards me. I knewit because, when one of the barristers below raised his voice, someonehissed "S--sh" from the shadows. And suddenly it came into my head, thateven if I did save my life by talking about these things, it would beabsolutely useless. I could never go back again; never be the boy again;never hear the true voice of the Ever Faithful Island. What did itmatter even if I escaped; even if I could go back? The sea would bethere, the sky, the silent dim hills, the listless surge; but _I_ shouldnever be there, I should be altered for good and all. I should never seethe breathless dawn in the pondwater of Havana harbour, never bethere with Seraphina close beside me in the little _drogher_. Allthat remained was to see this fight through, and then have done withfighting. I remember the intense bitterness of that feeling and theoddity of it all; of the one "I" that felt like that, of the other thatwas raving in front of a lot of open-eyed idiots, three old judges, anda young girl. And, in a queer way, the thoughts of the one "I" floatedthrough into the words of the other, that seemed to be waving its handsin its final struggle, a little way in front of me. 

"Look at me. .. Look at what they have made of me, one and the other ofthem. I was an innocent boy. What am I now? They have taken my life fromme, let them finish it how they will, what does it matter to me, what doI care?"

There was a rustle of motion all round the court. On board Rowley'sflagship the heavy irons had sawed open my wrists. I hadn't been ironedin Newgate, but the things had healed up very little. I happened to lookdown at my claws of hands with the grime of blood that the dock spikeshad caused. 

"What sort of a premium is it that you set on sticking to the right? Isthis how you are going to encourage the others like me? What do I careabout your death? What's life to me? Let them get their scaffold ready. I have suffered enough to be put out of my misery. God, I have sufferedenough with one and another. Look at my hands, I say. Look at my wrists, and say if I care any more. " I held my ghastly paws high, and the candlelight shone upon them. 

Out of the black shadows came shrieks of women and curses. I saw myyoung girl put her hands over her face and slip slowly, very slowly, from her chair, down out of sight. People were staggering in differentdirections. I had had more to say, but I forgot in my concern for theyoung girl. The turnkey pulled my sleeve and said:

"I say, that ain't _true_, is it, it ain't _true?_" Because he seemednot to want it to have been true, I glowed for a moment with the immensepride of my achievement. I had made them see things. 

A minute after, I understood how futile it was. I was not a fool even inmy then half-mad condition. The real feeling of the place came back uponme, the "Court of Law" of it. The King's Advocate was whispering to theAttorney-General, he motioned with his hand, first in my direction, thentowards the jury; then they both laughed and nodded. They knew the ropestoo well for me, and there were seven West India merchants up there whowould remember their pockets in a minute. But I didn't care. I had madethem see things. 

CHAPTER FIVE

I had shot my bolt and I was going to die; I could see it in the way theKing's Advocate tossed his head back, fluttered his bands, looked atthe jury-box, and began to play with the seals on his fob. The courthad resumed its stillness. A man in some sort of livery passed a squarepaper to the Lord Mayor, the Lord Mayor passed it to Lord Stowell, whoopened it with a jerking motion of an ancient fashion that impressed meimmensely. It was as if I, there at the end of my life, were looking ata man opening a letter of the reign of Queen Anne. The shadows of hisancient, wrinkled face changed as he read, raising his eyebrows andpuckering his mouth. He handed the unfolded paper to Mr. Baron Garrow, then with one wrinkled finger beckoned the Attorney-General to him. Thethird judge was still asleep. 

"What the devil's this?" the turnkey beside me said to his companion. 

I was in a good deal of pain, and felt sickly that every pulse of myheart throbbed in my mangled hand. The other spat straight in front ofhim. 

"Damme if I know, " he said. "This cursed business ought to have beenover and done with an hour agone. I told Jinks to have my rarebit andnoggin down by the gate-house fire at half-past five, and it's six now. "

They began an interminable argument under their breaths. 

"It's that wager of Lord March's. .. Run a mile, walk a mile, eat fivepounds of mutton, drink five pints of claret. No, it ain't. . Medmenhamcoach ain't in yet. .. Roads too heavy. .. . It is. What else would stopthe Court at this time of night? It isn't, or Justice Best 'd be awakeand hedging his bets. "

In a dizzy way I noted the Attorney-General making his way carefullyback between the benches to his knot of barristers, and their wigs wentall together in a bunch like ears of corn drawn suddenly into a sheaf. The heads of the other barristers were like unreaped ears. A man with aface like a weasel's called to a man with a face like a devil's--he wasleaving the court--something about an ambassador. The other stopped, turned, and deposited his bag again. I heard the deep voice of SirRobert Gifford say: "What!. .. Never!. .. Too infamous. .. " and then theinterest and the light seemed to flicker out together. I could hardlysee. Voices called out to each other, harsh, dry, as if their owners hadbreathed nothing but dust for years and years. 

One loud one barked, "You can't hear him, m'luds; in _Rex v. Marsupenstein. .. . _"

A lot began calling all together, "Ah, but that was different, Mr. Attorney. You couldn't subpoena him, he being in the position of _extralege commune_. But if he offers a statement. .. . "

The candles seemed to be waving deliberately like elm-tops in a highwind. 

Someone called, "Clerk, fetch me volume xiii. .. . I think we shall findthere. .. . You recollect the case of _Hildeshein v. Roe. .. . _ Wasn't it_Hildegaulen and another_, m'lud?". .. "I tried the case myself. ThePrussian Plenipotentiary. .. . "

I wanted to call out to them that it was not worth while to try theirdry throats any more; that having shot my bolt, I gave in. But I couldnot think of any words, I was so tired. "I didn't sleep at all lastnight, " I found myself saying to myself. 

The sleeping judge woke up suddenly and snarled, "Why in Heaven's namedon't we get on? We shall be all night. Let him call the second name onthe list. We can take the Spanish ambassador when you have settled. Formy part I think we ought to hear him. .. . "

Lord Stowell said suddenly, "Prisoner at the bar, some gentlemen havevolunteered statements on your behalf. If you wish it, they can becalled. "

I didn't answer; I did not understand; I wanted to tell him I didnot care, because the _Lion_ was posted as overdue and Seraphina wasdrowned. The Court seemed to be moving slowly up and down in front of melike the deck of a ship. I thought I was bound again, and on the sofa inthe gorgeous cabin of the _Madre-de-Dios_. Someone seemed to be calling, "Prisoner at the bar. .. Prisoner at the bar. .. . " It was as if thecandles had been lit in front of the Madonna with the pink child, onlyshe had a gilt anchor instead of the spiky gilt glory above herhead. Somebody was saying, "Hello there. .. . Hold up!. .. Here, bring achair, . .. " and there were arms around me. Afterwards I sat down. A veryold judge's voice said something rather kindly, I thought. I knew it wasthe very old judge, because he was called the star of Cuban law. Someonewould be bending over me soon, with a lanthorn, and I should be wipingthe flour out of my eyes and blinking at the red velvet and gilding ofthe cabin ceiling. In a minute Carlos and Castro would come. .. Or was itO'Brien who would come? No, O'Brien was dead; stabbed, with a knifein his neck; the blood was still sticky between my first and secondfingers. I could feel it. I ought to have been allowed to wash my handsbefore I was tried; or was it before I spoke to the admiral? One wouldnot speak to a man with hands like that. 

A loud, high-pitched voice called from up in the air, "I will give anyof you gentlemen of the robe down there fifty pounds to conduct theremainder of the case for him. I am the prisoner's father. "

My father's voice broke the spell. I was in the court; the candles werestill burning; all the faces, lit up or in the shadow, were bunchedtogether in little groups; hands waved. The barrister whose face waslike the devil's under his wig held in his hands the paper that had beenhanded to Lord Stowell; my father was talking to him from the bench. The barrister, tall, his robes old and ragged, silhouetted against thelight, glanced down the paper, fluttered it in his hand, nodded to myfather, and began a grotesque, nasal drawl:

"M'luds, I will conduct the case for the prisoner, if your lordshipswill bear with me a little. He obviously can't call his own witnesses. If he has been treated as he says, it has been one of the mostabominable. .. "

Old Lord Stowell said, "Ch't, ch't, Mr. Walker; you know you must notmake a speech for the prisoner. Call your witness. It is all that isneeded. "

I wondered what he meant by that. The barrister was calling a man of thename of Williams. I seemed to know the name. I seemed to know the man, too. 

"Owen Williams, Master of the ship _Lion_. .. . Coffee and dye-wood. .. . Just come in under a jury-rig. Had been dismasted and afterwardsbecalmed. Heard of this trial from the pilot in Graves-end. Had takenpost-chaises. .. "

I only heard snatches of his answers. 

"On the twenty-fifth of August last I was close in with the Cubancoast. .. . The mate, Sebright, got boiling water for them. .. . Afterwardsa heavy fog. They boarded us in many boats. .. . " He was giving all theold evidence over again, fastening another stone around my neck. Butsuddenly he said: "This gentleman came alongside in a leaky dinghy. Adead shot. He saved all our lives. "

His bullet-head, the stare of his round blue eyes seemed to draw me outof a delirium. I called out:

"Williams, for God's sake, Williams, where is Seraphina? Did she comewith you?" There was an immense roaring in my head, and the ushers wereshouting, "Silence! Silence!" I called out again. 

Williams was smiling idiotically; then he shook his head and put hisfinger to his mouth to warn me to keep silence. I only noted the shakeof the head. Sera-phina had not come. The Havana people must have takenher. It was all over with me. The roaring noise made me think that Iwas on a beach by the sea, with the smugglers, perhaps, at night downin Kent. The silence that fell upon the court was like the silence of agrave. Then someone began to speak in measured, portentous Spanish, thatseemed a memory of the past. 

"I, the ambassador of his Catholic Majesty, being here upon my honourand on my oath, demand the re-surrender of this gentleman, whosecourage equals his innocence. Documents which have just reached my handsestablish clearly the mistake of which he is the victim. The functionarywho is called _Alcayde_ of the _carcel_ at Havana confused the men. Nikola el Escoces escaped, having murdered the judge whose place it wasto identify. I demand that the prisoner be set at liberty. .. "

A long time after a harsh voice said:

"Your Excellency, we retire, of course, from the prosecution. "

A different one directed:

"Gentlemen of the jury, you will return a verdict of 'Not Guilty'. .. "

Down below they were cheering uproariously because my life was saved. But it was I that had to face my saved life. I sat there, my head bowedinto my hands. The old judge was speaking to me in a tone of loftycompassion:

"You have suffered much, as it seems, but suffering is the lot of usmen. Rejoice now that your character is cleared; that here in thispublic place you have received the verdict of your countrymen thatrestores you to the liberties of our country and the affection of yourkindred. I rejoice with you who am a very old man, at the end of mylife. .. . "

It was rather tremendous, his deep voice, his weighted words. Sufferingis the lot of us men!. .. The formidable legal array, the great powersof a nation, had stood up to teach me that, and they had taught methat--suffering is the lot of us men!

It takes long enough to realize that someone is dead at a distance. Ihad done that. But how long, how long it needs to know that the life ofyour heart has come back from the dead. For years afterwards I could notbear to have her out of my sight. 

Of our first meeting in London all I remember is a speechlessness thatwas like the awed hesitation of our overtried souls before the greatnessof a change from the verge of despair to the opening of a supreme joy. 

The whole world, the whole of life, with her return, had changed allaround me; it enveloped me, it enfolded me so lightly as not to be felt, so suddenly as not to be believed in, so completely that that wholemeeting was an embrace, so softly that at last it lapsed into a sense ofrest that was like the fall of a beneficent and welcome death. 

For suffering is the lot of man, but not inevitable failure or worthlessdespair which is without end--suffering, the mark of manhood, whichbears within its pain a hope of felicity like a jewel set in iron. .. . 

Her first words were:

"You broke our compact. You went away from me whilst I was sleeping. "Only the deepness of her reproach revealed the depth of her love, and the suffering she too had endured to reach a union that was to bewithout end--and to forgive. 

And, looking back, we see Romance--that subtle thing that ismirage--that is life. It is the goodness of the years we have livedthrough, of the old time when we did this or that, when we dwelt hereor there. Looking back, it seems a wonderful enough thing that I whoam this, and she who is that, commencing so far away a life that, aftersuch sufferings borne together and apart, ended so tranquilly there in aworld so stable--that she and I should have passed through so much, goodchance and evil chance, sad hours and joyful, all lived down and sweptaway into the little heap of dust that is life. That, too, is Romance!

THE END