THE Governor had brought with him from London, the year before, a set of boxwood bowls, and had made, between his house and the fort, a noble green. The generality must still use for the game that portion of the street that was not tobacco planted; but the quality flocked to the Governor’s green, and here, one holiday afternoon, a fortnight or more from the day in which I had drunk to the King from my lord’s silver goblet, was gathered a very great company. The Governor’s match was toward,—ten men to a side, a hogshead of sweet-scented to the victorious ten, and a keg of canary to the man whose bowl should hit the jack.

The season had been one of unusual mildness, and the sunshine was still warm and bright, gilding the velvet of the green, and making the red and yellow leaves swept into the trench to glow like a ribbon of flame. The sky was blue, the water bluer still, the leaves bright-coloured, the wind blowing; only the enshrouding forest, wrapped in haze, seemed as dim, unreal, and far away as a last year’s dream.

Rolfe and I were to play; he sat on the grass at the feet of Mistress Jocelyn Percy, making her now and then some courtly speech, and I stood beside her, my hand on the back of her chair.

A stir amongst the crowd, a murmur, and a craning of necks heralded the approach of that other at whom the town gaped with admiration. He came with his retinue of attendants, his pomp of dress, his arrogance of port, his splendid beauty. Men looked from the beauty of the King’s ward to the beauty of the King’s minion, from her costly silk to his velvet and miniver, from the air of the court that became her well to the towering pride and insolence which to the thoughtless seemed his fortune’s proper mantle, and deemed them a pair well suited, and the King’s will indeed the will of Heaven.

My lord had paused to speak to the Governor, who had risen to greet him. Now he came toward us, and the crowd pressed and whispered. He bowed low to Mistress Percy, made as if to pass on, then came to a stop before her, his hat in his hand, his handsome head bent, a smile upon his bearded lips.

“When was it that we last sat to see men bowl, lady?” he said. “I remember a gay match when I bowled against my Lord of Buckingham, and fair ladies sat and smiled upon us. The fairest laughed and tied her colours around my arm.”

The lady whom he addressed sat quietly, with hands folded in her silken lap and an untroubled face. “I did not know you then, my lord,” she answered him, quite softly and sweetly. “Had I done so, be sure I would have cut my hand off ere it gave colour of mine to——”

“To whom?” he demanded, as she paused.

“To a coward, my lord,” she said clearly.

As if she had been a man, his hand went to his sword hilt. As for her, she leaned back in her chair and looked at him with a smile.

He spoke at last, slowly and with deliberate emphasis. “I won then,” he said. “I shall win again, my lady—my Lady Jocelyn Leigh.”

I dropped my hand from her chair and stepped forward. “It is my wife to whom you speak, my Lord Carnal,” I said sternly. “I wait to hear you name her rightly.”

“I am waiting, my lord,” I repeated.

In an instant, from what he had been he became the frank and guileless nobleman. “A slip of the tongue, Captain Percy!” he cried, his white teeth showing and his hand raised in a gesture of deprecation. “A natural thing, seeing how often, how very often, I have so addressed this lady in the days when we had not the pleasure of your acquaintance.” He turned to her and bowed, until the feather in his hat swept the ground. “I won then,” he said. “I shall win again—Mistress Percy,” and passed on to the seat that had been reserved for him.

The game began. I was to lead one side, and young Clement the other. At the last moment he came over to me. “I am out of it, Captain Percy,” he announced with a rueful face. “My lord there asks me to give him my place. When we were hunting yesterday, and the stag turned upon me, he came between and thrust his knife into the brute, which else might have put an end to my hunting forever and a day: so you see I can’t refuse him. Plague take it all! and Dorothy Gookin sitting there watching!”

The excited crowd surged forward, and a babel of voices arose. “Silence, all!” cried the Governor. “Let them play it out!”

I turned and bowed to my antagonist. “You bowl well, my lord,” I said. “Had you had the forest training of eye and arm, our fortunes might have been reversed.”

He looked me up and down. “You are kind, sir,” he said thickly. “ ‘To-day to thee, to-morrow to me.’ I give you joy of your petty victory.”

He turned squarely from me, and stood with his face downstream. I was speaking to Rolfe and to the few—not even all of that side for which I had won—who pressed around me, when he wheeled.

“Your Honour,” he cried to the Governor, who had paused beside Mistress Percy, “is not the Due Return high-pooped? Doth she not carry a blue pennant, and hath she not a gilt siren for figurehead?”

“Ay,” answered the Governor, lifting his head from the hand he had kissed with ponderous gallantry. “What then, my lord?”

The game that had been played was forgotten for that day. The hogshead of sweet-scented, lying to one side, wreathed with bright vines, was unclaimed of either party; the servants who brought forward the keg of canary dropped their burden, and stared with the rest. All looked down the river, and all saw the Due Return coming up the broad, ruffled stream, the wind from the sea filling her sails, the tide with her, the gilt mermaid on her prow just rising from the rushing foam. She came as swiftly as a bird to its nest. None had thought to see her for at least ten days.

Upon all there fell a sudden realization that it was the word of the King, feathered by the command of the Company, that was hurrying, arrow—like, toward us. All knew what the Company’s orders would be,—must needs be,—and the Tudor sovereigns were not so long in the grave that men had forgot to fear the wrath of kings. The crowd drew back from me as from a man plague-spotted. Only Rolfe, Sparrow, and the Indian stood their ground.

The Governor turned from staring downstream. “The game is played, gentlemen,” he announced abruptly. “The wind grows colder, too, and clouds are gathering. This fair company will pardon me if I dismiss them somewhat sooner than is our wont. The next sunny day we will play again. Give you God den, gentles.”

“I will be with your Honour in five minutes.”

He nodded, and strode off across the green to his garden. I turned to Rolfe. “Will you take her home?” I said briefly. She was so white and sat so still in her chair that I feared to see her swoon. But when I spoke to her she answered clearly and steadily enough, even with a smile, and she would not lean upon Rolfe’s arm. “I will walk alone,” she said. “None that see me shall think that I am stricken down.” I watched her move away, Rolfe beside her, and the Indian following with his noiseless step; then I went to the Governor’s house. Master Jeremy Sparrow had disappeared some minutes before, I knew not whither.

I found Yeardley in his great room, standing before a fire and staring down into its hollows. “Captain Percy,” he said, as I went up to him, “I am most heartily sorry for you and for the lady whom you so ignorantly married.”

“I shall not plead ignorance,” I told him.

“Then they may do it without my aid,” I said. “Come, Sir George, had you wed my Lady Temperance in such fashion, and found this hornets’ nest about your ears, what would you have done?”

He gave his short, honest laugh. “It’s beside the question, Ralph Percy, but I dare say you can guess what I would have done.”

“I’ll fight for my own to the last ditch,” I continued. “I married her knowing her name, if not her quality. Had I known the latter, had I known she was the King’s ward, all the same I should have married her, an she would have had me. She is my wife in the sight of God and honest men. Esteeming her honour, which is mine, at stake, Death may silence me, but men shall not bend me.”

“We give you thanks, sir,” I said.

“As you know,” he went on, “I have written to the Company, humbly petitioning that I be graciously relieved from a most thankless task, to wit, the governorship of Virginia. My health faileth, and I am, moreover, under my Lord Warwick’s displeasure. He waxeth ever stronger in the Company, and if I put not myself out, he will do it for me. If I be relieved at once, and one of the Council appointed in my place, I shall go home to look after certain of my interests there. Then shall I be but a private gentleman, and if I can serve you, Ralph Percy, I shall be blithe to do so; but now, you understand——”

“I understand, and thank you, Sir George,” I said. “May I ask one question?”

“What is it?”

“Will you obey to the letter the instructions the Company sends?”

“To the letter,” he answered. “I am its sworn officer.”

“One thing more,” I went on: “the parole I gave you, sir, that morning behind the church, is mine own again when you shall have read those letters and know the King’s will. I am free from that bond, at least.”

He looked at me with a frown. “Make not bad worse, Captain Percy,” he said sternly.

Without, the world was bathed in the glow of a magnificent sunset. Clouds, dark purple and dark crimson, reared themselves in the west to dizzy heights, and hung threateningly over the darkening land beneath. In the east loomed more pallid masses, and from the bastions of the east to the bastions of the west went hurrying, wind-driven cloudlets, dark in the east, red in the west. There was a high wind, and the river, where it was not reddened by the sunset, was lividly green. “A storm, too!” I muttered.

As I passed the guest house, there came to me from within a burst of loud and vaunting laughter and a boisterous drinking catch sung by many voices; and I knew that my lord drank, and gave others to drink, to the orders which the Due Return should bring. The minister’s house was in darkness. In the great room I struck a light and fired the fresh torches, and found I was not its sole occupant. On the hearth, the ashes of the dead fire touching her skirts, sat Mistress Jocelyn Percy, her arms resting upon a low stool, and her head pillowed upon them. Her face was not hidden: it was cold and pure and still, like carven marble. I stood and gazed at her a moment; then, as she did not offer to move, I brought wood to the fire and made the forlorn room bright again.

“He would have stayed,” she answered, “but I made him go. I wished to be alone.” She rose, and going to the window leaned her forehead against the bars, and looked out upon the wild sky and the hurrying river. “I would I were alone,” she said in a low voice and with a catch of her breath. As she stood there in the twilight by the window, I knew that she was weeping, though her pride strove to keep that knowledge from me. My heart ached for her, and I knew not how to comfort her. At last she turned. A pasty and stoup of wine were upon the table.

“You are tired and shaken,” I said, “and you may need all your strength. Come, eat and drink.”

THE guest house was aflame with lights. As I neared it, there was borne to my ears a burst of drunken shouts accompanied by a volley of musketry. My lord was pursuing with a vengeance our senseless fashion of wasting in drinking bouts powder that would have been better spent against the Indians. The noise increased. The door was flung open, and there issued a tide of drawers and servants headed by mine host himself, and followed by a hail of such minor breakables as the house contained and by Olympian laughter.

The master of the feast carried his wine better than did his guests, or had drunk less, but his spirit too was quite without bounds. A colour burned in his cheeks, a wicked light in his eyes; he laughed to himself. In the gray smoke cloud he saw me not, or saw me only as one of the many who thronged the doorway and stared at the revel within. He raised his silver cup with a slow and wavering hand. “Drink, you dogs!” he chanted. “Drink to the Santa Teresa! Drink to to-morrow night! Drink to a proud lady within my arms and an enemy in my power!”

The man who had thrown the stone was Jeremy Sparrow. For one instant I saw his great figure, and the wrathful face beneath his shock of grizzled hair; the next he had made his way through the crowd of gaping menials and was gone.

My lord stared foolishly at the stains upon his hands, at the fallen goblet and the stone beside it. “Cogged dice,” he said thickly, “or I had not lost that throw! I’ll drink that toast by myself to-morrow night, when the ship doesn’t rock like this d——d floor, and the sea has no stones to throw. More wine, Giles! To my Lord High Admiral, gentlemen! To his Grace of Buckingham! May he shortly howl in hell, and looking back to Whitehall see me upon the King’s bosom! The King’s a good king, gentlemen! He gave me this ruby! D’ye know what I had of him last year? I——”

I turned and left the door and the house. I could not thrust a fight upon a drunken man.

Ten yards away, suddenly and without any warning of his approach, I found beside me the Indian Nantauquas. “I have been to the woods to hunt,” he said, in the slow musical English Rolfe had taught him. “I knew where a panther lodged, and to-day I laid a snare, and took him in it. I brought him to my brother’s house, and caged him there. When I have tamed him, I shall give him to the beautiful lady.”

Just before we reached the market-place we had to pass the mouth of a narrow lane leading down to the river. The night was very dark, though the stars still shone through rifts in the ever-moving clouds. The Indian and I walked rapidly on,—my footfalls sounding clear and sharp on the frosty ground, he as noiseless as a shadow. We had reached the further side of the lane, when he put forth an arm and plucked from the blackness a small black figure.

In the middle of the square was kept burning a great brazier filled with pitched wood. It was the duty of the watch to keep it flaming from darkness to dawn. We found it freshly heaped with pine, and its red glare lit a goodly circle. The Indian, pinioning the wrists of his captive with his own hand of steel, dragged him with us into this circle of light.

“Looking for simples once more, learned doctor?” I demanded.

He mowed and jabbered, twisting this way and that in the grasp of the Indian.

“Loose him,” I said to the latter, “but let him not come too near you. Why, worthy doctor, in so wild and threatening a night, when fire is burning and wine flowing at the guest house, do you choose to crouch here in the cold and darkness?”

He stood with his mean figure bent cringingly forward, and with his hat in his hand. “A warning, sir,” he went ramblingly on. “Maybe a certain one has made me his enemy. Maybe I cut myself loose from his service. Maybe I would do him an ill turn. I can tell you a secret, sir.” He lowered his voice and looked around, as if in fear of eavesdroppers. “In your ear, sir,” he said.

I recoiled. “Stand back,” I cried, “or you will cull no more simples this side of hell!”

“Hell!” he answered. “There’s no such place. I will not tell my secret aloud.”

“Nicolo the Italian! Nicolo the Poisoner! Nicolo the Black Death! I am coming for the soul you sold me. There is a hell!”

The thundering voice came from underneath our feet. With a sound that was not a groan and not a screech, the Italian reeled back against the heated iron of the brazier. Starting from that fiery contact with an unearthly shriek, he threw up his arms and dashed away into the darkness. The sound of his madly hurrying footsteps came back to us until the guest house had swallowed him and his guilty terrors.

“Can the preacher play the devil, too?” I asked, as Sparrow came up to us from the other side of the fire. “I could have sworn that that voice came from the bowels of the earth. ’Tis the strangest gift!”

“Is Rolfe of the Council?” I asked.

“Ay; he was speaking,—for you, I suppose, though I heard not the words. They all listened, but they all shook their heads.”

“We shall know in the morning,” I said. “The night grows wilder, and honest folk should be abed. Nantauquas, good-night. When will you have tamed your panther?”

“It is now the moon of cohonks,” answered the Indian. “When the moon of blossoms is here, the panther shall roll at the beautiful lady’s feet.”

In the great room of the minister’s house I paced up and down; now pausing at the window to look out upon the fast-darkening houses of the town, the ever-thickening clouds, and the bending trees; now speaking to my wife, who sat in the chair I had drawn for her before the fire, her hands idle in her lap, her head thrown back against the wood, her face white and still, with wide dark eyes. We waited for we knew not what, but the light still burned in the Governor’s house, and we could not sleep and leave it there.

It grew later and later. The wind howled down the chimney, and I heaped more wood upon the fire. The town lay in darkness now; only in the distance burned like an angry star the light in the Governor’s house. In the lull between the blasts of wind it was so very still that the sound of my footfalls upon the floor, the dropping of the charred wood upon the hearth, the tapping of the withered vines without the window, jarred like thunder.

Suddenly madam leaned forward in her chair. “There is some one at the door,” she said.

As she spoke, the latch rose and some one pushed heavily against the door. I had drawn the bars across. “Who is it?” I demanded, going to it.

“It is Diccon, sir,” replied a guarded voice outside. “I beg of you, for the lady’s sake, to let me speak to you.”

“What is it, sirrah?” I inquired sternly.

He stood with his eyes upon the floor, twirling his cap in his hands. He had looked once at madam when he entered, but not at me. When he spoke there was the old bravado in his voice, and he threw up his head with the old reckless gesture. “Though I am no longer your man, sir,” he said, “yet I hope that one Christian may warn another. The marshal, with a dozen men at his heels, will be here anon.”

“How do you know?”

“When will the marshal be here?” I demanded.

“Directly. The Governor was sending for him when I left the window. Master Rolfe spoke vehemently for you, and would have left the Council to come to you; but the Governor, swearing that the Company should not be betrayed by its officers, constrained him to remain. I’m not the Company’s officer, so I may tell its orders if I please. A masterless man may speak without fear or favour. I have told you all I know.”

Before I could speak he was gone, closing the door heavily behind him.

I turned to the King’s ward. She had risen from the chair, and now stood in the centre of the room, one hand at her bosom, the other clenched at her side, her head thrown up. She looked as she had looked at Weyanoke, that first night.

“Madam,” I said under my breath.

She took her hand from her bosom; in it gleamed in the firelight the small dagger I had given her that night. She laid it on the table, but kept her hand upon it. “You will choose for me, sir,” she declared.

I went to the door and looked out. “It is a wild night,” I said. “I can suit it with as wild an enterprise. Make a bundle of your warmest clothing, madam, and wrap your mantle about you. Will you take Angela?”

“No,” she answered. “I will not have her peril too upon me.”

As she stood there, her hand no longer upon the dagger, the large tears welled into her eyes and fell slowly over her white cheeks. “It is for mine honour, sir,” she said. “I know that I ask your death.”

I could not bear to see her weep, and so I spoke roughly. “I have told you before,” I said, “that your honour is my honour. Do you think I would sleep to-morrow night, in the hold of the Santa Teresa, knowing that my wife supped with my Lord Carnal?”

I crossed the room to take my pistols from the rack. As I passed her she caught my hand in hers, and bending pressed her lips upon it. “You have been very good to me,” she murmured. “Do not think me an ingrate.”

THE wind, which had heretofore come in fierce blasts, was now steadying to a gale. What with the flying of the heaped clouds, the slanting, groaning pines, and the rushing of the river, the whole earth seemed a fugitive, fleeing breathless to the sea. From across the neck of land came the long-drawn howl of wolves, and in the wood beyond the church a catamount screamed and screamed. The town before us lay as dark and as still as the grave; from the garden where we were we could not see the Governor’s house.

“I will carry madam’s bundle,” said a voice behind us.

It was the minister who had spoken, and he now stood beside us. There was a moment’s silence, then I said, with a laugh: “We are not going upon a summer jaunt, friend Sparrow. There is a warm fire in the great room, to which your reverence had best betake yourself out of this windy night.”

As I spoke I would have taken the bundle from him, but he tucked it under his arm, and, passing us, opened the garden gate. “Did I forget to tell you,” he said, “that worthy Master Bucke is well of the fever, and returns to his own to-morrow? His house and church are no longer mine. I have no charge anywhere. I am free and footloose. May I not go with you, madam? There may be dragons to slay, and two can guard a distressed princess better than one. Will you take me for your squire, Captain Percy?”

He held out his great hand, and after a moment I put my own in it.

We left the garden and struck into a lane. “The river, then, instead of the forest?” he asked in a low voice.

“Ay,” I answered. “Of the two evils it seems the lesser.”

“How about a boat?”

“My own is fastened to the piles of the old deserted wharf.”

“You have with you neither food nor water.”

“Both are in the boat. I have kept her victualled for a week or more.”

He laughed in the darkness, and I heard my wife beside me utter a stifled exclamation.

Without slackening pace I turned my head and looked. The clouds, high around the horizon, were thinning overhead, and the moon, herself invisible, yet lightened the darkness below. The sandy lane stretched behind us like a ribbon of twilight,—nothing to be seen but it and the ebony mass of bush and tree lining it on either side. We hastened on. A minute later and we heard behind us a sound like the winding of a small horn, clear, shrill, and sweet. Sparrow and I wheeled—and saw nothing. The trees ran down to the very edge of the wharf, upon whose rotten, loosened, and noisy boards we now trod. Suddenly the clouds above us broke, and the moon shone forth, whitening the mountainous clouds, the ridged and angry river, and the low, tree—fringed shore. Below us, fastened to the piles and rocking with the waves, was the open boat in which we were to embark. A few broken steps led from the boards above to the water below. Descending these, I sprang into the boat and held out my arms for Mistress Percy. Sparrow gave her to me, and I lifted her down beside me; then turned to give what aid I might to the minister, who was halfway down the steps—and faced my Lord Carnal.

Those whom my lord’s whistle had brought were now upon the very edge of the wharf. The marshal’s voice called upon us in the name of the King to return. Finding that we vouchsafed no answer, he pulled out a pistol and fired, the ball going through my hat; then whipped out its fellow and fired again. Mistress Percy, whose behaviour had been that of an angel, stirred in her seat. I did not know until the day broke that the ball had grazed her arm, drenching her sleeve with blood.

“It is time we were away,” I said, with a laugh. “If your reverence will keep your hand upon the tiller and your eye upon the gentleman whom you have made our travelling companion, I’ll put up the sail.”

I was on my way to the foremast, when the boom lying prone before me rose. Slowly and majestically the sail ascended, tapering upward, silvered by the moon,—the great white pinion which should bear us we knew not whither. I stopped short in my tracks, Mistress Percy drew a sobbing breath, and the minister gasped with admiration. We all three stared as though the white cloth had veritably been a monster wing endowed with life.

He rose to his feet and stood there against the mast, in the old half-submissive, half-defiant attitude, with his head thrown back in the old way.

“If you order me, sir, I will swim ashore,” he said, half sullenly, half—I know not how.

“You would never reach the shore,” I replied. “And you know that I will never order you again. Stay here if you please, or come aft if you please.”

I went back and took the tiller from Sparrow. We were now in mid-river, and the swollen stream and the strong wind bore us on with them like a leaf before the gale. We left behind the lights and the clamour, the dark town and the silent fort, the weary Due Return and the shipping about the lower wharf. Before us loomed the Santa Teresa; we passed so close beneath her huge black sides that we heard the wind whistling through her rigging. When she, too, was gone, the river lay bare before us; silver when the moon shone, of an inky blackness when it was obscured by one of the many flying clouds.

“There’s a parlous lump upon his forehead where it struck the thwart,” said the minister, “but the life’s yet in him. He’ll shame honest men for many a day to come. Your Platonists, who from a goodly outside argue as fair a soul, could never have been acquainted with this gentleman.”

The subject of his discourse moaned and stirred. The minister raised one of the hanging hands and felt for the pulse. “Faint enough,” he went on. “A little more and the King might have waited for his minion forever and a day. It would have been the better for us, who have now, indeed, a strange fish upon our hands, but I am glad I killed him not.”

I tossed him a flask. “It’s good aqua vitæ, and the flask is honest. Give him to drink of it.”

He forced the liquor between my lord’s teeth, then dashed water in his face. Another minute and the King’s favourite sat up and looked around him. Dazed as yet, he stared, with no comprehension in his eyes, at the clouds, the sail, the rushing water, the dark figures about him. “Nicolo!” he cried sharply.

At the sound of my voice he sprang to his feet.

“I should advise your lordship to sit still,” I said. “The wind is very boisterous, and we are not under bare poles. If you exert yourself, you may capsize the boat.”

He sat down mechanically, and put his hand to his forehead. I watched him curiously. It was the strangest trick that fortune had played him.

His hand dropped at last, and he straightened himself, with a long breath. “Who threw me into the boat?” he demanded.

“The honour was mine,” declared the minister.

The King’s minion lacked not the courage of the body, nor, when passionate action had brought him naught, a certain reserve force of philosophy. He now did the best thing he could have done,—burst into a roar of laughter. “Zooks!” he cried. “It’s as good a comedy as ever I saw! How’s the play to end, captain? Are we to go off laughing, or is the end to be bloody after all? For instance, is there murder to be done?” He looked at me boldly, one hand on his hip, the other twirling his mustaches.

“We are not all murderers, my lord,” I told him. “For the present you are in no danger other than that which is common to us all.”

He looked at the clouds piling behind us, thicker and thicker, higher and higher, at the bending mast, at the black water swirling now and again over the gunwales. “It’s enough,” he muttered.

“Where are we going, captain?”

“I don’t know.”

“If you leave that sail up much longer, you will land us at the bottom of the river.”

“There are worse places,” I replied.

He left his seat, and moved, though with caution, to one nearer Mistress Percy. “Are cold and storm and peril sweeter to you, lady, than warmth and safety, and a love that would guard you from, not run you into, danger?” he said in a whisper. “Do you not wish this boat the Santa Teresa, these rude boards the velvet cushions of her state cabin, this darkness her many lights, this cold her warmth, with the night shut out and love shut in?”

His audacity, if it angered me, yet made me laugh. Not so with the King’s ward. She shrank from him until she pressed against the tiller. Our flight, the pursuing feet, the struggle at the wharf, her wounded arm of which she had not told, the terror of the white sail rising as if by magic, the vision of the man she hated lying as one dead before her in the moonlight, the cold, the hurry of the night,—small wonder if her spirit failed her for a time. I felt her hand touch mine where it rested upon the tiller. “Captain Percy,” she murmured, with a little sobbing breath.

His black brows drew together. “And what if I refuse, sir?” he demanded haughtily.

“I have rope here,” I answered, “and to aid me the gentleman who once before to-night, and in despite of your struggles, lifted you in his arms like an infant. We will tie you hand and foot, and lay you in the bottom of the boat. If you make too much trouble, there is always the river. My lord, you are not now at Whitehall. You are with desperate men, outlaws who have no king, and so fear no king’s minions. Will you go free, or will you go bound? Go you shall, one way or the other.”

“GOD walketh upon the sea as He walketh upon the land,” said the minister. “The sea is His and we are His. He will do what it liketh Him with His own.” As he spoke he looked with a steadfast soul into the black hollow of the wave that combed above us, threatening destruction.

The wave broke, and the boat still lived. Borne high upon the shoulder of the next rolling hill, we looked north, south, east, and west, and saw only a waste of livid, ever-forming, ever-breaking waves, a gray sky streaked with darker gray shifting vapour, and a horizon impenetrably veiled. Where we were in the great bay, in what direction we were being driven, how near we might be to the open sea or to some fatal shore, we knew not. What we did know was that both masts were gone, that we must bale the boat without ceasing if we would keep it from swamping, that the wind was doing an apparently impossible thing and rising higher and higher, and that the waves which buffeted us from one to the other were hourly swelling to a more monstrous bulk.

A common peril is a mighty leveller of barriers. Scant time was there in that boat to make distinction between friend and foe. As one man we fought the element which would devour us. Each took his turn at the baling, each watched for the next great wave before which we must cower, clinging with numbed hands to gunwale and thwart. We fared alike, toiled alike, and suffered alike, only that the minister and I cared for Mistress Percy, asking no help from the others.

The King’s ward endured all without a murmur. She was cold, she was worn with watching and terror, she was wounded; each moment Death raised his arm to strike, but she sat there dauntless, and looked him in the face with a smile upon her own. If, wearied out, we had given up the fight, her look would have spurred us on to wrestle with our fate to the last gasp. She sat between Sparrow and me, and as best we might we shielded her from the drenching seas and the icy wind. Morning had shown me the blood upon her sleeve, and I had cut away the cloth from the white arm, and had washed the wound with wine and bound it up. If, for my fee, I should have liked to press my lips upon the blue-veined marble, still I did it not.

The day passed and the night came, and still we fought the sea, and still the wind drove us whither it would. The night passed and the second morning came, and found us yet alive. My wife lay now at my feet, her head pillowed upon the bundle she had brought from the minister’s house. Too weak for speech, waiting in pain and cold and terror for death to bring her warmth and life, the knightly spirit yet lived in her eyes, and she smiled when I bent over her with wine to moisten her lips. At length she began to wander in her mind, and to speak of summer days and flowers. A hand held my heart in a slowly tightening grip of iron, and the tears ran down the minister’s cheeks. The man who had darkened her young life, bringing her to this, looked at her with an ashen face.

Diccon started, put his hand to his ear, then sprang to his feet. “Breakers!” he cried hoarsely.

We listened with straining ears. He was right. The low, ominous murmur changed to a distant roar, grew louder yet, and yet louder, and was no longer distant.

“It will be the sand islets off Cape Charles, sir,” he said. I nodded. He and I knew there was no need of words.

The sky grew paler and paler, and soon upon the woof of the clouds a splash of dull yellow showed where the sun would be. The fog rose, laying bare the desolate ocean. Before us were two very small islands, mere handfuls of sand lying side by side, and encompassed half by the open sea, half by stiller waters diked in by marshes and sand bars. A coarse, scanty grass and a few stunted trees with branches bending away from the sea lived upon them, but nothing else. Over them and over the marshes and the sand banks circled myriads of great white gulls. Their harsh, unearthly voices came to us faintly, and increased the desolation of earth and sky and sea.

Time passed, and the groaning, trembling timbers still held together. The wind fell, the sky became blue, and the sun shone. Another while, and the waves were less mountainous and beat less furiously against the boat. Hope brightened before us. To strong swimmers the distance to the islet was trifling; if the boat would but last until the sea subsided, we might gain the beach. What we would do upon that barren spot, where was neither man nor brute, food nor water, was a thing that we had not the time to consider. It was land that we craved.

Another hour, and the sea still fell. Another, and a wave struck the boat with force. “The sea is coming in!” cried the minister.

“Ay,” I answered. “She will go to pieces now.”

I raised my head from the figure over which I was bending, and looked first at the still tumultuous sea, and then at the gigantic frame of the minister. When we had made that frail raft no swimmer could have lived in that shock of waves; now there was a chance for all, and for the minister, with his great strength, the greatest I have ever seen in any man, a double chance. I took her from the raft and gave her into his arms. A minute later the boat went to pieces.

The minister laid the woman whom he carried upon the pebbles, fell upon his knees, and lifted his rugged face to heaven. I too knelt, and with my hand upon her heart said my own prayer in my own way. My lord stood with unbent head, his eyes upon that still white face, but Diccon turned abruptly and strode off to a low ridge of sand, from the top of which one might survey the entire island.

In two minutes he was back again. “There’s plenty of driftwood further up the beach,” he announced, “and a mort of dried seaweed. At least we needn’t freeze.”

The great bonfire that we made roared and crackled, sending out a most cheerful heat and light. Under that genial breath the colour came slowly back to madam’s cheek and lip, and her heart beat more strongly. Presently she turned under my hand, and with a sigh pillowed her head upon her arm and went to sleep in that blessed warmth like a little child.

“We touched here the time we went against the French at Port Royal and St. Croix,” I said. “We had heard a rumour that the Bermuda pirates had hidden gold here. Argall and I went over every foot of it.”

“And found no water?” questioned the minister.

“And found no water.”

The light died from the west and from the sea beneath, and the night fell. When with the darkness the sea fowl ceased their clamour, a dreadful silence suddenly enfolded us. The rush of the surf made no difference; the ear heard it, but to the mind there was no sound. The sky was thick with stars; every moment one shot, and the trail of white fire it left behind melted into the night silently like snowflakes. There was no wind. The moon rose out of the sea, and lent the sandy isle her own pallor. Here and there, back amongst the dunes, the branches of a low and leafless tree writhed upward like dark fingers thrust from out the spectral earth. The ocean, quiet now, dreamed beneath the moon and cared not for the five lives it had cast upon that span of sand.

“At least there are here no foes to fear,” quoth my lord. “We may all sleep to-night; and zooks! we shall need it!” He spoke frankly, with an open face.

“I will take one watch, if you will take the other,” I said to the minister.

He nodded. “I will watch until midnight.”

It was long past that time when he roused me from where I lay at Mistress Percy’s feet.

“I should have relieved you long ago,” I told him.

He smiled. The moon, now high in the heavens, shone upon and softened his rugged features. I thought I had never seen a face so filled with tenderness and hope and a sort of patient power. “I have been with God,” he said simply. “The starry skies and the great ocean and the little shells beneath my hand,—how wonderful are Thy works, O Lord! What is man that Thou art mindful of him? And yet not a sparrow falleth——”

I rose and sat by the fire, and he laid himself down upon the sand beside me.

“Master Sparrow,” I asked, “have you ever suffered thirst?”

“No,” he answered. We spoke in low tones, lest we should wake her. Diccon and my lord, upon the other side of the fire, were sleeping heavily.

“You think there is no hope?”

“What hope should there be?”

He was silent. Presently he turned and looked at the King’s ward where she lay in the rosy light; then his eyes came back to mine.

“If it comes to the worst I shall put her out of her torment,” I said.

He bowed his head and we sat in silence, our gaze upon the ground between us, listening to the low thunder of the surf and the crackling of the fire. “I love her,” I said at last. “God help me!”

He put his finger to his lips. She had stirred and opened her eyes. I knelt beside her, and asked her how she did and if she wanted aught.

“It is warm,” she said wonderingly.

“You are no longer in the boat,” I told her. “You are safe upon the land. You have been sleeping here by the fire that we kindled.”

An exquisite smile just lit her face, and her eyelids drooped again. “I am so tired,” she said drowsily, “that I will sleep a little longer. Will you bring me some water, Captain Percy? I am very thirsty.”