"Here, thy Excellency," cried a voice; and from out of the group of pirates, there waddled towards us the large, stout figure of an Englishman, clad in the gown of a priest; a man on whose rubicund face the mellow juice of the grape had stamped its seal. The nose red and swollen, the cheeks puffed and bloated, the watery eye, all told the tale of his vice as plainly as if it had been spoken in words.
He came forward, a smile of triumph upon his face. "Ah! thy Excellency," he cried, as he came nearer, "did I not do my work well? Not one culverin to answer thee with, and all at the risk of my life. Was I not nearly discovered several times? I would not go through the like again for a mine of gold, freshly dug from the virgin soil."
"Thou shalt be well requited for thy pains," DeNortier replied. "In the meantime, hast thou a cross?"
"Most assuredly," he answered; "the servant hath ever the tools of his calling," and he plucked from under the folds of his cassock a little iron cross, and held it out to the Count.
"Swear upon it," I said, "that by the bones of thy ancestors, by the body of Jesus, by all the fears of perdition, thou wilt deliver the maiden, with Captain Steele, safe and unharmed, into the hands of her friends. If thou failest to do so, may a thousand curses weigh down thy soul."
"I swear it," he said sullenly, kissing the cross, and returning it to the priest.
"And thou foul imp of Satan," I cried to the priest, "the first time I get but a chance, I will run my sword through thy traitor heart; and this I swear."
"Bold words, brave sir," he answered. "Strange words from a dying man. I will heed them more, when thou art more able to perform thy threat," and with a leer at me, he hobbled after DeNortier, who had gone forward to acquaint the girl with the fact that she was free.
As he told her that she was at liberty, and would be placed in the hands of her friends in a few days, and that I had taken her place, she ran forward to where I lay, and threw herself at my feet.
"Oh, Señor!" she cried, "thou must be a blessed saint in disguise."
"No saint, maiden," I answered, "only a weak, erring man."
"But thou canst not mean that thou wilt stay among these dreadful men, and let me go back to my home? I cannot let thee do that; thy blood would be upon my hands."
"No," I answered, "I am in the hands of God; thou canst do no good by remaining here. I am in the power of these men already, and can be in no worse position. Perhaps," I said, speaking in a lower tone, "thou canst bring succor, and thus assist me."
"I will," she answered quickly, "though I be compelled to go to the King himself. Have no fear, I will send back as soon as I reach my friends, and rescue thee." And before I could prevent her, she had caught my hand, and pressed it to her lips.
Herrick and a party of his men came forward at this moment, and with his accustomed sneer, he bowed.
"I am sorry to interrupt this touching scene, but orders thou knowest must be obeyed," and with that two of his men picked me up and carried me forward. Passing the group of weeping women and children, huddled together near the companionway, they carried me in a small boat over to the other vessel and down below to my old prison. I was alone this time though; unbinding my hands, they left me.
Two days later DeNortier summoned me to come on deck. At some little distance there lay a small vessel; and on its deck, leaning upon the rail, stood two figures—one I knew for Steele, and the other was the Spanish maiden.
Even as I looked, the ship got under way; I waved my hand at them, and they replied. They still waved at me as far as I could see them. Smaller, smaller, smaller the vessel grew, until she dwindled to a mere speck upon the water; finally I could discern it no longer—the ship was gone. And thus I saw them no more.
CHAPTER IV THE ISLAND ELDORADO
DeNortier now allowed me to come and go upon the ship as I chose; only the ever present Herrick dogged my footsteps every minute of my waking time, and dutifully locked me in at night. I was at a loss to account for this sudden liberty; perhaps the pirate thought that he was now in his own dominion; perhaps he no longer feared me, and so allowed me this much of freedom. I knew not the reason, nor did I ponder over it, so long as he allowed me to roam the decks unmolested.
It was on the fourth day after we had parted from the little vessel on which Steele and the maiden had left us, that I heard the watchman on the mast call, "Land! Land!" It was about seven in the morning when I heard the cry, and hastily dressing myself, I rushed on deck. There to the west of us, loomed up what appeared to be an island, and a couple of hours' time brought us to it.
It was a beautiful spot; any sort of land would have been welcome after the long, weary voyage, but such a land as this was doubly so. Long, feathery trees fringed the water's edge; tropic flowers, wondrous, many-hued, bloomed everywhere; strange birds, their plumage gorgeous and brilliant, flitted from tree to tree, and filled the air with their songs; fruits, luscious and tempting, hung from the trees and lay upon the ground; everywhere profusion and plenty seemed to reign.
No wonder that this lovely spot had been chosen by the pirate for his home; such a place as this was an earthly paradise, with the needs of existence already supplied. The climate was soft and balmy, and though it must have been about the middle of November, the air was as warm and pleasant as a May morning.
The voice of DeNortier sounded at my elbow: "Welcome, Sir Thomas! Welcome to Eldorado!"
"And so this is Eldorado?" I said. "Long have I searched for Eldorado; I had not looked to find it here."
"Fate plays us many strange tricks," he answered, his eyes upon the island.
"Where is this Eldorado?" I inquired.
"It is near the coast of Cuba," he answered, "which is only a few leagues distant. I discovered it several years ago on one of my expeditions. It is safe and pleasant, out of the track of stray ships, and here, when home from my voyages, I reign as though I were a king."
The ship had fired a culverin some moments ago, and now, in answer to the signal, a long canoe put off from the shore and came rapidly toward us.
We watched it come forward in silence, and as it drew nearer, I saw that the men who filled the boat were the wild Indians, like the savage Manteo, whom I had seen in London—and yet not like him. Like him in the bronze color of their skin, in their black, glittering eyes, and long, coarse hair; yet not like him, for they wanted the rugged strength of his face, wanted the martial pose of his bearing and the freedom of his glance.
They were not clad in skins, as had been Manteo, but wore jerkins of some cotton material, their legs and arms bare. Upon their feet were fastened light sandals. Evidently, by their countenances and deportment, they did not belong to the warlike tribes which roamed the virgin forests of Virginia, but were a gentler type of that race.
In a few minutes their light boat touched the ship, and one, who seemed to be the leader, ran forward to where DeNortier stood, and dropping on one knee, spoke some words in a soft tongue which I did not understand.
The Count answered him in the same language, and turning to me, told me that I might go ashore.
"One thing, Count," I said, detaining him as he turned to leave, "when am I to recover my sword? I am strangely ill at ease without the tapping of the blade against my knee, and care not to go among yonder barbarians without a weapon."
He looked at me in some surprise. "Thy sword? Of what use is a sword to a captive? Swords are for the free. As for yon Indians, thou couldst drive them before thee with a lash. But thou shalt have thy sword upon one condition. Give me thy word of honor as a gentleman that thou wilt not attempt to escape while upon this island, and thou shalt be free to come and go as thou dost please."
I pondered a moment. Escape was not possible, even should I break forth from my prison, for the boundless ocean stretched between me and land. So he should have my word of honor for the present; should a favorable opportunity for escape present itself, I could retract my word.
"Thou shalt have my word of honor for the present," I said. "Should I see proper to change my mind, thou shalt be informed."
A sardonic smile was upon his face. "Dost thou think that I am a child, to bring thee here, and then let thee escape? Suit thy own fancy; when thou seest fit to retract thy promise, I shall secure thee well. As for thy sword—Francis! come hither."
The priest, who had hovered near during this brief conversation, drew closer to us.
"Go into my cabin, and bring my gold-hilted Toledo blade," DeNortier commanded.
The rogue turned, and walked toward the cabin. In a few minutes he returned, bringing with him a splendid gold-hilted sword.
The Count took it from him, and drawing the long, bright blade from its sheath, turned to me with a bow.
"Allow me to present thee with this sword in lieu of thine own, which was unfortunately lost the night thou wert brought on board. It is of the finest steel, and, I am sure, could be in the hands of no more gallant gentleman."
I bowed in reply, as I took the sword from him.
"I thank thee," I said, "and hope that it will not be dishonored in my hands."
"I am sure it will not," he answered. "But it is time that we were on shore," and he walked forward to where the canoe lay. Together we descended the ladder and stepped into the boat.
The natives bent their muscles to the task; the paddles flew, and the canoe passed rapidly through the water to a spot which seemed suited for landing, and where a little throng of the Indians, both men and women, together with a few of the pirates, awaited us.
The canoe grated upon the beach, and treading our way through the crowd of Indians, who stood with bent heads as we passed by, we took a well-beaten path which led through the trees, and after about fifteen minutes' brisk walking turned a corner and passed into a broad, level savannah, carpeted with long luxuriant grass.
A long, low building stretched to the left, rough and unpainted; while to the right there arose a splendid mansion, many-windowed, with broad, white pillars—stately and magnificent it stood, looking like a pearl among swine.
The Count noticed the surprise depicted upon my face.
"Be not dismayed," he said. "It is but my poor home; for though shut off in some sense from the world, I yet manage to enjoy some of the good things of the flesh. The world has contributed to my comfort and the furnishings of yonder house. Italy has given us of her sculpture and painting; England, our furniture and tapestry; Spain, our wine and goblets; from Venice have come our carpets and tableware; the Netherlands have given us linen and clothing; from Portugal have come our gold and silverware. I have managed to make my brief stays here not unpleasant. Yonder is the barrack for the men," he said, pointing to the rough, unfinished building, which stood to the left.
As we came nearer to the mansion, one of the Indians, detaching himself from the group of servants on the steps, ran forward to greet his master. As he reached us, he caught DeNortier's hand and carried it to his lips, crying out a few words in the same musical language which the native who first came aboard the vessel had spoken.
The pirate answered in the same tongue, and turning to me, said:
"Thou seest that I have something human in me after all; these poor dogs worship the very ground that I walk upon."
Resuming our steps, we passed on into the house. When within, I stood amazed at the elegance of its furnishings; the floor carpeted in some soft material into which the feet sank as we walked; the walls covered with elegant tapestry; the chairs and other furniture, massive and splendid; on pedestals stood the choicest statuary of the masters of Italy; from the walls there hung paintings, costly and exquisite; and the perfume of sweet-scented flowers filled the rooms. Wealth and culture seemed to reign supreme.
This might be the palace of some noble in far-off England or Spain, a man of wealth and refinement, but not the home of a reckless, blood-thirsty pirate, devoid of conscience or soul, his head resting insecurely upon his shoulders—for so unmerciful and terrible had been the cruelty of DeNortier that, if captured by any civilized nation, his neck would pay the penalty of his crimes. No wonder I was amazed.
The Count had thrown himself upon a velvet couch, which stood near the center of the great room into which he had led me. Stretching out his hand he touched a little silver gong, which stood upon a pedestal near his elbow. A soft-footed attendant stood noiselessly in the doorway. A word in that same unknown language, and the servant disappeared.
A moment later he reappeared, a bottle and two goblets in his hand. Drawing up a small table, he pushed another soft couch opposite me as I stood gazing around the room, and silently passed out of the apartment.
"Be seated, sir," the Count said. "Drink one glass with me. This wine," he continued, filling a golden goblet and holding it up to the light, "was intended for his Catholic Majesty, the King of Spain. I took it from a galleon near the coast of Cuba, a year ago, after a bitter fight. Little thinks his Majesty that to-day we drink it." And he poured a glass for himself, his goblet matching mine.
"Come, Sir Thomas, let us lay aside all enmity for a few brief moments, and drink one glass together. I give thee a toast which thou canst not refuse," he cried, rising to his feet, and holding out the glass at arm's length—"Her Royal Majesty, the Queen of England!"
"Her Royal Majesty, the Queen of England"
"The Queen!" I rejoined, rising. "May her glory never wane or fade!"
"Amen to that," the pirate said, and we both sank back upon our couches.
"Where, pray, didst thou find these rich treasures which adorn thy mansion? If all be of the same quality as the wine we have just drank, thou art well named King of Eldorado."
He glanced around the room before replying, and then answered, speaking slowly and clearly:
"Some of these things I took from vessels upon the seas; some I obtained when I raided the South American coasts, the spoils of monasteries and cathedrals; some I bought in Europe and sent in merchant vessels, which I met as I did the 'Betsy' and transferred to my own ship. It has been the work of several years, but it is well worth the price. Some day, when I tire of war and bloodshed, I shall come back here, and pass the remainder of my life in this lovely spot, with the song of the bird and the odor of the rose. Allow me to fill thy glass." And he poured me out another goblet, and refilled his own.
"And now as we talk," I said, "what of myself? Of what advantage am I to thee? Why not release me and let me go back to England?"
"Release thee? No; my dear sir, not yet. Did I not give up a Spanish maiden, a jewel of the West, to have the pleasure of thy company? Wouldst thou deprive me of it so soon, and bought with such a price? Cruel! Cruel!" and he laughed again.
"But of what advantage am I here to thee? I am not gold; thou canst not melt me into shining coin."
"No," the pirate answered, looking at me narrowly, "I cannot melt thee—but there are other things. I offered thee a place beneath me, to be my right-hand man——"
"Which I refused," I interrupted. "Dost thou take me for a child, one day to refuse an offer, the next to accept it? I credited thee with more wisdom."
A dark look had spread over the sea rover's face, accentuating the thin lips and dark overhanging brows. His eyes glittered; he reminded me of a snake as it rears back to strike its victim.
He spoke thickly: "Thou canst not say that I have not done my best to save thee from thy own folly. Join me, thou art safe; refuse me——" and he shrugged his shoulders. "Thou hast powerful enemies, wouldst thou refuse an ally?"
He had drank several glasses to my one. Twice, during our conversation, had the soft-footed native replaced with full bottles the empty ones upon the table, as DeNortier finished them.
I waited until the Indian disappeared before I spoke.
What meant the pirate, when he said powerful enemies? Might not this explain my abduction and detention in this place? I would see whether he would not say more, under the generous influence of the wine.
"Is that so?" I answered. "I know not what thou meanest by powerful enemies; such a thing as that might change my resolution."
But he would not be drawn out. Evidently alarmed by what he had said, he arose unsteadily from the couch.
"Think on what I have said," he replied, as he turned toward the door; "perhaps thou mayest yet come with me." And turning a deaf ear to all my endeavors to detain him, he walked out of the door, bidding me remain where I was.
I still reclined on the couch after DeNortier had passed out of the room. I was tired, my limbs ached, and the wine had produced a pleasant torpor which sapped my energy.
What meant the pirate when he said that I had powerful enemies? Could it be that my father or Richard had taken this method to get me out of the way? Not my father, certainly; he hated me, it is true, but he was too much of the aristocrat to stoop to such work as this. He had cast me off forever, but what motive could he have for condemning me to the life of an exile? No; whoever it was behind the scene, it could not be my father.
Richard, then? It was more like him, for he had always been wont to do his dirty work under cover of darkness, and was none too good for such a trick. But where was the motive? He was the eldest son; the estate and title would fall to him at my father's death; he stood near my father's heart, while the old lord despised me. Why should he wish to do this deed, which might come to light and ruin him? No, I did not think it was Richard. He would have put a dagger in my back, and so been rid of me, once and forever. He would never have had me kidnaped and carried out of England.
There only remained the Viscount James Henry Hampden. It might be that his was the master hand that worked the wires; but I could not believe he would do such a deed. He might wish to get so dangerous a rival out of the way, but why in such a manner as this? He was a soldier; would it not be more likely that he would have picked a quarrel with me, and fought it out as a gentleman? But there came to my mind the threat he had made, that Margaret should be his in spite of Heaven and Hell.
Rumor had it that he had done strange deeds in the Low Country—things that would not bear the light of day. Tales were told of a house in which some Spanish prisoners were confined, which was burned by his command, cooking them alive in its ruins.
Yes, it might be his work. At the thought I ground my teeth together, and my hand sought the hilt of my sword. There was no one else I could think of who had any motive for keeping me out of England. I would keep my eyes open, and perhaps the plot would thicken; in the meantime I would watch and wait.
Woe to whomsoever had done this deed; for whoever it was, I would never rest until I had punished him. The world was too small to hold both of us; one must pass out should we meet face to face. With these thoughts, I caught up my hat, and walked out upon the broad veranda.
Without, dusk was just beginning to fall. The men were struggling up from the vessel bringing their booty, the spoils of the ships they had rifled, and their rude songs floated up to me. The natives, men, women, and children, were running to and fro, their arms loaded with small articles.
A little apart from the men stood a small group, composed of DeNortier, Herrick, Francis, and one of the Indians. Even as I looked, they separated—the Count and the Indian going toward the barrack, Herrick going down the path toward the landing place, and the priest coming toward me.
As he drew nearer I could see his fat, evil face, with its watery eyes, looking like some bloated monster of the deep. He called to me as he drew closer, the habitual leer upon his face:
"How does my lord stand the fatigue of his travel? I trust that he has not been greatly inconvenienced by our rude accommodations."
I answered calmly, having my own reasons for not angering the man; perhaps he knew something of the plan to detain me here, and who stood behind it.
"Not greatly fatigued," I said, "and yet tired. Come inside and have a glass of the wondrous wine of the Count."
The pale eye lit up, his tongue protruded from his lips, as I have seen a dog's at the sight of a bone, and he glanced hastily around him. Only a few men were in sight, busy at work around the barrack.
Coming nearer he spoke in a low voice: "I will take one glass with thee, noble sir; only one glass, to celebrate thy safe arrival."
"Come into the house, then," I said. Retracing my steps to the room which I had just left, I threw myself upon one of the divans, motioning him to take the one opposite.
He did so, at the same time catching up the bottle of wine from the table and looking at the seal. A smile broke over his face, as he saw the rich amber fluid.
"The wine of the King of Spain!" he cried. "How camest thou by this?"
"The Count opened it," I answered. "Drink!" And taking the bottle from his unwilling hands, I poured out a brimming glass.
Catching it up, he put it to his lips; then held out the empty glass to me.
"Wine!" he cried, "that warms the cockles of the heart as old age creeps on; that turns life's cheerless existence into gold. Wine, the curse of youth; the friend of middle life; the staff of old age—the great alchemist that turns the dull, gray hours into sunshine. Ah, I drink to him who first discovered wine!" And he drained the second goblet, though somewhat slower than the first, as if to taste each drop of the precious fluid.
Upon finishing this glass, a thought seemed to strike him, and he held up the golden goblet to the light; for while we sat, the same noiseless servant lit the candles that stood in the golden candelabras which hung upon the walls, and the great room was bathed in a flood of light.
"Ah! this goblet," the priest resumed, "well do I remember it; taken by the impious son of Holy Church from the Cathedral at Cartagena. I implored, but my anguish availed nothing." And the great tears rolled down the fat cheeks of the rascal, whose face was fast settling into the cunning of intoxication.
The two great goblets he had drunk in rapid succession—and I surmised that he had been celebrating before now the safe return of the vessel—had almost overcome him. Although his head was like a stone, from constant, excessive drink, yet even a stone can be worn away by continual dripping.
His eye rested on my goblet which I had not filled, for I needed a clear head to pump the rascal. Suspicion struggled for a moment upon his face.
"Why dost thou not drink?" he said. "It is nectar for gods and men."
"Thou forgettest," I replied, "that I have already drunk with DeNortier, and my head will stand no more at present."
Suspicion died out of his eyes, and in its place there appeared a look of gentle merriment.
"Ah! you boys! You boys!" he chuckled. "Wait until thou hast reached my years; then thy head will be stronger; thou wilt learn wisdom." Solemnly shaking his head, he poured another brimming goblet and slowly drank it down.
"Such trinkets as these," he went on, still holding the massive goblet in his hand, "should belong to the faithful servants of Mother Church, to reward them for their constant prayer and vigil," and he fetched a great sigh, that caused the very candles on the wall to flare. "See the carving upon the sides of the goblet—a miter and robe. Who knows that I may not wear the miter?" His face brightened at the thought, and he looked at me inquiringly, a drunken smile upon his face.
"A miter would surely become so pious a man," I said, "who spends his days and nights in vigil and fastings."
His head had fallen to one side; his red cheeks shone in the candlelight; the bald pate; the hair white around the edges; his cassock ruffled and disheveled—surely he was a sight to make the gods weep.
I judged that the moment was ripe to broach the subject. I looked cautiously around—not a soul was in sight but the drunken priest. I leaned forward.
"Why not?" I said. "Why not? My uncle, thou knowest, is an Archbishop, a few words spoken in his ear by one whom he loves, and presto—Francis, Bishop of the Holy Catholic Church!"
I leaned back and watched the effect of this announcement upon him. A look of avarice replaced that of drunken wisdom, and bending, he placed his head upon his hands, looking up at me. His eyes swam with the liquor he had drunk. I saw plainly that he was hesitating. He sat thus for a moment; then looking at me broke the silence:
"Sayest thou so? Would I had known this before; rather had I burnt my right hand to the stump, than to have helped to bring thee here," and he broke into sobs, the tears running between his fingers and mingling with the little puddle of wine upon the table. "My last chance gone," he gurgled, "gone!—gone!"
"No," I continued, still watching narrowly his face, "thou hast only to say one word, and the place is thine."
"What?" he cried, looking up, a smile swiftly replacing the tears. "But no; promises are easy to make, hard to keep. How do I know that thou canst fulfill that which thou dost now promise?"
I hesitated; the time had come for me to play my last card. Months before, I had found one night on the streets of London a ring, large, peculiar, strange, with a miter carved upon the soft gold. I had carried it to a jeweler, thinking that I might possibly find the owner. He, being a Catholic, and high in the church councils, had told me that it was a ring of state of some bishop; whose he did not know. I had kept the ring, not finding the owner, and now drew it from my finger, where I had worn it, holding it out to Father Francis.
He took it in his fingers, and gazed at it. A look of amazement came over his face, and he looked up, the ring still in his hand.
"What is it that thou wouldst ask? I will answer it," he said, bending nearer to me, our heads almost meeting over the table, his flushed face touching mine.
"Who is it that is at the bottom of this plan to kidnap and detain me here?" I asked.
He would have answered—a moment of hesitation—he opened his mouth, and I bent forward eagerly to catch the answer.
Suddenly a look of horror came over his face; he was gazing up, the expression upon his countenance such as I have seen in the eyes of a bird, charmed by the baleful gaze of a snake.
The voice of DeNortier at my elbow broke the silence. "My dear sir, I object to thy asking such pointed questions," he said.
I arose to my feet, and turned around. DeNortier, sober now, stood near me, a look of almost devilish anger upon his face. Near him stood the grim Herrick, sword in hand. They had entered the room just in time to scatter my plans to the four winds—just at the moment when victory was in sight.
"And so thou didst think to wring my plans from my servants," the pirate continued, his face white with rage. "Thou didst try all thy art upon me, and I, unsuspecting, almost fell a victim. Then when thou failed on me, thou attempted to pick from yonder drunken sot the secret of thy detention. This is the work of a gentleman."
"And so is that of a jailer," I replied, angered at the gibe. "It is the work of a gentleman to kidnap a man, struck senseless in the street by one of thy ruffians, and detain him here against his will. I count it no sin to fight the devil with fire," and I drew my sword, and stood on guard.
He drew his sword also, and for a moment I thought that he would cross with me, but he hesitated—then sheathed it.
"Another time, sir," he said. "Believe me, it is only for important reasons, which I cannot explain, that I do not satisfy thee now. Ah!" he said, as I laughed aloud in scorn, "thou dost laugh. It is an old saying and a true one, that 'He laughs best who laughs last.' Have no fears, I will satisfy thee, but the time is not yet ripe. Herrick, take yon drunken sot out of here."
The sailor strode to the door and called. At the sound two natives entered. He motioned to the priest, who had fallen asleep upon the table, and whose stentorian snores shook the very goblets. Picking him up between them, they carried him out of the door.
The Count stood looking at me after the priest had been removed from the room; the anger had died out of his face, and a look of grim humor had replaced it. Finally he spoke:
"It was a fortunate thing for thee, Sir Thomas, that I came in when I did; a little more, and thy head would have rested on an uneasy pillow."
But I was tired; tired of the enigmas and puzzles; tired of wearying my brain with unfruitful guessing. I cared not whether he laughed or frowned, so I merely inquired whether my room was ready, and made known my wish to retire.
"Certainly," he answered, and touching the silver gong again, he spoke to the native. Then turning to me he said, "José will show thee thy room. Good-night, and pleasant dreams," and with a bow he threw himself upon the great couch.
"Thanks," I answered.
Following the Indian, I was shown up a noble stairway, through the splendid hall into a large room, where my guide left me, after lighting the candle in a great silver stick, the spoil of some cathedral, I doubted not.
As he went out, I heard the key turn in the lock, and I was left alone. I glanced around the room. It was furnished like the one downstairs; was smaller certainly, and had a bed instead of the luxurious couch.
I walked over to the window, through which beamed the splendid tropic moon, and drawing aside the curtain, I saw that the window, the only one in the room, had an iron grating over it. I was fastened in securely, no doubt of that.
CHAPTER V THE CAVE
I had been on the island three months, and as yet had found no clew as to why I was kept there, or who was responsible for my detention.
I was free in a sense. I wandered all around the country, and had visited the native settlement, some five miles from the mansion, as I called DeNortier's palatial home; had tramped over the island, which was about fifteen miles square, and had seen about all that there was to see upon it.
But I had not been able to discover where the adventurer kept the treasure which he took from the vessels that he scuttled. I knew that the galleon on which the Donna DeCarnova had been, carried treasure for the Spanish crown; knew that he had taken many other ships laden with gold.
My life went on much as usual. DeNortier had been gone for two months, but I saw no change in my condition; the servants were at my beck and call, always ready to wait upon me. I spent my days in roaming over the island, my nights in exploring the great house.
Somewhat discouraged I was, as I wended my way homeward this February evening. The air was fresh and balmy, despite the fact that it was winter and the people in England were huddled over the fires, and were wrapped in their great-coats and furs. I had spent the day hunting, and two natives who trotted in front of me carried the spoils of the day, a lordly stag; a third Indian carried my musketoon.
The last three months had been spent profitably in a way; the time had been passed in the open air, and my muscles were like steel. I could spend the whole day in the chase, and at night be fresh and untired. I had also devoted a good deal of my time to learning the language of the Indians, and had gotten such a fair idea of it that I could carry on an intelligible conversation.
But I was low-spirited and downcast. Would I ever see England again—and Margaret? At the thought I groaned aloud, and the sound caused the Indians to look back at me.
Shouting to them to go on, I quickened my footsteps and followed faster. They were rapidly getting out of speaking distance, and breaking into a long, swinging trot, they turned in among some trees, and were lost to my view.
I resumed my train of thought. What did Margaret think had become of me—or did she care? England I would fain see again, but more than England, more than all else, I longed for a sight of her whom I worshiped, as the heathen worship the sun. She was my sun. As the captive longs for a sight of the sun, when shut up for weary months in some deep dungeon far below the prison walls, so I longed for one sight of the Lady Margaret Carroll, and with it I would have been content.
What had become of Steele and the lovely Spanish maiden? Were they safe in Spain, or had the pirate but cozened me with his promise, and were they not now in some prison like my own? If Steele had reached England safely, had he delivered my message to my lady? What would she say to such a greeting as that? These and many other thoughts filled my mind, as I walked briskly on to overtake my carriers.
Descending a steep hillock overgrown with brush and undergrowth, I saw far below me, some one hundred yards away, the mansion, from the windows of which the light streamed down and brightened up the dusk below—for it was beginning to grow dark.
I had almost reached the foot of the hill, when I stopped. The dull murmur of conversation caught my ear, and I looked around me; there was no one in sight. Where could the sound come from? It was near me somewhere. I turned, and retraced my steps a few feet, the voice becoming plainer. Stepping cautiously, for I did not know what I was running into, I peered around.
The noise seemed to come from the ground beneath me. A thick hedge of bushes was at my elbow, and from this the sound proceeded. Softly pushing them aside, I looked behind them. Below me I could see a light; that was where the people were, evidently, and talking in English.
I crawled under the bushes, and found myself in a low cave. Quietly moving forward, I looked down. The soft dirt on which I stood came abruptly to an end, and a sheer fall of fifteen feet was directly beneath me.
Sitting together, facing each other, a candle between them, were Herrick and the old priest, Father Francis. Herrick was talking, and I bent forward to hear what he said.
"Yes, the captain has gone forward to meet him now. They will come back together."
"A curse on them both!" Francis replied. "What do we care whether they come back or not?" and he leaned forward to peer at Herrick; but the pirate's face was inscrutable. He straightened back with a sigh, and looked up to where I lay.
"It is a shame," the priest went on, "to keep so gallant a gentleman here in this hole. If he loves the maid, let him have her, and be hanged to him."
"Thou wilt sing a different tune, when I tell the Count what thou hast said," Herrick answered, and he leaned back calmly against the rock.
"Hell and the furies!" cried the old rogue, his face white with terror. "Thou wouldst not tell what I have said in jest?"
"Why not?" answered the sailor. "I could get a handful of gold for it."
"Herrick," the priest implored, his face ashy with fright, "ask what thou wilt. I will do anything, if thou wilt but keep secret what I have said to thee here, only in jest," and he arose, a look of terror awful to behold upon his face.
"Well, I will keep silent," the pirate answered, seemingly enjoying the fright of his companion, "but only upon one condition, which I will tell thee in a moment. But what said thou awhile ago?—that the Count was half-crazy. Why dost thou say that?"
Francis hesitated; then he answered: "Did I not see him walk the floor in agony only a few days ago, and cry out as if in pain? Would a man in his senses do that, thinkest thou?"
"It may be that he has something upon his mind that thou dost not know of," the sailor replied, his face grim and stolid.
The priest smiled, his wrinkles deepening. "Or perhaps it is more likely this devil of an Englishman that he has upon his hands. A thousand fiends fly away with them both to perdition!" the priest continued, his face flushing with anger. "Betwixt them, I am 'between the devil and the deep blue sea.' The Count swears that he will burn me alive, if I so much as intimate to this fellow what I know about his imprisonment; the Englishman will kill me if I do not tell. Between them I do not know what to do," he finished in a wail of agony.
Herrick still looked at him unmoved. I thought I could even discern, from where I lay, a faint trace of irony about his mouth.
"And thou wouldst have lost thy head," he rejoined, "if we had not come upon thee in the nick of time, one night three months ago."
"What wouldst thou have?" Father Francis cried. "The fool had me fuddled with wine, and offered one a king's ransom. What could I do?"
The seaman shrugged his shoulders. "What matter! It is done. We saved thee—and now what other strange thing hast thou seen the Count do lately? Thou art like a cat, creeping silently about the house, thy paw in the cream of all."
"The Count sighs for some lady love," the priest continued deliberately, eying his companion, to see what effect this announcement would have upon him. "Why, even on the night I tell thee of, did I not hear him call out once, twice, 'Margaret! Margaret!'" and he chuckled to himself in glee at the thought.
I started in my hiding place, and a lump of dirt dislodged itself and rolled down to where the villains sat. They started; Francis sprang to his feet in terror.
"What is that?" he cried, and he peered uneasily up to where I crouched.
His companion kept his seat unmoved.
"Art thou a fool," he said, "to be scared out of thy wits by a clod of dirt falling? Thou art even as if thou hadst seen a ghost," and he laughed at his ally's fright.
The priest resumed his seat, still gazing up to where I lay.
"I fancy Sir Thomas Winchester is after me in every breeze I hear," he muttered, as he reseated himself.
"Calm thy mind," the seaman rejoined. "He is safe at his supper long ere this, dreaming over the king's wine," and he grinned.
"What foolishness is this? The Count yearning for some fair lady! Dost thou take me for a schoolboy, that I should believe this? Did he pine for some maid, he would bestir himself and take her; quietly, if possible—if not, then by force. Faith! thou little knowest him, if thou thinkest he would pine over any maiden."
"All the same, comrade, I saw him wring his hands, with my own eyes, but three short months ago, and cry out, as I have told thee, the name Margaret. Who could this Margaret be, if not a lady?"
All this time I was craning my neck to catch every word that was uttered, my mind in a tumult. Why did the Count cry Margaret? There was but one Margaret—pure, innocent, sweet. As soon would I have expected a worm to raise his eyes to the far-distant stars, as that this bloodstained villain should raise his evil eyes to her—so far above him.
And yet would this not explain my detention? Perhaps the pirate expected to lure Margaret from her home, and bring her here to torture me with the sight of her in his arms, before he should make away with me.
Yes, it was like him. He would exult in such exquisite anguish as this, and at the thought I ground my teeth together, and felt for the hilt of my sword. Happen what might, this should not come to pass. Rather would I, with one swift blow, put an end to her misery, and fall upon my own sword, than to witness such a scene as this—death would be a boon beside it.
Perhaps DeNortier was even now returning with her on his ship, that evil smile upon his face as he thought of my anguish and his triumph. He had been gone three months; and I had heard one of the men say only the day before, that the Count would return now almost any time.
I bent forward again; they had resumed their conversation.
"And now," said Herrick, "I will tell the price of my silence. Answer the question that I ask, and the grave shall be no more silent than I; refuse, and I will go to DeNortier immediately upon his arrival, and tell him what thou hast said to me. Thou hast thy choice," and he looked carelessly at the other, as though he would not give a farthing which course he pursued.
Father Francis was moistening his white lips with his tongue. "Thou knowest I must answer," he said sullenly. "Why trifle with me? What is thy question?"
"Who is it behind this plot to keep Sir Thomas Winchester here?" Herrick asked quietly, and leaning back, he gazed up at the wall of the cave above him.
His companion was trembling with fear. "'Tis as much as my life is worth to tell thee!" he cried excitedly. "I durst not! Anything but this—anything! I implore thee to ask me some other question. Herrick, I have been thy friend; have stood by thee through thick and thin, when others would have forsaken and left thee to thy fate. For God's sake! ask not this of me. Dost thou remember Gromas? Did I not save thy life there, when the very breath of thy body hung by but a thread, and I could have slain thee with a word? For the sake of this spare me!" And with clasped hands he looked at the other.
"It is as much as thy life is worth not to tell me," boldly answered the adventurer. "Rememberest thou the tender mercies of our captain—the Indian burned alive at the stake; the mutineer crucified; the slave branded with red-hot irons; the——?"
"Hush!" cried the poor priest, his eyes almost starting from their sockets. "Thou makest my very blood run cold. Lean forward, and I will whisper it in thy ear—the very walls have ears in this place."
Herrick leaned forward, his eyes sparkling. The priest bent over to whisper to him. In my eagerness to hear, I leaned forward further—further over the edge of the ledge, and Dame Fortune, with a twist of her wheel, turned the propitious fates aside. For even as I bent forward, my ears strained to catch the slightest whisper, the soft earth under me gave way, and in a perfect avalanche of dirt, shrubbery, and rocks, I rolled down into the camp of my enemies.
With a yell—shrill, loud, and piercing, which rang through the cave like the blast of a trumpet, the priest sprang up. With one spring like a wild goat, he was upon the ledge from which only one short moment ago I had fallen. I heard him tear through the bushes, and run down the hill outside, as though the furies were after him. The sound died away in the distance—he was gone.
But the other rogue was of sterner mold. With an oath, he whipped out his cutlass, and was upon me as I was rising from the ground. Well it was that I had on my light steel breastplate, for the blade, coming viciously down, struck full upon it, and glanced off harmlessly, or I would not have been here to tell the tale. In an instant I had drawn my sword and was on guard.
"I have against thee a goodly account to settle, Master Herrick," I said. "The night wanes, and we must to business."
"Aye," he cried, "I will rid the world of one rascal," and he pressed upon me, thrusting, cutting, striking with such fury that, had my blade not been a good one, it would have broken sheer off, from the very force of the blows.
I let him come on, contenting myself with parrying his thrusts, for by and by I knew that he would exhaust himself, and then I would force from him the secret of my imprisonment; for the priest had whispered it into his ear before I had rolled down upon them.
Of Father Francis I had no fear. He would not bring help to his comrade. No, I knew him too well to think that he would fail to protect himself. It was to his interest that Herrick should be silenced, now that he knew so much, and he was too shrewd not to know what was best for his own interest.
So I held my own, and let him exhaust himself with his fruitless efforts. Back he came upon me, striking down blow after blow with his blade, any one of which, had it gone home, would have split me like a herring. I could have run him through at any moment, for he left his whole breast exposed in his insane fury; but I merely waited, calmly, coolly meeting every thrust, parrying every cut with a wrist of steel.
Five minutes passed, and the smile which at first had been upon his face died away. The great beads of sweat began to gather upon his forehead, as he saw his every trick and maneuver met easily, without an effort; and how fresh I was, and knew that he was rapidly exhausting himself.
Another little trick he tried, but I read what was coming in his eyes, even before he thrust, and met him, parried his blade, and thrusting back, laid open his cheek—the first time that I had drawn blood.
Then slowly I began to advance towards him, thrusting faster, faster, faster—surrounding him with a flaming wall of steel, which, try as he might, he could not penetrate. Backwards—backwards I pressed him.
It was a grim, weird scene. The white, bare walls of the cave lit up by the gleam of one little candle; the shadows coming and going upon the sides, as the air from above flared the wick of the candle. Now we were in the light; now in darkness.
The wind was rising outside; already it wailed and moaned, like the souls of the lost. There was not a sound to break the stillness that reigned throughout the cave, save only that—for we had fought in grim silence—only the sound of our feet upon the stones, as we moved and turned hither and thither, and the quick panting of our hot breath.
There, within the walls of the cavern, we fought out the last hard battle, that sooner or later, in some guise or other, comes to all of mortal flesh; that grim, silent struggle in darkness and agony, and in that despair that wrings the heart, as we run the last race, with Life in the balance, and the specter, Death, holding in his fleshless hand the scales.
I could feel his presence that night, as he stalked about us, his garments almost touching us, as we struggled to and fro—shut off from the world, with only the feeble rays of one little candle. Life seemed far away and unreal; Death seemed near and omnipresent.
Strange thoughts crossed my mind, as I cut and thrust at the grim pirate. I recalled how my mother had looked, twenty years ago, as she lay in state in the great hall at Richmond Castle. My years seemed to fall from me as a mantle, and I was again the little boy, innocent and fresh, as, holding my nurse's hand, I looked down upon the cold, waxen features of one whom I had known and loved.
I remembered the thrill of fear—or was it only dread of the unknown?—that filled my mind, as I looked upon the change that had been wrought by the hand of the great destroyer. The calm, serene features, lovely with a beauty not of earth; with that look of majesty which death brings to the face of mortals, as they lie wrapped in the embrace of the last foe.
It is as if he would erase the lines and wrinkles that sorrow and care had wrought—which the toil and pain of this cold sphere had imprinted upon that patient face—and instead would imprint upon its calm lineaments that great mystery which none but the immortal can know.
It all came back to me, and I could remember how I had turned away in the throes of my first real grief. Ah! many since then had old "Time" brought me, but none so bitter as the first.
Strange thoughts to think, as I pressed the sea rover back nearer the wall.
Ah! I had him—but he sprang nimbly aside, and my blade passed under his arm.
I had forgotten my scheme to spare his life; the blood thirst was upon me; the blood of the fighting Richmonds was up. Angered by the long fight, angered at myself that I had not slain him when I had a chance, I pressed him harder and harder, with no thought but to run him through.
And now his back was against the wall; he could retreat no further. He turned in despair, as I have seen some hunted thing do when driven to its lair; as I have seen some lone wolf when brought to bay by the hunters, and hope has fled, determined to strike one last blow, and then if need be, to go down with its face to its foes, and its teeth clinched in the throat of some good hound.
The adventurer sprang at me in such fury that I was compelled to give back a pace or two, or be cut to pieces. But his strength was gone; he was exhausted—the end had come.
I know not at that last moment, whether I would have spared his life—I cannot tell; but Fate, who ever stands patiently at our side, awaiting a favorable opportunity to interfere, took the matter out of my hands. For even as I drew back to end the matter by one home thrust, my feet slipped upon the stone and I stumbled.
With a cry, he thrust full at my breast, a blow that would have finished me; but he was too much exhausted to strike true. The blade slipped between my arm and my shoulder, and caught for an instant—it was enough. Recovering myself, I made one good lunge. He had on no armor, and the blade striking him full in the breast, right above the heart, passed entirely through his body and stood out a foot behind his back.
With a shout, he threw up his hands and dropped like a log, the force of the fall wrenching the blade from his body. I stood holding the dripping sword in my hand, and looked down at him, as he lay upon the floor. A slight shudder passed over his body; one deep, long sigh came from his lips—and then he lay motionless.
That figure, which but a short moment before had been animated with hatred and thirst for my life, was now powerless to help or hurt me. Only a moment ago he had been a man, with a man's soul; had loved and sorrowed; had rejoiced and mourned; had toiled and striven—now he was but a lump of senseless clay. He had fought a good fight; he had his faults, but he was a man. Peace to his ashes!
Picking up what remained of the candle from the floor, I walked back further into the cave. It seemed to me to be the work of nature; and at the further end a long, dark passageway led deeper into the earth.
I hesitated a moment, as I peered into it. Then I listened, but could hear nothing, so I plunged boldly into the tunnel, the candle in my left hand, my drawn sword before me in my right, its red blade still dripping. Stopping I wiped the blood off upon my kerchief, and passed on down the narrow way.
Where it led I did not know; nor with what secret traps it was filled. It might be that I would learn the mystery of my captivity at the end; it might be that I would meet with such a fate as Herrick.
Probably this tunnel led to some place where the pirates gathered to discuss the plans for their expeditions and forays; or it was possible that DeNortier had his treasure concealed somewhere within its dark depths, and even now these two men whom I had seen had been sent to watch it. I must be careful, or I would walk full into the pirates' arms.
I had walked perhaps a hundred feet, when I stopped. Two paths diverged here—one to the right, the other to the left; both yawned dark, gloomy, and mysterious before me. I had long since passed out of the natural part of the cave, and this was plainly the work of man, for I could see upon its sides the mark of the pick and shovel.
Both ways looked alike to me. Hesitating a moment, I drew a coin from my pocket. If the Queen's head fell uppermost, I would go to the right; if the reverse, to the left. I tossed the coin into the air and bent over it as it fell. It had fallen upon its face, and turning to the left, I passed on down the path about one hundred and fifty feet more.
I stopped again. Before me, shining down from the top of the rock overhead, a few yards away, there gleamed a light. Moving cautiously forward, I blew out my candle, and in a moment came upon a flight of stone steps. Looking up, I could see that what had appeared to me to be a light was simply an opening in the wall above me, which led into a lighted room.
Ascending the steps, I stood in the bed-chamber of DeNortier. I had never been in it before. It was the only room in the house, so far as I knew, that I had never entered; but the door was always fastened when I tried it, and I could find no key that would fit the lock.
Heavy tapestry lined the walls, and as I stood in the room I was concealed from view by the embroidered arras, which hung directly in front of the trap-door, hiding it from the sight of the occupants of the chamber.
The floor was of polished wood, as was the rest of the house, and bending down I closed the aperture through which I had come, noting as I did so how cunningly it fitted into the wood, so as to be indiscernible to the eye.
A thought struck me. I had best leave the trap-door ajar; it might be that those who had left it open might wish to go through it again. It would arouse suspicion were it found closed. Bending down I endeavored to again open the door, but in vain. It was evidently worked by some secret spring, and desisting from the vain attempt, I peered through the hangings into the brilliantly lighted room.
The same golden candelabra suspended from the wall; the same heavy, elegant furniture and luxurious couches; the same soft rugs and skins upon the floors; even the identical odor of flowers, tropical and sweet-scented.
Upon a little table stood a bottle of that same delicious nectar that I had drunk before; even the very golden goblets were there, from which DeNortier and I, and also Father Francis, had sipped the amber juice.
I had not tasted such wine as that since the fat priest had drunk with me, that night which had proved so near his undoing. DeNortier had sailed the next day, where, I did not know; the burly Francis I had not seen since, until this evening in the cave; only Herrick, the grim, with a few hardy ruffians, had remained behind.
I had already stepped into the room, thinking to let myself out of the door and into the great hall, when the soft thud of approaching footsteps caused me to dodge back behind the friendly tapestry. A key grated in the lock; the door swung open, and I heard the tread of footsteps across the threshold.
The key turned again, and the voice of DeNortier broke the silence. "Come, my dear Lord, thou art safe here. Be seated, pray."
The noise of some heavy article being pushed over the floor, and I could hear them throw themselves upon the couches.
Only one man with the Count, whom, I did not know. I had only heard him growl out a brief "Thank thee," as he took the proffered seat. A man of rank, too, evidently, for DeNortier had said, "My Lord." What did a noble in this part of the world? English, too, by his voice. I had as soon expected to see an elephant here as an English lord.
The stranger spoke. "Where is our prisoner?" he said in a low, clear voice. "I care not to meet him during my brief stay here."
Where had I heard that voice before? It sounded as familiar to me as my own. In London, surely, but I could not for my life remember whose it was. Could I but peer out from my hiding-place without detection, I would soon find out who the visitor was.
Carefully, very carefully, I drew aside a fold of the arras and looked out. There facing me and looking down at DeNortier, who sat opposite, a grin of pleasure upon his face, sat the Viscount James Henry Hampden. The same piercing gray eye, dark brown hair and pointed beard; the same nose and broad, wide mouth; the same cold, hard expression upon his face. As though he were at Lady Wiltshire's ball, instead of upon a wild island in the unknown Western seas, he sat there, gay and careless.
So this was the explanation that I had sought so long. He should pay dearly for this deed. I had a heavy reckoning against him, but it could wait for a while. Perhaps I would learn something of interest to me to-night.
Luckily this part of the room (I was in the furthest corner) was in the shadow, for the tapestry hung some six or eight inches from the wall, and I could move stealthily behind it without being seen from the room.
But the Count was speaking. "No fear of that, my Lord. I inquired from one of the servants as I came in, and he informed me that our prisoner had not returned from a long hunt. He is probably sleeping in the hut of some native to-night. Have no fear—he cannot hear of thy arrival."
And now he proceeded to fill one of the golden goblets with wine; pushing it toward Hampden, and filling another for himself, he said, "Let us drink a toast in this rare old wine. What shall it be? I await thy pleasure," and he rose to his feet and bowed.
The Viscount hesitated; for a moment he sat as if undecided. But the wine he had drunk before had mounted to his head, and he too arose to his feet and extended his glass.
"I give thee a toast!" he cried, his colorless cheek warming. "One for gods and men! Drink with me to the fairest of earth's mortals, as divinely beautiful and as innocent as an angel; one upon whose slightest word all London hangs—to the Lady Margaret Carroll!" And he drained the great golden goblet in a draught.
"The Lady Margaret Carroll!" rejoined the sea rover, lifting the goblet to his lips. "May she be the bride of the bravest gallant!" and he too drained his cup to the dregs.
The Viscount still stood staring at him as the Count finished his cup and set it upon the table. "Yes," said he finally, with a frown, "may the bravest man win her." And following the example of DeNortier, he resumed his reclining position upon the couch.
"And now, my Lord," the adventurer continued, "how long since is it that thy noble uncle died, and thou didst come into the possession of the title and estate?"
"Only a bare two months ago," answered Hampden, with a growl. "I thought the old fool would never die. He hung on to the estates and title as though he thought that he could carry them in his doublet with him, when he passed out of this world. I had thought that I would finally have to end his sufferings with my dagger, but he at last saved me that trouble. The Saints be praised!"
With a devout sigh at the thought of such sin and wickedness, he put to his lips the goblet that the Count had refilled, and drank off half of its contents with a gulp. Then putting it down once more on the table, he continued:
"I had been here long since had it not been for that; but from day to day I kept waiting for the old Lord to die. Each day we thought would be his last, but he held on for months," and looking up at the golden candelabra, he sighed again.
"And what effect had the titles and estates upon thy lady love?" asked DeNortier, with a slight smile. "Surely, Lord Dunraven, the possessor of an ancient title and lordly estates, would be a fit mate for any lady, barring none. Even the Queen would not stoop did she unite her fate with so noble a line."
Lord Dunraven frowned blackly. "It is true many a titled lady would be proud to be Lady Dunraven, wife of one of the greatest noblemen of England, but the foolish girl is as obstinate as a donkey. She would have none of it; told me she would be my friend ever, but I could never hope for more. The foul fiend fly away with such a friend!" he cried, his anger, stimulated by the rich wine, arising at the thought.
"I believe that she loves this Sir Thomas Winchester, so I had thee to bring him here."
My heart gave a great bound of joy as I heard this. Was it possible that Lady Margaret Carroll, courted and admired, with the choice of England's nobility before her, herself the bearer of a proud name, and with great estates, did she—could she—love and remember a gentleman spurned by his own family, penniless, an outcast from his home? Was she true to me, or was it only maidenly coyness, but used to heat my lord's passion, that she repulsed him thus?
"If I cannot win, he shall not!" and rising to his feet, Dunraven began to pace the floor.
The pirate's face wore a serious air, and fingering the goblet before him, he spoke to Lord Dunraven, who was tramping restlessly to and fro.
"If thou fearest that, my Lord, why not say the word? A dagger in the back, and thy rival would be out of thy way forever."
"No," Dunraven said, stopping for a moment his aimless walk. "No; I reserve him for a more exquisite torture than that; he would not suffer—a blow, and he would be out of his misery. But to see her in my arms, his successful rival, to have her cry to him for aid, and he bound helpless, unable to do aught but writhe in impotent agony—agony which wrings the soul—ah, my friend! that would be revenge indeed, such as I long for. Watch over him carefully. I would not have him come to harm for an earl's ransom. Curse him! How I hate him! When I can bring him to such a fate as this I shall be content, and not until then will I rest."
"And what are thy plans?" DeNortier asked, his hands still fingering listlessly the massive goblet.
The other looked at him keenly with his cold gray eye. "Can I trust thee?" he asked suspiciously.
The adventurer laughed sardonically. "Thou hast trusted me thus far," he answered. "Have I played thee false in aught that thou askest me this?"
"Forgive me," replied the Viscount. "Forgive me—but there hangs so much at stake that I fear to trust myself. Listen, and thou shalt learn my plans and purpose," and drawing up a heavy chair to the table, he seated himself.
Filling up another goblet of wine, and drinking it down as though it were a thimbleful, he resumed:
"The lady will not yield to me. I will give her but one more chance to freely and of her own will become my bride. If she still refuses to consent, then," a frown, dark and ominous, passed over his face, "I will by some ruse obtain possession of her and by force carry her on board one of my ships. Then, ho for Eldorado!"
"Yes," he said, noticing the look of astonishment upon the Spaniard's face, "Sir Thomas Winchester shall behold her my bride. When he has suffered enough to satisfy me, I will put him out of the way. We will stay here until my lady becomes reconciled, and then we will sail back to England and home," and his eyes, so cold and gray, lighted up with delight and pleasure as he surveyed the face of the other.
His companion did not at once speak, but sat in silence. "And all this," he finally said musingly—"all this toil and blood and sweat for one woman, when a score as beautiful stand at thy elbow. Truly did some wise man say, 'What fools we mortals be.'"
"Ah!" answered Dunraven, rising from his chair, "thou hast not seen the Lady Margaret Carroll. Didst thou but lay eyes upon her, thou wouldst wonder no longer, for she is the daintiest slip of mortality that ever graced this cold gray earth. Man, half London is wild over her!"
"It may be so," DeNortier replied, yawning behind his hand. "I would, for my part, prefer some less lovely maid who would be won more easily, and without all this labor."
"Tendit ad astra!" cried my lord. Then bending across the table, "Thou shouldst see this lady. Did I not fear that she would entangle that black heart of thine in her golden tresses, I would take thee in disguise with me to London, and show thee this wondrous beauty."
"No fear of that," rejoined DeNortier, a grim smile of amusement upon his countenance. "Would the lady prefer a worn old warrior, his neck resting uneasily upon his shoulders, to a noble of England, handsome, rich, accomplished?" and he drummed his fingers restlessly upon the table, his legs sprawled out before him.
"Thou flatterest me, my friend, and underratest thyself. The lady would look twice before she refused thee." And Dunraven looked at his companion.
Truly they were a striking pair as they sat together beneath the candlelight, and thou couldst have searched Europe, and not have found their match for comeliness and martial bearing. Dunraven, with his broad shoulders, his striking face, his proud pose, dark brown hair and beard; the Spaniard, more slender, but quicker, more agile, his jet-black hair and beard gleaming like the wing of a crow in the light.
They were a dangerous couple. DeNortier was the leopard, restless, cunning, lurking ready to spring at a moment's warning—not so big as his bulky companion, but with muscles of steel; Dunraven, bigger, heavier, clumsier, but more powerful—the bear. Woe to the creature that he locked in his iron arms; he would crush the life from him, even as a vise.
They both now sat silent and motionless, wrapped in their own thoughts, neither breaking the deep silence that reigned in the room.
Quick steps sounded upon the floor outside. A loud rap upon the door, and then another.
"What is it?" DeNortier cried, springing to his feet and catching up his sword, which lay upon the floor beside him.
"The sentry swears that he saw the gleam of the moonlight upon a sail, captain," a gruff voice answered.
"The fiends!" cried the adventurer. Then turning to Dunraven, who had risen to his feet, he whispered rapidly, "Down the stairs into the passageway—quick! Wait for me there; I will join thee as soon as I can," and he stepped forward to unbolt the door.
Hampden dashed behind the tapestry. "Where?" he cried. "What passageway?" and he looked at the floor about him.