"Never!" I cried, clenching my shackled hands. "But for my enemy this boy might now be as other men—'stead of outcast rogue and scarred galley-slave, he might have come to love and win love—to have known the joy of life and its fulness! Howbeit he must go his way, rogue and outcast to the end."

"No!" she cried, "No! The wrong may be undone—must—shall be—wounds will heal and even scars will fade with time."

"Scars of the body, aye—belike!" said I, "But there be scars of the mind, wounds of the soul shall never heal—so shall my just vengeance sleep not nor die whiles I have life!"

Here for awhile she was silent again and I saw a tear fall sparkling.

"And yet," said she at last and never stirring from her humble posture, "and yet I have faith in you still for, despite all your cruel wrongs and grievous suffering, you are so—young, headstrong and wilful and very desolate and forlorn. Thus whiles I have life my faith in you shall sleep not nor die, yet greatly do I pity—"

"Pity?" says I fiercely, "You were wiser to hate and see me hanged out of hand."

"Poor soul!" she sighed, and rising, laid one white hand upon my shackled fist. "And yet mayhap you shall one day find again your sweet and long-lost youth—meanwhile strive to be worthy a sorrowing maid's honest pity."

"Pity?" says I again, "'Tis akin to love—so give me hate, 'tis thing most natural 'twixt your blood and mine."

"Poor soul!" she repeated, viewing me with her great, calm eyes albeit their lashes were wet with tears, "How may I hate one so wretched?" Here, seeing mayhap how the words stung me she must needs repeat them: "Poor wretched soul, thou'rt far—far beneath my hate."

"Belike you'll come to learn in time!" says I, beside myself. At this I saw the white hand clench itself, but her voice was tender as ever when she answered:

"Sorrow and suffering may lift a man to greatness if he be strong of soul or debase him to the brute if he be weak."

"Why then," says I, "begone to your gallants and leave me to the brutes."

"Nay, first will I do that which brought me!" and she showed the key of my gyves.

"Let be!" I cried, "I seek no freedom at your hands—let be, I say!"

"As you will!" says she, gently. "So endeth my hope of righting a great wrong. I have humbled myself to you to-night, Martin Conisby. I have begged and prayed you to forego your vengeance, to forgive the evil done, not so much for my father's sake as for your own, and this because of the boy I dreamed a man ennobled by his sufferings and one great enough to forgive past wrongs, since by forgiveness cometh regeneration. Here ends my dream—alas, you are but rogue and galley-slave after all. So shall I ever pity you greatly and greatly despise you!"

Then she turned slowly away and went from me, closing and locking the door, and left me once more in the black dark, but now full of yet blacker thoughts.

To be scorned by her! And she—a Brandon!

And now I (miserable wretch that I was) giving no thought to the possibility of my so speedy dissolution, raged in my bonds, wasting myself in futile imprecations against this woman who (as it seemed to me in my blind and brutish anger) had but come to triumph over me in my abasement. Thus of my wounded self-love did I make me a whip of scorpions whereby I knew an agony beyond expression.



CHAPTER XX

HOW I CAME OUT OF MY BONDS AND OF THE TERRORS OF A FIRE AT SEA

The Devil, ever zealous for the undoing of poor Humanity, surely findeth no readier ally than the blind and merciless Spirit of Mortified Pride. Thus I, minding the Lady Joan's scornful look and the sting of her soft-spoke words, fell to black and raging fury, and vowed that since rogue and galley-slave she had named me, rogue she should find me in very truth henceforward if I might but escape my perilous situation.

And now it was that Chance or Fate or the Devil sent me a means whereby I might put this desperate and most unworthy resolution into practice; for scarce had I uttered this vow when a key turned softly in the lock, the door opened and closed stealthily, and though I could not see (it being pitch-dark) I knew that someone stood within a yard of me, and all with scarce a sound and never a word. And when this silence had endured a while, I spoke sudden and harsh:

"What now? Is it the noose so soon, or a knife sooner?"

I heard a quick-drawn breath, a soft footfall, and a small hand, groping in the dark, touched my cheek and crept thence to my helpless, manacled fist. "Who is it?" I demanded, blenching from the touch, "Who is it? Speak!"

"Hush!" whispered a voice in my ear, "It be only me, master. Jimmy—little Jim as you was good to. Red Andy don't beat me no more, he be afeared o' you. Good to me you was, master, an' so's she—took me to be her page, she 'ave—"

"Whom d'you mean, boy?"

"I mean Her! Her wi' the beautiful, kind eyes an' little feet! Her as sings! Her they calls 'my lady.' Her! Good t' me she is—an' so's you, so I be come to ye, master."

"Ha—did she send you?"

"No, I just come to save you from being hung to-morrow like they says you must."

"And how shall you do this, boy?"

"First wi' this key, master—"

"Stay! Did she give you this key?"

"No, master—I took it!" So, albeit 'twas very dark, the boy very soon had freed me of my shackles; which done (and all a-quiver with haste) he seizes my hand and tugs at it:

"Come, master!" he whispered, "This way—this way!" So with his little, rough hand in mine I suffered him to bring me whither he would in the dimness, for not a lanthorn burned anywhere, until at last he halted me at a ladder propped against a bulkhead and mounting before, bade me follow. Up I climbed forthwith, and so to a narrow trap or scuttle through which I clambered with no little to-do, and found myself in a strange place, the roof so low I could barely sit upright and so strait that I might barely lie out-stretched.

"Lie you here, master!" he whispers, "And for the love o' God don't speak nor make a sound!" Saying which, he got him back through the scuttle, closing the trap after him, and I heard the clatter of the ladder as he removed it.

Hereupon, lying snug in my hiding-place, I presently became aware of a sweetness that breathed upon the air, a fragrance very faint but vastly pleasing, and fell a-wondering what this should be. My speculations were banished by the opening of a door near by and a light appeared, by which I saw myself lying in a narrow space shut off by a valance or curtain that yet showed a strip of carpet beyond, and all at once upon this carpet came a little, buckled shoe. I was yet staring on this in dumb amaze when a voice spoke softly:

"Are you there, Martin Conisby? Hush, speak low I do command you!"

For answer I dragged myself into the light and stared up at the Lady Joan Brandon.

"Where am I?" I demanded.

"In my cabin," says she, meeting my scowl with eyes serene and all untroubled. "I had you brought hither to save you—"

"To save me! Ha, you—you to save me—"

"Because you are not man enough to die yet," she went on in her calm, grave voice, "so I will save you alive that haply you may grow more worthy."

"So 'twas by your orders? The boy lied then!" says I choking with my anger. "'Twas you gave him the key! 'Twas you bade him bring me hither—"

"Where none shall dare seek you!" says she, all unmoved by my bitter rage, "So do I give you life, Martin Conisby, praying God you may find your manhood one day—"

"Life!" quoth I, getting to my feet, "My life at your hands? Now look ye, madam, rather will I hang unjustly, rather will I endure again the shame of the lash—aye by God's light, rather will I rot in chains or perish of plague than take my life at your hands. So now, madam, I'll out of this perfumed nest and hang if I must!" saying which I turned to the door, but she checked me with a gesture.

"Stay!" she commanded, "Would you shame me?" And now though she fronted me with proud head erect, I saw her cheek flush painfully.

"Aye, verily!" quoth I, "A lady's honour is delicate ware and not to be cheapened by such poor rogue as I! Fear nothing, lady, I will go as—" I stopped all at once, as came footsteps without and a light tapping on the door.

"Who is it?" she called, lightly enough, and shot the bolt with nimble fingers.

"Only I, sweet coz," answered a gay voice, "And I come but to warn you not to venture on deck to-morrow till justice hath been done upon our prisoner."

"Shall you—hang him, Rupert?"

"Assuredly! 'Tis a black rogue and merits a worse fate."

"Is he then tried and condemned already, Rupert?"

"Nay, though 'twill be soon done. We have come on such evidence of his guilt as doth condemn him out of hand."

"What evidence, cousin?"

"His doublet all besmirched with his victim's blood. The man is a very devil and must hang at dawn. So, Joan, stir not abroad in the morning until I come to fetch you. A fair, good night, sweet coz, and sweet dreams attend thee!" And away trips Sir Rupert and leaves us staring on one another, she proud and gracious in all her dainty finery and I a very hang-dog fellow, my worn garments smirched by the grime of my many hiding-places.

"Was this indeed your doublet?" she questioned at last.

"It was."

"How came it stained with blood?" For answer I shrugged my shoulders and turned away. "Have you nothing to say?"

"Nothing, madam."

"You would have me think you this murderer?"

"I would have you think of me none at all," I answered, and smiled to see how I had stirred her anger at last.

"Nay," sighs she, "needs must I think of you as the poor, mean thing you are and pity you accordingly!"

"Howbeit," says I, scowling blacker than ever, "I will get me out of your sight—"

"Aye, but the ladder is gone!"

"No matter," says I, "better a broken neck to-night than a noose to-morrow. To-morrow, aye, the dawn is like to see an end of the feud and the Conisbys both together—"

"And so shameful an end!" says she. At this, I turned my back on her, for anger was very strong in me. So, nothing speaking, I got to my knees that I might come at the trap beneath her berth; but next moment I was on my feet glaring round for some weapon to my defence, for on the air was sudden wild tumult and hubbub, a running of feet and confused shouting that waxed ever louder. Then, as I listened, I knew it was not me they hunted, for now was the shrill braying of a trumpet and the loud throbbing of a drum:

"Martin—O Martin Conisby!" She stood with hands clasped and eyes wide in a dreadful expectancy, "What is it?" she panted, "O what is it? Hark—what do they cry!"

Rigid and motionless we stood to listen; then every other emotion was 'whelmed and lost in sudden, paralysing fear as, above the trampling rush of feet, above the shrill blast of tucket and rolling of drum we caught the awful word "Fire!"

"Now God help us all!" cries she, wringing her hands; then sinking to her knees, she leaned, half-swooning, against the door, yet I saw her pallid lips moving in passionate supplication.

As for me (my first panic over) I sat me on her bed revolving how I might turn the general confusion to the preservation of my life. In this I was suddenly aroused by my lady's hand on my bowed shoulder.

"Hark!" cries she, "Hark where they cry for aid!"

"Why so they do," says I. "And so they may!"

"Then come, let us out. You are a strong man, you will help to save the ship."

"And hang thereafter? Not I, madam!"

"Will you do nothing?" cried she, clenching her hands.

"Verily, madam. I shall do my earnest endeavour to preserve this poor rogue's body o' mine from noose and flame. But as for the ship—let it burn, say I."

"Spoke like a very coward!" says she in bitter scorn. "And a coward is selfish always." So saying she crossed to the door and reached her hand to the bolt; but in a leap I was beside her and caught this hand, 'prisoning it there:

"Hark'ee, madam!" quoth I, "You tell me that to hang is a shameful death, and the noose as good as round my neck. But, before God, madam, I'll see this ship go up in flame and perish with it ere that noose shall strangle the life out of me and my wrongs unavenged. So the ship may burn an it will. Meantime do you seek your salvation and leave me to seek mine!" Then opening the door I stood aside to give her way; instead she stood a moment looking on me great-eyed:

"O blind!" says she at last, "To treasure life for your wicked vengeance! O blind, blind!" Then, and very suddenly she sped out and away.

Left alone I stood hearkening to the distant uproar and casting about in my mind how best I might contrive my preservation. And now in my desperate need it seemed there was but one hope for me and this but slender, viz., to steal myself up to Adam's lodgment under the poop and that as soon as might be. To this end I stepped forth of the cabin and so into a narrow passage-way with divers doors to right and left that opened upon other cabins, in one of which I espied a cloak and feathered hat lying where their owner had dropped them; whipping the cloak about me I clapped on the hat and, staying for no more, hasted on breathing an air acrid with drifting smoke. Reaching a broad stairway I climbed at speed and found myself out upon the lofty poop, whence I might look down on the decks through a haze of smoke that poured up through the after hatchway, mounting in billowy wreaths against the splendour of the moon. Here it seemed was gathered the whole ship's company with mighty stir and to-do, and none with eyes to spare for me. Howbeit, I stayed for no second glance, but running to Adam's cabin, found the door unlocked, the which I closed and bolted after me, in the doing of which I noticed (to my comfort) that this door was mighty thick and strong and in it moreover a loophole newly cut, with others in the bulkheads to right and left and all very neatly plugged from within; and what with this and the musquetoons that stood in racks very orderly, the place, small though it was, had all the virtues of a fort or citadel. Here then, so far as might be, I was safe whatever chanced, since I had but to lift the trap in the floor and descend into the roundhouse below, whence I might gain the stern-gallery and so the sea itself. And now, laying by the hat and cloak I cast myself on Adam's bed and there outstretched in great content, hearkened to the distant voices and tramp of feet where they laboured to put out the fire.

Little by little these sounds became merged with the droning of the wind and the never-ceasing surge and hiss of the seas; lulled by this and the sense of my comparative safety, I presently fell a-slumbering. And sleeping thus, dreamed myself young again and playing with the child Damaris, thrilling to the clasp of her little, childish hands, joying in the tones of her clear, sweet child voice—she that grown up I knew for none other than Joan Brandon.



CHAPTER XXI

TELLETH HOW THE SAID FIRE CAME ABOUT

"Lord love me, shipmate, here's you to hang at peep o' day and a-smiling in your dreams!"

"What—Adam!" says I, sitting up.

"In few short hours, Martin, here will be ninety odd souls earnestly seeking to swing you up to the main-yard and you a-slumbering sweet as any innocent babe, and burn me, shipmate, I love you the better for't!"

"What of the fire, Adam?"

"Why, 'twas an excellent fire, Martin, and smoked bravely! What's more it served its divers purposes whiles it lasted."

"Is it out then, Adam?"

"This two hours."

"And what might you mean by its purposes?"

"Well, mayhap you were one o' them, Martin. Here's the second time fire hath served ye well, you'll mind."

"How!" I cried, starting to my feet, "Will you be telling me 'twas you set this fire going?"

"As to the other purpose, shipmate, 'tis yonder—hark to it!" And smiling grimly, Adam held up a sinewy finger, as, from somewhere forward, rose a confused and dismal wailing.

"In heaven's name what's toward now, Adam?"

"The crew are singing, Martin, likewise they dance, presently they shall fall a-quarrelling, then grow pot-valiant, all in regular and accepted order. Already one poor rogue hath been aft to demand the women of us d'ye see, and—"

"To demand the women!" says I in gasping astonishment.

"Aye, the women, Martin—my Lady Joan and her maid, d'ye see."

"God's love, Adam!" I cried, gripping his arm, "And you—what said you to the vile dog?"

"Nought! I shot him!"

"Is the mutiny broke out then?"

"Not yet, shipmate, but 'tis coming, aye 'tis coming, which is very well—"

"And what hath brought things to this pass?"

"Rum, Martin! The fire was in the store-room where there is rum a-plenty, d'ye see, and what was to prevent the rogues making off with a keg or so that chanced to lie handy—not I, shipmate, not I!"

"And why not, in the Devil's name?"

"Because, Martin," says Adam, sitting at the table and beginning to set his papers in order, "because there's nought like liquor for putting the devil into a man, and of all liquor commend me to rum with a dash o' tobacco or gunpowder, d'ye see. We shall be heaving dead men overboard ere dawn, I judge, and all along of this same rum, Martin. Black mutiny, murder and sudden death, shipmate, and more's the pity say I. But if Providence seeth fit why so be it."

"Providence!" quoth I, scowling down into his impassive face, "Dare ye talk of Providence? 'Twas you set this bloody business a-foot."

"Aye, Martin, it was!" says he nodding. "As to Providence—look'ee now, if you can ape Providence to your own ends, which is vengeance and bloody murder, I can do as much for mine, which is to save the lives of such as stand true to me and the ship—not to mention the women. There's Tressady skulking below, and I have but contrived that the mutiny should come in my time rather than his and theirs. As it is, we are prepared, fifteen stout lads lie in the round-house below with musquetoon and fusee, and every gun and swivel that will bear (falconet and paterero) aimed to sweep the waist when they rush, as rush they will, Martin, when the drink hath maddened 'em properly—"

"And having maddened them with your hellish decoctions you'll shoot the poor rogues down?"

"Aye, Martin, I will so, lest peradventure they shoot me. Then besides, shipmate, what o' the women? I have the Lady Joan and her maid to think on, 'twould be an ill fate theirs in the hands of yon filthy rabblement. Hark to 'em yonder, hark what they sing!"

For a while I could hear nought but a clamour of fierce shouts and hallooing, then, little by little, this wild, hoarse tumult rose and swelled to a fierce chaunt:

"Some swam in rum to kingdom come, Full many a lusty fellow. And since they're sped, all stark and dead, They're flaming now in hell O. So cheerly O, Hey cheerly O, They're burning down in hell O!"

"D'ye hear it, Martin, did ye hear it? Shoot the poor rogues d'ye say? Sink me, but I will so if Fortune be so kind. Yonder's short shrift and quick dispatch for me, shipmate, and then—the women! Think of my Lady Joan writhing in their clutches. Hark'ee to the lewd rogues—'tis women now—hark to 'em!" And here again their vile song burst forth with much the same obscenity as I had once heard sung by Abnegation Mings in a wood, and the which I will not here transcribe.

"Well, shipmate," says Adam, glancing up from his papers, "last of all, there's yourself! Here's you with the rope in prospect unless you quit this ship, and yonder, Martin, yonder is the long-boat towing astern, all stored ready, a calm sea and a fair wind—"

"No more of that!" says I angrily.

"But will ye dangle in a noose, Martin, when you might be away in the long-boat as tows astern of us, and with a fair wind as I say and—"

"Have done!" says I clenching my fists.

"'Twill be the simplest thing in the world, Martin," he went on, leaning back in his chair and nodding up at me mighty pleasant, "aye, a very simple matter for you to drop down from the stern-gallery yonder d'ye see, and setting a course south-westerly you should make our island in four-and-twenty hours or less what with this wind and the sea so calm—"

"Never!" cried I in growing fury, "Come what will I stay aboard this ship until we reach our destination!"

"Hum!" says he, pinching his chin and eyeing me 'twixt narrowed lids, "Are ye still bent on nought but vengeance then? Why look'ee, Martin, 'tis none so far to seek, for seeing you may not reach the father why not smite him through the daughter? She'd make fine sport for our beastly crew—hark to 'em roaring! Sport for them and a mighty full vengeance for you—"

The table betwixt us hampered my blow and then, as I strove to come at him, I brought up with the muzzle of his pistol within a foot of my brow.

"Easy, shipmate, easy!" says he, leaning back in his chair but keeping me covered.

"Damned rogue!" I panted.

"True!" he nodded, "True, Martin, vengeance is kin to roguery, d'ye see. If you're for murdering the father what's to hinder you from giving the proud daughter up to—steady, Martin, steady it is! Your sudden ways be apt to startle a timid man and my finger's on the trigger. Look'ee now, shipmate, if your scheme of fine-gentlemanly vengeance doth not permit of such methods towards a woman, what's to prevent you going on another track and carrying her with you, safe from all chance of brutality? There's stowage for her in the long-boat, which is a stout, roomy craft now towing astern, stored and victualled, a smooth sea, a fair wind—"

"Hark'ee, Adam Penfeather," says I, choking with passion, "once and for all I bide on this ship until she brings up off Hispaniola."

"But then, Martin, she never will bring up off Hispaniola, not whiles I navigate her!"

"Ha!" I cried, "Doth my lady know of this? Doth Sir Rupert?"

"Not yet, Martin."

"Then, by Heaven, they shall learn this very hour!"

"I think not, Martin."

"And I swear they shall. Let them hang me an they will, but first they shall hear you intend to seize the ship to your own purposes—aye, by God, they shall know you for the pirate you are!"

Now as I turned and strode for the door, I heard the sudden scrape of Adam's chair behind me, and whirling about, saw his pistol a-swing above my head, felt the vicious, staggering blow, and reeling to the door, sank weakly to my knees, and thence seemed to plunge into a black immensity and knew no more.



CHAPTER XXII

TELLETH HOW WE WERE CAST ADRIFT

I awoke to a wind on my brow, very pleasant and sweet, and in my ears the soft and drowsy ripple of water right soothing to hear, and thus would have slumbered on but for another sound that broke out at intervals, a thunderous roar that seemed to shake me where I lay. Therefore I opened my eyes to see above me a great multitude of stars, and lay staring up at them in vague and dreamy wonderment until, roused again by another thunderclap, I raised myself and saw I lay in the stern-sheets of a large, open boat that rocked to a gentle swell, and all about me a misty sea grey with the dawn. Now as I gazed around me, greatly troubled and amazed, I beheld, far away across these dim waters, a flash of red flame, and after some while heard again the thunder of a gun.

Little by little, as the light waxed, I made out the loom of two ships and, despite the distance, I knew the foremost for the "Faithful Friend." Ever and anon would come the faint crack of caliver or petronel from her high poop, and the thunder of her stern-chase guns. And with my mind's eyes I seemed to espy Adam firing from his loopholes to sweep the decks forward, the while Godby and his few gunners served the great basilisks aft, aiming them at a tall, black ship that stood hard in their wake, yawing now and then to bring her fore-chase to bear on them in answer.

Suddenly up flamed the sun turning sea and sky to glory; but I crouched miserable in my helplessness, for now I saw the "Faithful Friend" steered a course that was taking her rapidly away from me upon the freshening wind. Perceiving which bitter truth, beholding myself thus befooled, bubbled and tricked (and my head throbbing from the blow of Penfeather's pistol-butt) a mighty anger against him surged within me, and shaking my fists I fell to fierce curses and revilings, like any madman, until what with my aching head and lack of breath, I cast myself face down and lay there spent with my futile ravings. Yet even so, bethinking me of all my fine schemes and purposes thus brought to nothingness and myself drifting impotent at the mercy of wind and wave, I sought to spit my puny anger against the God that made me, in blasphemies and bitter imprecations.

"O shame, shame on you, Martin Conisby! The God you rail upon is my God also. Have done, I say! Be silent, nor tempt His mercy with your childish clamours!"

Up-starting I turned and beheld the Lady Brandon upon her knees within a yard of me, saw her shrink before my gaze and the griping passion of my hands; for now, reading in her look all her scorn and loathing for the thing I was, I must needs turn my fury upon her and did that the which shames me to this day, for even as she fronted me, all defenceless but with head erect and eyes unflinching despite the sick pallor of her cheeks, I seized her in cruel hold and, dragging her to me, bent her backward across a thwart.

"Ha!" I gasped, "Will ye dare cry shame on me? Will ye mock—will ye flout—will ye scorn me still—and you but a lying, thieving Brandon! Would you trample me 'neath your proud feet—."

"All this!" says she, staring up into my eyes, "But I do pity you most for—what you are become. O—kill me if you will, 'twould be very easy for you and, mayhap, best for me, and I do not fear to die. So do as you will, Martin Conisby, I do not fear you since Death is my kind friend and shall free me of the shame of you if need be!"

Hereupon I loosed her and, crouched again in the stern-sheets, bowed my head upon my fists, whiles she, kneeling patiently beside the midship thwart, ordered her wrenched garments with shaking hands.

And, after some while, her voice with its sweet, vital ring, pierced to those black deeps where lay the soul of me:

"'Tis growing very rough. What must we do?"

Lifting my head, I saw that the sea was risen considerably, and the boat drifting broadside to the wind, so that the waves, taking us abeam, spilled aboard us ever and anon. So I arose and made shift to step the mast and hoist sail, nothing heeding her proffered aid; then shipping the tiller, I put our little vessel before the wind. And now, from a log pitching and rolling at mercy of the waves, this boat became, as it were, alive and purposeful, lifting to the seas with joyous motion, shaking the water from her bows in flashing brine that sparkled jewel-like in the early sun, her every timber thrilling to the buffets of the waters that rushed bubbling astern all rainbow-hued and with a sound like elfin laughter, until what with all this and the strong, sweet air, even I felt the joy of it; but though my black humour lifted somewhat, my shame was sore upon me, wherefore I kept my gaze for the peak of the sail, the cloudless heaven, the deep blue of the seas, and never so much as glanced at the patient, solitary figure amidships.

"Whither do we sail?" she questioned at last.

"What matter?" says I sullenly.

"Aye, true!" she sighed.

"Besides, I have no compass."

"There is one in the locker here, and with it a packet and a letter writ to you. Shall I bring them?"

"As you will," says I, keeping my gaze averted. So she makes her way over to me (and mighty dexterous) despite the motion of the boat, and setting the compass beside me, gives me the letter. It was sealed, and subscribed thus:

"To my well-loved, trusty friend, comrade and brother-adventurer Martin, these:"

Breaking the seal, I read as follows:

"For your sore head, Martin, I grieve, but the blow I regret no whit seeing it was struck to our mutual advantage hereafter. Now you (reading this) being at sea betwixt the parallels 70 and 65 in an open boat and all by reason of circumstances proving too strong for you, Martin, it much behoveth you to mark and heed well these my directions, to wit: You shall lay your course south-westerly, and that for these several and sufficing reasons, viz., (1) You lie out of the track of ships. (2) These be treacherous seas, given to sudden furies of wind and raging tempest. (3) I like not the look of the weather. (4) Our Island lieth scarce twenty-four hours' sail due south-westerly. Whereof I have drawn for your guidance a chart of these waters, together with a plan of our Island (very just and exact). Also a chart of the passage or channel through the barrier-reef, for saving this passage, there is no landing upon the island that I know of. Nor shall you attempt this passage except at the flood and the seas calm. Being landed, Martin, you shall, with due regard to rest and refreshment, forthwith secure our Treasure (the secret whereof I have included with this my letter). Thereupon, and with all dispatch, you shall, troubling not for the gold or silver, take but the four caskets of jewels, and, setting them aboard your boat, sail away due West (three days) until you shall fetch up with another island, the which you shall know by its three several hills plain to be seen, and called Gibbet Island, since 'twas there I hanged one Juan Maldonada (and richly deserved it!). Here then you shall bury our Treasure (four caskets) in such place as seemeth to you proper, and there await my coming. And if I join you not within two months, then shall this mighty treasure three-quarters thereof be yours. And if I come not within six months, then shall this fortune be wholly yours since I shall be beyond all need of it. So now, Martin, good Fortune attend you. Your boat (chosen by me long since, and for this very purpose) is staunch, and an excellent sea-boat and very well stored with everything for your needs, as arms, clothes, food and the like. Moreover within the treasure-cave is all manner of stores, so that a man even though he bides on the land to his life's end need suffer no lack, but have his every comfort supplied.

And now, as to your head, Martin, 'twill be none the worse by this, I judge. And for the blow, 'twas no harder than called for, and very well intentioned, as you shall confess one day, mayhap, unless you be greater fool and blinder than I take you for. Howbeit I trust you, Martin, and in bidding you farewell for the nonce, subscribe myself,

Your faithful friend and comrade to serve, Adam Penfeather."

Having read this wordy missive, I crumpled it in angry fist and thrust it into my pocket. But now she gives me the packet named therein, the which I forthwith tossed overboard (like the wilful fool I was). Thereby involving us in divers and many great dangers and difficulties, as you shall learn hereafter.

Howbeit (the wind serving) I altered our course and stood away south-westerly even as Adam had directed, since I perceived the weather thickening behind us and the sea heaving with uneasy motion. And presently my companion questions me again:

"Whither do we sail?"

"South-westerly."

"Aye, but whither?"

"To an island."

"Is it far?"

"Two days' journey or thereabouts."

"Do you know this island?"

"I have never seen it."

"Then why sail thither?"

"'Tis thereabouts Penfeather would meet with us again if he may."

"And being there, what then?"

"God knoweth!"

Here was silence again save for the creak of mast and timbers as we rose to the gentle swell and the ripple of water 'neath our keel, while the sun, high risen, blazed down from the blue, his fierce beams tempered by the cool, sweet wind.

"Are you hungry, Martin?"

"Is there aught to eat?"

"Plenty!" So saying she opened one of the lockers and brought thence a loaf of fine white bread, a neat's tongue, a flask of wine, and a small barrico of water, upon which I, for one, made an excellent meal. Which done, she sets all things away again, very orderly, and sits elbow on knee, staring away into the distance and with her back to me. Hereupon, I opened the stern-locker and found therein a couple of musquetoons, a brace of pistols, a sword with belt and hangers, and divers kegs of powder and ball.

"How came you lying stunned in the boat?" says my companion at last, but without turning her head.

"By roguery!" I answered. "But how and when did the mutiny start?"

"'Twas when we went to fetch the boy, my little page, Marjorie and I. He lay hurt and crying on the deck; so we ran out to him and took him up betwixt us, and then I heard shouts and rush of feet, and they were all about us—drunken men singing and dancing. And they struggled with us till came Master Penfeather, with Godby and others, and after much bitter fighting brought us away. But Marjorie, my dear, faithful Marjorie, had taken a blow aimed at me and died ... in my arms ... And the great cabin choking with powder-smoke ... and wounded men who cried and shouted. My dear, brave Marjorie! With the dark the fight began again, and twice I feared they would break in upon us. Then Master Adam brought me into the stern-gallery and lowered me into the boat where I might lie secure, and so got him back into the battle. But in a little I saw a hand in the gloom cutting at the tow-rope, and I screamed, but none heard. And so the boat drifted away, and with the dawn I found you lying under a boat-cloak."

When she had done, I sat awhile staring up at the peak of the sail:

"My Lady Brandon," says I at length, "Fate hath set you in scurvy company, for I am an ill rogue, very rough and rude-mannered, and no fit company for any woman, as you do very well know. Howbeit, I swear that henceforth, so long as we company together, I will trouble you no more than I may, either by act or speech, you to your place in the bows yonder in mine here at the tiller, you to your thoughts, I to mine. And thus methinks we shall do well enough until we can go our several ways."

"Must we not speak?" she questioned, keeping her face turned from me.

"When needful, madam!"

"Am I but to answer when you deign me notice? Will it plague you if I sing? Am I to sit with my hands folded henceforth and do nought but think? Must I stay in the bows until you summon me thence?" says she, and all in the same small, soft voice, so that I perceived my fine speech had been thrown away; wherefore I stared up at the sail and with never a word in answer.

But presently, chancing to look at her, I found her regarding me with her dimpled chin set mighty resolute; "Because," says she, meeting my look, "I shall talk when I will and sing when so minded, Martin Conisby. I shall not sit in the bows for 'tis wet there, and I shall not fold my hands, but you shall teach me how to steer and handle the boat and do my share of the labour. For look now, here are we, by no will of our own, God knoweth, companions in misfortune, let us then aid each other that our troubles be the easier. And O pray do you forget Martin Conisby his woes awhile." And away she goes, and getting to her knees before one of the lockers, begins rearranging the contents, singing away the while merry as any grig.

As the day wore on, the skies clouded over with a wind very sudden and blusterous, wherefore, misliking the look of things, I was for shortening sail, but feared to leave the helm lest the boat should broach to and swamp while this was a-doing. But the wind increasing, I was necessitated to call my companion beside me and teach her how she must counter each wind-gust with the helm, and found her very apt and quick to learn. So leaving the boat to her manage I got me forward and (with no little to-do) double-reefed our sail, leaving just sufficient to steer by; which done I glanced to my companion where she leaned to the tiller, her long hair streaming out upon the wind, her lithe body a-sway to the pitching of the boat and steering as well as I myself. From her I gazed to windward where an ominous and ever-growing blackness filled me with no small apprehensions; wherefore I made fast all our loose gear, as oars, spare sail, spars and the like. Now in the bows were stowed her belongings, a leathern trunk and divers bundles, the which I proceeded to secure in their turn. This done, I got me aft again, but when I would have relieved her of the tiller, she shook her head.

"Nay, let me steer a while," she cried, looking up through her wind-tossed hair, "'tis joy to me! Lay you down and rest a while and trust the boat to me." And seeing how quick she was to meet each send of the seas (that were already running high) glad enough was I to humour her whim, and clambered forward again. And there (having nought better to do) I set about rigging a rough awning athwart the bows, with canvas and a stout spar, which methought should keep out the spray and any chance sea that might break forward; though indeed the boat seemed mighty staunch, and sea-worthy to a miracle.

With every hour the wind waxed in fury and therewith the sea rose, huge, rolling billows that came roaring up astern to whirl us aloft amid hissing brine and passing, left us deep-plunged in great, foaming hollows. Being got back aft at last and with no small exertion (by reason of the boat's pitching) I stared amazed to hear my companion singing right joyously.

"O Martin!" she cried, her voice a-thrill with the clear, vital ring I knew so well, "O Martin, the wonder and glory of it! See yonder on these mighty waters, Death rides crying to us. But God is there also, and if these rushing surges 'whelm us we, dying, shall find God there." And beholding her as she sat, her face uplifted to the tempest, her sea-wet hair upborne upon the wind, I marvelled within myself. "And the boat, Martin!" cries she as we rose on a hissing wave-crest, "This dear, brave boat! See how nobly she rides—indeed and indeed I do love her every timber!"

And verily to me, awed by these mighty waters, it was wonderful to see how our little craft rose to the seas, buoyant as any cork; now poised 'mid hissing foam high in air, now plunging dizzily down; and ever the wind gathered fury until the very air seemed full of whirling spindrift.

In a while I took the tiller, and wondered to see my companion droop all at once with head bowed upon her hands.

"Are you sick?" I cried.

"'Tis but weariness," she answered, "I slept no wink last night."

"Why then go forward and lie down!" says I. The which she did forthwith, and made less business of it than I. Reaching the mast she paused thereby to behold my handiwork, then going on her knees crept beneath the awning and vanished from my view.

Left alone I stared around me on the raging tumult, and beholding all its terrors my mind was full of wonder of this maid who could sing so blithely with Death all about her and behold God, as it were, riding on the wings of the storm.

Presently she comes and sits close beside me that we might talk, for the wind was very loud.

"It was kind of you to make me so fair a shelter, Martin, and a bed also, kind and very thoughtful, but I shall not sleep to-night unless it be here."

"And why here?"

"Death hath more terrors in the dark and I grow a little fearful, Martin." So saying she wrapped a boat-cloak about her and, spreading out the other, lay down thereon and so near that I might have touched her where she lay.

And in a while Night rushed down upon us and it was dark; but from the dark her voice reached me where she lay, her head pillowed at my feet, and I, crouching above her, strove to shelter her somewhat from the lashing spray and buffeting wind. Thus in despite of raging tempest we contrived to make each other hear though with difficulty, talking on this wise:

She: Are you afraid?

Myself: No.

She: Have you then no fears of death?

Myself: I have prayed for it, ere now.

She: And vainly! For God, instead, hath made you very hale and strong.

Myself: Aye, for a purpose.

She: What purpose?

Here, seeing I held my peace, she questioned me again: "Was your purpose the slaying of my father? He is an old man and feeble!"

Myself: He plotted the downfall of our house and slew my father!

She: And so you have prayed for vengeance?

Myself: I have.

She: And God hath denied you this also. Should you die to-night you go to him innocent of your enemy's blood.

Myself: Aye, but if I live—?

She: You shall grow wiser, mayhap, and forgetting the ill that lies behind you, reach out to the good that lieth before.

Myself: And what of my just vengeance?

She: Vengeance is but for the weak of soul, 'tis only the strong can forgive.

Myself: What of my sacred vow? What of my many prayers for vengeance?

She: Empty breath!

Myself: Dare you say so?

She: I dare more, for lying here with Death all about us I tell you, Martin Conisby, despite your size and strength, you are no better than a pitiful, peevish child—"

"Ha!" cried I fiercely, bending over her in the dimness until I might stare into her eyes, wide and dark in the pale oval of her face, "Will ye dare—"

"A child," says she again, nodding at me, "lost and wilful and very selfish with no thought above Martin Conisby and his wrongs. Nay, scowl not nor grind your teeth, 'tis vain! For how may I, that fear not God's dreadful tempest, stoop to fear poor Martin Conisby?"

"Stoop, madam?" I cried hoarsely.

"Aye, stoop," says she. "The wrongs you have endured have plunged you to the very deeps, have stripped you of your manhood. And yet—yours is no murderer's face even when you scowl and clench your fist! 'Twas so you looked when you fought that rough boy on my behalf so many years ago when you were Sir Martin the Knight-errant and I was Princess Damaris. And now, Martin, you that were my playmate and had forgot—you that were so ready to fight on my behalf—in this desolation there is none you may do battle with for my sake saving only—Martin Conisby!"

Now here she turned, her face hid from me 'neath a fold of the great boat-cloak, and spake no more. And I, crouched above her, staring down at her muffled form outstretched thus at my mercy, felt my quivering fist relax, felt my brutish anger cower before her trust and fearlessness. And so, leaning across the tiller, I stared away into the raging dark; and now it seemed that the soul of me had sunk to deeps more black and, groping blindly there, hungered for the light.

So all night long we drove before the tempest through a pitchy gloom full of the hiss of mighty seas that roared past us in the dark like raging giants. And all night long she lay, her head pillowed at my feet, sleeping like a wearied child, and her long, wind-tossed hair within touch of my hand.



CHAPTER XXIII

DIVERS PERILS AND DANGERS AT SEA

Towards dawn the wind abated more and more and, glancing into the lightening East, I saw the black storm-clouds pierced, as it were, by a sword of glory, a single vivid ray that smote across the angry waters, waxing ever more glorious until up flamed the sun before whose joyous beams the sullen clouds scattered, little by little, and melted away.

And now I (that was doomed to be my own undoing) instead of thanking that merciful God who had delivered us from such dire peril, must needs scowl upon this kindly sun and fall again to my black humours. For, the immediate dangers past, I began to ponder the future and inwardly to rage against that perverse fate the which was driving me whither it would. So, crouched chin on fist, scowling across these tempestuous waters (for though the wind was fallen the seas ran very high) within myself I cursed Adam Penfeather and all his works.

"You are hungry, Martin!" Turning about I beheld my companion sitting up regarding me with eyes that belied her solemn mouth.

"How should you know this?"

"You frown, Martin! Though the storm is done and we alive, yet you frown! Have patience and you shall eat and sleep."

"I want neither one nor other!" I began.

"And you are wet, Martin!"

"'Tis no matter!"

"And cold!"

"The sun shall warm me."

"So you shall eat, and lie here i' the sunshine, and sleep!" And away she goes to vanish under the dripping pent-house forward (the which had served its purpose admirably well) whiles I, perceiving the waves subsiding and the wind blowing steady and fair, laid our course due south-westerly again, and lashing the helm, went forward to shake out the reefs, finding it no easy task what with the stiffness of my cramped limbs and the pitching of the boat; howbeit, 'twas done at last but, coming back, I tripped across a thwart and fell, cursing.

"Are you hurt?" she questioned, stooping over me; whereupon (for very shame) I turned my back answering short and ungraciously, and sat frowning like the sullen rogue I was whiles she busily set forth the wherewithal to break our fast, and singing softly to herself.

"I told you I was an ill rogue and rough!" says I, bitterly.

"Why so you did," says she, meeting my scowl with her wide, calm gaze. "Also you are hungry, and the food is unspoiled despite the storm—come and eat!"

So I ate (though with mighty ill grace) and found little savour in the food for all my hunger; but she waited on my wants with heedful care, my surliness notwithstanding.

"Whose was the hand set this boat adrift, think you?" says I suddenly.

"Nay, 'twas too dark to see!"

"'Twas Penfeather!" says I, clenching my fist. "Aye it was Adam, I'll stake my life on't!"

"Then Poor Master Adam!" she sighed.

"How? Will you pity a rogue?"

"I speak of Master Penfeather," says she. "If he indeed cut the boat adrift it was doubtless because the battle was going against him and he did this to save me!" Hereupon I laughed and she, flushing angrily, turns her back on me.

"Pray you," she questioned, "when may we hope to reach the island and be free of each other?"

"To-night or to-morrow, unless the storm hath driven us further than I judge." And now, our meal done, she sets away everything in its appointed place and thereafter sat watching the sea all foam and sparkle beneath the young sun. And presently a sigh brake from her and she turned, her anger forgotten quite.

"O!" cries she, "'Tis joy to be alive, to breathe such air, and behold such a glory of sea and sky! Look around us, Martin, and give thanks!" And truly the sea was smooth enough save for a long, rolling swell out of the East, and with a soft and gentle wind to abate the sun's generous heat. "Are you not glad to be alive, Martin?" says she.

"To what end?" I answered. "Of what avail is life to me cast away on a desolate island."

"Desolate?" says she, starting. "Do you mean we shall be alone?"

"Aye, I do."

"But surely," says she with troubled look, "surely Master Adam will fetch us away?"

"There is a chance!"

"And—if not?"

"God knoweth!" says I gloomily, "'Tis a small island as I learn, little known and out of the track of vessels."

"Yet a ship may come thither to our relief?"

"And if one doth not?"

"Then must we tempt the sea again in our boat."

"I am no navigator, and these seas are strange to me."

"Howbeit," says she, bravely, "we have good store of provisions."

"And when they are gone—how then, think you?"

"I think you do lack for sleep. Go, take your rest, mayhap you shall waken a little bolder and less despairing."

"And you," says I, "you that so look on all this as a joyous adventure—"

"Joyous? Ah God!" she cried, "Do you think because I do not weep that my heart is not full of misery and grief to lose thus home and friends and country and live 'prisoned and solitary with such as you, that think but on your own selfish woes and in your big body bear the soul of a fretful babe? I hate you, Martin Conisby, scorn and despise you! And now give me the tiller and begone to your sleep!" Saying which she pointed where she had spread the cloaks hard by the midship thwart and I, amazed by her fierce outburst, suffered her to take the tiller from my hold, and coming amidships laid myself down even as she had commanded.

But no thought of sleep had I, rather I lay that I might watch her (furtively, beneath my arm) where she sat head aloft, cheeks flushed and bosom tempestuous. And (despite her beauty) a very termagant shrew I thought her. Then, all at once, I saw a tear fall and another; and she that had sung undaunted to the tempest and outfaced its fury, sat bitterly weeping like any heart-broke maid, yet giving due heed to our course none the less. Presently, chancing to look my way, she catches me watching her and knits her slender brows at me:

"Get you to sleep!" says she. "O get you to sleep nor trouble my grief!"

Hereupon (and feeling mighty guilty) I pillowed my head and, closing my eyes, presently fell to sweet and dreamless slumber.



CHAPTER XXIV

HOW WE CAME TO BLACK BARTLEMY'S ISLAND

"Martin, Martin—look!"

I started up, and rubbing sleep from my eyes, turned to gaze whither she pointed; and there, faint and far, above the rolling blue of the seas rose a blue shape. "'Tis the island, Martin! Our voyaging is nigh ended."

"Aye, 'tis the island!" says I.

"'Tis like an island of dream, Martin."

"Nay, 'tis real enough!" quoth I, "And solitary!"

"There is a perspective glass in the locker, yonder, Martin."

"Master Adam was vastly thoughtful!" quoth I, bitterly. And reaching the glass I gave it to her.

"Will you not look at the island?" she questioned wonderingly.

"Nay, I shall see more than enough of it ere long! Do you give me the tiller and view it as you will."

"I see rocks!" says she, after some while.

"Ha, a barren place, as I thought."

"Nay, there are trees—many trees! O 'tis wonderful!" And so she sat viewing it all untiring, every moment discovering some new marvel; but I fell to my old, black humour, since to me this island was no better than a prison.

By mid-day we were come so close that I might see the place very well; a smallish island with sheer cliffs very jagged and grim where the seas broke in foam and crowned with many and divers trees, beyond which rose greeny slopes with more trees that mounted up and up to a lofty summit of rocks and brush. Being within some two miles of these forbidding cliffs I steered to fetch a compass about the island, and so presently opened a bay of white sand with tree-clad cliffs beyond, and before a sheet of placid water or lagoon shut off from the sea by a semicircular barrier-reef, such as Adam had described in his story.

And now, bethinking me that (by his account) this was the only means of landing upon the island, I stood for this reef, against which the foaming seas dashed with a mighty roaring, looking for that narrow channel through the reef, that opening amid these breakers whereby we might steer into those calm waters beyond.

And presently, sure enough, I espied it well-nigh in the middle of the reef, even as Adam had said, and, putting up the helm, ran for it straightway. An evil enough place it looked, perilously narrow and with mighty seas that broke in thunderous spray to right and left of it; insomuch that heedful of Adam's warning (and all too late) I was minded to bear up and stand away, plying off and on, until the waves should have moderated. But in my folly I had sailed too near and now, swept onward by some current, the boat, responding no more to her helm, was borne on at ever-increasing speed. So thus helpless and at mercy of the seas we drove straight for this perilous channel until I had some desperate hope that she might make it; on we sped, nearer and nearer, until the spume of the breakers was all about us and I well-nigh deafened by their roar; but this roar was pierced suddenly by a cry:

"O Martin! God pity us—look!" Turning my head, I saw a hugeous wave hard upon us, felt my companion's arms about me, and then—deafened, blinded, choking, I was whirled aloft on this mighty sea, tossed, buffeted, hurled into blinding sunlight, buried beneath green deeps and, expectant of death, suddenly found myself face down on warm sands wherein my griping fingers clutched desperately against the back-rush of the sea.

So lay I gasping and gripping this kindly earth and waited to do battle for what remained of life, hearkening for the fierce hiss of that great wave that was to bear me back to the horror of those green deeps the which should bury me for ever; instead I heard the gentle, drowsy lapping of water all about me, and opening my eyes beheld myself lying on the edge of those white sands that bordered the lagoon, while behind me the seas thundered impotent against the reef. And now, little by little, I saw that the great wave must have borne me hither in miraculous fashion; and lying thus bruised and spent I must needs remember how Adam had experienced the like.

But all at once I staggered up to my feet and began staring hither and thither; then as my brain cleared and strength came back, I took to running along the edge of the lagoon like one demented, staring down into those placid waters and searching the white sands with eyes of dreadful expectancy, yet nowhere could I discover sign or trace of my companion. None the less I continued to run aimlessly back and forth, heedless of my going, slipping and stumbling and often falling, but never staying my search until the sweat poured from me. And ever as I ran I kept repeating these words to myself over and over again, viz., "Adam's comrade, Nicholas Frant, was cast safe ashore with him!" Thus I ran to and fro gasping these words to myself until, tripping over a piece of driftwood I lay bruised and well-nigh spent. Howbeit, I forced myself up again and re-commenced my search, and this time with more method, for I swore to myself that I would find her or perish also. To this end I determined to get me out upon the reef; now to come thither I must needs climb over certain rocks, so came I thither and, breathless with haste, made shift to mount these rocks heedless of bruises or bleeding hands, and reaching the summit at last, paused all at once.

She lay face down almost below these rocks, outstretched within a little cove and her long, wet hair wide-tossed like drifted seaweed all about her. Now, seeing how still she lay, a great sickness seized me so that I sank weakly to my knees and crouched thus a while, and with no strength nor will to move. At last, and very slowly, I made my way a-down the rocks, and being within the little cove, found myself all trembling and holding my breath. Then, though the soft sand deadened all sound of my going, I crept forward. So came I where she lay, her wet draperies clinged fast about her; and standing above this stilly form I looked down upon her slender shapeliness yet feared to touch her. And now I saw that one sleeve was torn away and upon her round, white arm the marks my cruel hands had wrought.

"Damaris!" says I, falling on my knees beside her, and the word was a groan. And in that moment she raised her head and looked at me, and in her eyes methought to read wonder and a sudden, great joy:

"Martin!" she whispered, "O thank God!" And so hid her face again. Now, being yet on my knees, I looked from her to the blue heaven and round about me like one that wakes upon a new world.



CHAPTER XXV

HOW I WAS HAUNTED OF BLACK BARTLEMY

"Are you hurt?" says I, at last.

"Indeed," she answered, "all over. Yet am I alive and there's the wonder. The wave cast me into the lagoon and I crept ashore here. Then methought you surely dead and I alone within these solitudes and so I swooned, Martin."

"Being afraid of the loneliness?"

"Yes, Martin."

"Even fellow as rough as I is better than loneliness?"

"Yes, Martin."

"Though your arms be bruised by my handling! For this I—I would crave your pardon—"

"'Tis all forgot!" says she, making shift to cover up her arm. "But your hand is bleeding—"

"A scratch!"

"Have you no other hurts?"

"A bruise or so."

"And did you come a-seeking me, Martin?"

"Yes."

"Are you glad to find me alive?"

"Yes."

"Even a Brandon is better than nobody, Martin?" But at this I arose, albeit stiffly, and turned away. "Whither would you go?" she questioned.

"To seek some shelter ere night catch us."

"Shall I not come with you?"

"Can you walk?"

Hereupon she made to rise, but getting to her knees, flinched and bit her lip:

"I'm so bruised, Martin!" says she.

"Why then, bide you here, yonder cleft i' the rock should serve for to-night. Howbeit I'll go look." So I limped across the beach to where showed a great fissure in the cliff hard beside a lofty tree; being come within this cleft I found it narrow suddenly, and at the end a small cave very dry and excellent suited to our purpose. Moreover, close at hand was a little rill that bubbled among mossy rocks, mighty pleasant to be heard. And hereabouts grew all manner of vines, sweet-smelling shrubs and fern; of these I gathered goodly quantity and strowing them within the cave therewith made a very passable bed; which done, I went back where she lay a-drying her wet garments in the warm sun as well as she might.

"Martin," says she, mighty doleful, "I have lost my comb and all my hairpins."

"I will fashion you others."

"Aye, but the boat, Martin, our dear, brave boat!"

"To-morrow I will seek what remains of her."

"And our stores—all lost, Martin!"

"I can find more."

"Where?"

"Among the rocks and on the trees. There should be no lack of fruit and fish according to Adam."

"Nay but," sighed she, shaking woeful head, "even though we contrive to live thus, yet here must we 'bide far from our kind with small hopes of relief and destitute of all things to our comfort."

"Why look now," says I, "here in my pocket is a tinder box, the which is a very comfortable thing, here in my belt a good, stout, knife, which is another comfortable thing, and yonder is a cave, dry and airy, shall make you a goodly chamber; so take comfort to-night, at least." And drawing my knife I betook me to whetting the blade on the sole of my damp shoe. Glancing up at last I found my companion regarding me with strange expression.

"Methinks you are greatly changed!" says she.

"How changed?"

"In the boat you did nought but cry out and rail 'gainst fortune, but now, Martin—"

"Now," says I, "the sun is low and night cometh apace in these latitudes, let me know you sheltered ere it be dark!" and sheathing my knife I rose. Then seeing what effort she made to come to her knees, I reached her my hand aiding her up to her feet. So she takes a step and, stifling a cry of pain, would have fallen but for my arm.

"O Martin," says she, with rueful shake of the head, "I fear I cannot walk."

"Lean on me—"

"'Tis vain," says she, catching her breath, "I cannot set this foot to ground."

"Have you any bones broke?"

"Nay, 'tis none so bad as that—"

"Where's your hurt?"

"My knee—my ankle! And I'm direly bruised, Martin."

"But you cannot sleep out here!"

"I needs must. The sand is warm and soft to my bed."

"There is a better waiting you in the cave yonder."

"But—if I cannot walk, Martin—"

"Why then," says I, "why then you must suffer that I carry you."

"I fear I am—greatly heavy, Martin!"

"As to that—" says I, and lifting her as gently as I might, began to bear her across the beach. And after we had gone thus some way she spoke:

"I fear me I am vastly heavy!"

"No!" says I, keeping my gaze before me.

"Yet you go very slowly."

"'Tis that I would not jostle you."

"And the sand is ill-going, belike, Martin?"

"Most true!" says I, pretending to stumble.

"Why then, I pray you take your time." At this I ventured to glance down at her, but saw no more than the curve of a cheek and the tip of a little ear; and staring at this came very near blundering into a rock. So I bore her into the rocky cleft already full of shadow, taking due heed in my going yet mighty conscious of all the yielding softness of her none the less.

"Your clothes are very damp!" says I.

"They will be dry ere morning," she answered, her voice muffled.

"I had best light a fire then!"

"There is no need, 'tis very warm, I do think."

"'Tis good against wild beasts and the like," says I.

"Why then, as you will, Martin."

Reaching the little cave at last she would have had me set her down; but I bade her lie still, and getting to my knees within the cave I laid her upon her ferny bed, whereat she uttered a little cry of pleasure.

"Why, Martin," says she, snugging down, "here is wondrous soft bed and fragrant."

"'Twill serve until I can contrive a better," quoth I, and coming without the cave, stood looking down on her, while the night deepened about us apace.

"And what of you, Martin?"

"I shall sleep here, beyond the fire."

"Do you think there be any wild beasts hereabouts?"

"God knoweth!" says I. "Howbeit you may sleep secure and fear nothing."

"I know that, O I know that!" says she gently.

"Do you lack for aught?"

"Only sleep, Martin."

"Why then, I'll set about making the fire." So I fell to gathering twigs and driftwood, of which there was no lack, and taking out my tinder-box (albeit the tinder was still damp) soon contrived to have the fire crackling right merrily. This done and with store of fuel to hand, I scooped me out a hollow in the warm sand and lying therein found myself very well, the aches of my many bruises notwithstanding. The night air struck chill through my damp garments, but now, stretched in the comfort of the fire, there grew within me a great wonder at our miraculous deliverance; and this led me to ponder upon our present situation, cast thus destitute upon this lonely island where, devoid of every comfort and necessity, we must needs live in barbarous fashion as best we might until either Penfeather should come to our relief or we be taken off by some chance vessel. And supposing (thinks I) that neither chance befall and we doomed to drag out our days to their miserable end? Here I must needs bethink me of all the woeful tales I had heard of marooners or poor, shipwrecked mariners who, by reason of wretchedness and hardship, had run mad or become baser than the brutes. And now, I must needs take out and read Penfeather's crumpled letter, and bethinking me how (in my wicked folly) I had cast overboard the packet of instructions whereby we must at least have found all those stores he made mention of, from cursing him I straightway fell to bitter recriminations of my vain self.

"Are you asleep, Martin?"

"No!" Here I heard her sigh, and a rustle as she turned on her leafy couch.

"O Martin, surely God hath had us in His care to bring us safe through so many dangers, and methinks His gentle hand will be over us still."

"Have you no fear of what is to be?"

"None, Martin—not now. But had I found myself alone here—hurt and helpless in the dark—and really alone, O methinks I should have died indeed, or lost my wits and perished so. O truly, truly, God is infinitely merciful!"

Thus (and all unknowing) she rebuked my ungrateful despondency. For (thinks I) if she, a woman accustomed to ease and comfort, may thus front our desperate fortunes undismayed and with faith unshaken, how much more should I, a man inured to suffering and hardened by privation? Thus, checking my gloomy foreboding, I too breathed a prayer to God for His infinite mercies, and thereafter fell to pondering how I might supply our more pressing needs with such small means as I possessed; and so in a while, dozed off to sleep.

I started up, knife in hand, to find the moon very big and bright, flooding the world with a radiance wondrous to behold; and blinking drowsily, I wondered what had waked me. Now as I gazed about me the place seemed all at once to take on an evil look, what with its steepy sides a-bristle with tangled vines and bushes and pierced here and there with black holes and fissures, and I shivered. The fire being low I, minded to replenish it, was groping for my fuel when I started and remained peering up at the cliff above, with ears on the stretch and every nerve a-tingle. The night was very calm and still, for the wind had died away, and save for the distant murmur of the surf beyond the reef, nought was to hear; then and all at once, from one of those black holes in the rock above I heard a long-drawn, sighing breath and therewith a faint scuffling. Slowly and cautiously I got to my feet and, with knife gripped ready, began to creep thither; and now within one of these gloomy crevices in the rock-face I saw a crouching shape that, as I drew nearer, sprang away with a snort and clatter, and I saw this was a large goat.

And surely no poor wight ever more relieved than I as, sheathing my knife, I wiped the sweat from me; and now to relief was added a mighty satisfaction, for where was one goat would be others. Thus, my fears allayed, and bethinking me how savoury was a mess of goat's-flesh, I fell a-watering at the mouth like the hungry animal I was.

Having no more mind to sleep (and the moon so marvellous bright) I wandered forth of these shadowy rocks and, being upon the sands, stood to look about me. Before me stretched the wide ocean, a desolation of heaving waters that, rolling shorewards, broke in splendour 'neath the moon; to my right lay a curve of silver beach backed by cliffs and groves of stately palms; and to my left and hard beside these bush-girt rocks was a great and lofty tree.

Now observing this tree more closely, its mighty writhen branches and gnarled roots, and how it stood close against the opening in the cliff, an uneasy feeling possessed me that this tree and its immediate surroundings were all familiar, almost as I had seen it before, though I knew this could not be. So stood I chin in hand, staring about me and ever my unease grew; and then:

"So that night, Martin, the moon being high and bright, I came to that stretch of silver sand where they lay together rigid and pale, and though I had no tool but his dagger and a piece of driftwood, I contrived to bury them 'neath the great pimento tree that stood beside the rock-cleft, and both in the same grave."

It was, for all the world, as though Adam had repeated the words in my ear, insomuch that I glanced round as almost expecting to see him. So then it was here Black Bartlemy had died at the hands of the poor, tortured Spanish lady; and here they lay buried, their bones mouldering together within a yard of me. And standing in this dismal spot I must needs mind Adam's narrative and great was my pity for this poor Spanish lady.

In a while I got me back to the fire and, lying down, fain would have slept, but my mind was full of Adam's story. Howbeit after some while, what with fatigue and the warmth of the fire, slumber took me.

But in my sleep the dead arose and stood fronting each other beneath a pallid moon, Bartlemy in all the bravery of velvet and lace and flowing periwig, and the Spanish lady tall and proud and deadly pale. And now as she shrank from his evil touch, I saw that her face was the face of Joan Brandon. Sweating in dumb anguish I watched Bartlemy grip her in cruel hands and bend her backward across his knee, while she stared up at him with eyes of horror, her lips moving in passionate entreaty. But, as he bent over her, was a flash of steel, and deep-smitten he staggered back to the great tree and, leaning there, fell into a fit of wild laughter so that the silver dagger-hilt that was shaped like a woman seemed to dance and leap upon his quick-heaving breast; then as he swayed there laughing his life out, he raised his face to the pale moon, and I saw that the face of Black Bartlemy was my own.



CHAPTER XXVI

WE COME UPON GRIM EVIDENCES OF ADAM PENFEATHER

Waking to a glory of sun, I found my companion looking down on me all anxious-eyed where she knelt, her hand upon my shoulder.

"Why, Joan," says I drowsily, "my lady—"

"You are groaning, Martin, so I came to you."

"Groaning?" says I, flinching from her touch. "'Twas nought! An ill fancy—a dream, no more. But here is the sun well up and I a-snoring—"

"Nay, you groaned and cried out, Martin. And 'tis yet full early."

"And you'll be mighty hungry and for that matter so am I!" So saying I rose and, without more ado, strode away across the sands towards the reef. Now as I went, I chanced upon a great turtle-shell (to my joy!) and divers others marvellously shaped and tinted, and chose such as might serve us for cups and the like. With these beneath my arm I clambered out upon the reef and (the tide being out) saw many rocks, amongst which I had soon collected good store of shell-fish as limpets, oysters, and others much like to a periwinkle though larger. Filling my turtle-shell with these I took it 'neath my arm again and went on, following the curve of the reef, clambering over these slimy rocks, and found it no small labour what with my burden and the heat of the sun; but I persevered, seeking some fragment of our boat or the stores wherewith she had been so well laden. Yet, and search how I might, found nought to reward me. Having thus traversed the whole reef and explored the rocks beyond very thoroughly, I cast me down beside the lagoon to bathe my hands and face and rest myself awhile. Presently, chancing to turn my head, I saw a place of trees hard by, and started up, my weariness clean forgotten. For divers of these trees bore great clusters of yellowish fruit, the which I knew for a sort of plantain, very wholesome and of delicate savour. So, casting out my limpets and periwinkles, I hasted to pluck good store of this fruit, and with my turtle-shell thus well laden, hastened back to our refuge very well content.

My companion being absent I seated myself in the shade and began opening the oysters with my knife as well as I might; in the which occupation she presently found me, and grew very merry at my clumsy efforts. And now I noticed that she had wrought her long hair into two braids very thick and glossy, also she had somehow contrived to mend the rents in her gown and her torn sleeve.

"Why, you have combed your hair!" says I wondering and speaking my thought aloud.

"With my fingers, they must be my comb until you can make me a better—alack, my poor hair!"

"Why then, you must have a comb so soon as I can contrive one. But now see the breakfast nature hath provided us withal!"

And who so full of pleased wonderment as she, particularly as regarded the fruit which she pronounced delicious, but my shell-fish she showed small liking for, though I found them eatable enough. Seeing her so pleased I told her I hoped to provide better fare very soon, and recounted my adventure with the goat.

"But," says she, "how shall you go a-hunting and no firearms?"

"With a bow and arrows."

"Have you found these also?"

"No, I must make them. I shall look out a sapling shaped to my purpose and trim it with my knife. For the cord of my bow I will have leather strips cut from my jerkin."

"Aye, but your arrows, Martin, how shall you barb them without iron?"

"True!" says I, somewhat hipped. But in that moment my eye lighted on a piece of driftwood I had gathered for fuel and, reaching it, I laid it at her feet. "There," says I, pointing to the heads of divers rusty bolts that pierced it, "here is iron enough to arm a score of arrows."

"But how shall you make them, Martin?"

"Heat the iron soft and hammer it into shape."

"But you have neither hammer nor anvil."

"Stones shall do."

"O wonderful!" she cried.

"Nay, it is not done yet!" says I, a little shamefaced.

"And how may I help you?"

"Watch me work."

"Indeed and I will keep your fire going. So come let us begin."

Our meal done, I gathered twigs for kindling and a great pile of driftwood of which was no lack, and with small boulders I builded a fireplace against the cliff where we soon had a fire drawing merrily, wherein I set my precious piece of timber. Having charred it sufficiently I found it an easy matter to break out the iron bolts and nails; five of them there were of from four to eight inches in length, and though the ends were much corroded by the sea, there yet remained enough sound iron for my purpose. And now, my bolts ready for the fire, I began to look for some stone that might serve me for hammer, and my companion likewise. Suddenly, as I sought and mighty diligent, I heard her cry out to me, and beholding her leaning in the cave mouth, all pale and trembling, came running:

"What is't?" cries I, struck by the horror of her look.

"O Martin!" she gasped. "O Martin—'tis in there—all huddled—in the darkest corner! And I—I slept with it—beside me all night!" Coming within the cave I looked whither her shaking hand pointed and saw what I took at first for a monstrous egg and beyond this the staves of a small barrel; then, bending nearer, I saw these were the skull and ribs of a man. And this man had died very suddenly, for the skeleton lay face down one bony arm folded under him, the other wide-tossed, and the skull, shattered behind, showed a small, round hole just above and betwixt the cavernous eye-sockets; about the ribs were the mouldering remains of a leathern jerkin girt by a broad belt wherein was a knife and a rusty sword; but that which pleased me mightily was a thing still fast-clenched in these bony fingers, and this no other than a heavy hatchet. So, disturbing these poor bones as little as need be, I took the hatchet and thereafter sword and knife; and then, turning to go, stopped all at once, for tied about the bony neck by a leathern thong I espied a shrivelled parchment. Wondering, I took this also, and coming without the cave, found my companion leaning as I had left her and very shaky.

"O Martin!" says she, shivering, "and I slept within touch of it!"

"But you slept very well and he, poor soul, is long past harming you or any." So saying I smoothed out the crackling parchment and holding it in her view, saw this writ very bold and clear:

"Benjamin Galbally Slain of necessity June 20, 1642 This for a sign to like Rogues.

"Adam Penfeather."

"Will this be our Adam Penfeather, Martin?"

"Indeed," says I, "there is methinks but one Adam Penfeather in this world, the which is just as well, mayhap."

"Then he murdered this poor man?"

"Why the fellow had this hatchet in his fist, it hath lain rusting in his grasp all these years, methinks his blow came something too late! Though he must be mighty quick who'd outmatch Penfeather, I guess. No, this man I take it died in fight. Though why Adam must set this placard about the poor rogue's neck is beyond me."

"Let us go away, Martin. This is an evil place."

"It is!" says I, glancing at the great pimento tree that marked the grave of the poor Spanish lady and Black Bartlemy. "Truly we will seek out another habitation and that at once. Howbeit, I have gotten me my hammer." And I showed her the hatchet, the which, unlike the ordinary boarding-axe, was furnished with a flat behind the blade, thus:

(Line drawing of the hatchet.)



CHAPTER XXVII

DIVERS ADVENTURES ON THE ISLAND

Seeing my companion so anxious to be gone, I left my fire to burn out and, giving her my hand, forthwith turned my back on this place of death, nor sorry to do it.

Following the base of the cliff we found an opening in the rock vaulted and arched by nature so that it was of white sands, bordering the lagoon, the which we there and then agreed to call "Deliverance" in memory of our escape. What with the soft sand and scattered rocks it was ill-going for my companion, but though she limped painfully she held bravely on nevertheless, being of a mighty resolute mind as this narrative will show.

Now as we went slowly thus, I pointed out caves a-plenty and very proper to our purpose, but she would have none of them and was forever lifting her eyes to the cliffs and tree-clad, greeny slopes beyond.

"Let us seek above," says she, "where there be trees and mayhap flowers, for, Martin, I do love trees."

"Nay but," says I, "none save a bird or a goat may climb yonder."

"Let us be patient and seek a way, Martin."

"And you all bruised and lame!"

"Nay, I am very well and—see yonder!" Looking whither she would have me, I saw, beyond this great jutting rock, a green opening in the cliffs with a gentle ascent.

"O Martin!" cries she, stopping suddenly, "O Martin, 'tis like England, 'tis like one of our dear Kentish lanes!" And indeed so it was, being narrow and grassy and shady with trees, save that these were such trees as never grew on English soil.

"Let us go, Martin, let us go!"

So we began the ascent and (despite the blazing sun) the slope being gradual, found it easier than it had looked. On we went, and though she often stumbled she made nought of it nor stayed until we were come to a green level or plateau, whence the ground before us trended downwards to a wondrous fertile little valley where ran a notable stream 'twixt reedy banks; here also bloomed flowers, a blaze of varied colours; and beyond these again were flowery thickets a very maze of green boskages besplashed with the vivid colour of flower or bird, for here were many such birds that flew hither and thither on gaudy wings, and filling the air with chatterings and whistlings strange to be heard.

Now beholding all this, my companion sank to the ground and sat very still and silent like one rapt in pleasing wonder.

"O!" says she at last and very softly. "Surely here is an earthly paradise, O Martin, the beauty of it!"

"Yet these flowers have no smell!" says I. "And for these gaudy birds I would give them all for one honest English robin or sweet-throated black bird!"

But she, chin in hand, sat a-gazing upon this prospect as she would never tire. As for me, I began to look around and, the more I looked, the better I liked this place, pleasantly shaded as it was by trees and affording from this eminence a wide view of the sea, the lagoon, and Deliverance Beach below. Moreover, I heard near by the pleasant sound of falling water and, drawn by this, came to a flowery thicket, and forcing my way through, paused suddenly, as well I might, for before me, set in the face of a rock, was a door. All askew it hung and grown over with a riot of weed and vines; and behind the weatherworn timber I saw the gloom of a cavern.

Approaching this door I found it built with ship's timbers exceeding stout and strong, joined by great battens clamped with bolts and nails, and in the midst a loophole; and besides this I saw divers shot-marks in these timbers the which set me a-wondering. Now having my hatchet in hand, I set about cutting away bush and vines, and forcing wide the door (the which swung 'twixt great beams like jambs, clamped to the rock) I stepped into the cool dimness beyond. The place was irregular of shape but very spacious and lighted by a narrow, weed-choked crevice high up that admitted a soft, greeny glow very pleasing after the glare of the sun; by which light I perceived that from this cave two smaller caves opened. Now seeing this place had once been the abode of some poor castaway, I sought high and low in hopes of finding something to our use if no more than a broken cup, but came on nothing save the ruin of a small table; the place was bare as my hand. I was yet busied in my fruitless search when comes my companion all pleased-eyed wonderment.

"Why, 'tis as good as any cottage!" cries she.

"And better than some," says I, "for here is no thatch to leak and no windows to break and let in the rain!"

"O Martin, for a broom!" says she, looking around upon the floor ankle-deep in dead leaves, twigs and the like. "O for a broom!"

"These leaves be well enough—"

"But better for a broom, Martin."

"Why then, a broom you shall have," says I, and coming without the cave I cut twigs sufficient to my purpose, and divers lengths of vine, very strong and tough, and therewith bound my twigs about a stick I had trimmed for a handle; whiles she, sitting upon a great stone that lay hard by, watched me with mighty interest.

"You are very clever, Martin!" says she.

"'Tis very rough, I doubt."

"I have seen many a worse broom used in England, Martin."

"Why, 'twill serve, mayhap."

"'Tis excellent!" says she, and taking the broom from me away she limps with it forthwith and I, standing without the cave, presently heard her sweeping away (despite her bruises) and singing sweet as any mounting lark. I now set out to bring away such things as I had left behind, as my iron and the turtle-shell (the which I held of more account than all the jewels in Adam's treasure) and on my way stopped to cut a stout, curved branch that I thought might furnish me a powerful bow; and another that, bladed with iron, should become a formidable spear. Though why my mind should run to weapons of offence seeing that the island, so far as I knew, was deserted, and no wild beasts, I know not. Reaching Deliverance Sands I paused to look about me for such pieces of driftwood as might serve us, and came on several full of nails and bolts; some of these timbers being warped with age and others comparatively new. And looking on these poor remains of so many noble ships and thinking of the numberless poor souls that had manned them and gone to their account, I could not but feel some awe for these storm-rent timbers as I handled them. And presently as I laboured I spied a piece new-painted, and dragging it forth from sand and seaweed, knew it for the gunwale of our own boat. This put me in great hopes that I might come upon some of our stores, but, though I sought diligently then and for days after, I never found anything but this poor fragment. Having laid by such timbers as shewed iron of any sort, I went my way and so at last reached our first shelter. And what should I espy upon a ledge of rock just above me but a goat; for a moment the creature blinked at me, chewing busily, then scrambled to its feet; but in that instant I caught up a heavy stone that chanced handy and hurled it; the poor beast bleated once, and rolling down the rock thudded at my feet, where I despatched it with my knife. My next care was to skin it, which unlovely task I made worse by my bungling, howbeit it was done at last and I reeking of blood and sweat. None the less I persevered and, having cleaned the carcass I cut therefrom such joints as might satisfy our immediate needs, and setting them in my turtle-shell with my irons, hung up the carcass within the coolest part of the cave out of reach of any prowling beast. This done, I went down to the lagoon and laved my arms and hands and face, cleansing myself as well as I might, and so, taking my well-laden turtle-shell under one arm and the reeking skin beneath the other, I set off. Now it was mid-day and the sun very hot, insomuch that the sweat poured from me, and more than once I must needs pause to moisten my hair to keep off the heat. At last, espying a palmetto that grew adjacent, I made shift to get me a leaf, whereof, with twigs to skewer and shape it, I made me the semblance of a hat and so tramped on again. Being come to the plateau I set down my burdens, very thankful for the kindly shade and the sweet, cool wind that stirred up here, and turned to find my companion regarding me pale-cheeked and with eyes wide and horror-struck.

"Why, what now?" says I taking a step towards her; but seeing how she shrank away I paused and, glancing down at myself, saw my clothes all smirched with the blood of the goat. "How, is it this?" says I. "Well, a little blood is no great matter!" But she still eyeing me mightily askance I grew angry. "Ha!" quoth I, "You'll be thinking doubtless of the murders aboard ship and my bloody jerkin? Why then, madam, think and grow as wise as you may!" Saying which I strode off; and thus I presently heard the soothing sound of falling water, yet look where I might could see none save that in the little valley below. Being direly athirst I began to seek for this unseen rill, and little by little was led up a steep, bush-grown acclivity until, all at once, I found myself in a right pleasant place; for here, all set about with soft mosses, fern and flowers, I beheld a great oval basin or rocky hollow some twelve feet across and brim-full of pellucid water through which I might see the bottom carpeted with mosses and in this water my image mirrored; and what with the blood that fouled me, my shaggy hair and beard and the shapeless thing upon my head, an ill-enough rogue I looked.

This pool was fed by a little rill that gurgled down from rocks above and, having filled the basin, flowed out through a wide fissure and down the cliff to lose itself amid flowery banks 'twixt which it ran bubbling joyously to meet the river. And now, having satisfied my thirst and found the water very sweet and cool, I stripped and bathing me in this pool, found great solace and content, insomuch that (to my great wonder) I presently found myself whistling like any boy. At last I got me forth mightily refreshed, and that the wind and sun might dry me, strove to cleanse my garments, but finding it a thankless task I got dressed at last, but my chain-shirt I left folded beside the pool and I much more comfortable therefor.

Following the dancing rill, I clambered down the rocks and so into the little valley where ran the stream. Fording this, I came amid thickets where was a glory of flowers of all colours, but one in especial I noticed, white and trumpet-shaped. And here I was often stayed by quickset and creeping plants, their stems very pliant and strong and of the bigness of my little finger. On went I haphazard through a green twilight of leaves, for here (as hath been said) were many trees both great and small, some of which were utterly strange to me, but others I knew for cocos-palms, plantain and bread-fruit, the which rejoiced me greatly; and hereabouts I found growing great bunches of black fruit like to grapes, though smaller, and which I would not dare touch until, seeing divers birds peck at them, I ventured to taste and found them excellent. So, gathering some of these to stay my hunger I pressed on, despite the heat, for from somewhere before me was the roar of great waters, and forced me a passage with my hatchet until this denser wood gave place to a grove of mighty palm trees, and beyond these I came suddenly upon a great, barren rock that overhung a lake, whose dark waters were troubled by a torrent hard by that poured into it with a great rushing sound, a torrent of prodigious volume though of no great height. "So here" (thinks I) "is Adam's 'notable fall of water,'" and sitting down, I fell to viewing the place, munching my grapes the while. Opposite me the lake was bounded by a high-sloping sandy beach with trees beyond, while beyond these again rose that high, tree-clad hill whose barren, rocky dome we had seen from afar. Now the waters of this lake flooded away through a great rent in the surrounding rocks betwixt which I might catch a glimpse of the distant sea; and beholding this rushing cataract I must needs fall a-wondering where so great a body of water should come from, and to ponder on the marvels of nature. And from this I got to considering how we might cross this stream, supposing we should explore the island. I was yet puzzling this when, glancing up, I found the sun already westering, wherefore (not minded to be caught in the dark) I rose and, turning my back on these troubled waters, set out on my return. Ever and anon as I went I caught glimpses of that rocky eminence with its silver thread of falling water whence I had come, and, guided by this, strode on amain, bethinking me how best I might cook the goat's-flesh for (despite the grapes) I was mightily an hungered. But reaching the denser woods I lost my way, for here nought was to see but the greeny gloom of tangled thickets and dense-growing boskages where I must needs cut a path, yet even so I troubled myself with divers bunches of grapes that my companion might prove my discovery. Thus my progress was slow and wearisome, and night found me still forcing my way through this tangled underwood. Being lost and in the dark, I sat me down to wait for the moon and stayed my hunger with the grapes meant for better purpose, but one bunch that methought the better I preserved. Soon this leafy gloom glowed with a silvery radiance, and by this light I went on and so at last came upon the stream. But hereabouts it ran fast and deep and I must needs seek about till I found a ford. Thus the moon was high as, after desperate scramble, I came out upon our grassy plateau and saw the welcome glow of a fire. Moreover, as I approached I smelt right savoury and most delectable savour, and hurrying forward saw my companion crouched upon that stone I have mentioned, her head bowed upon her hands. Hearing my step she glanced up and rose to her feet.