So the days sped, each with its meed of work, but each full-charged of joy. And dear to me beyond expressing is the memory of those days whenas I, labouring with my new tools, had but to lift my head to behold my dear comrade (herself busy as I). Truly how dear, how thrice-blessed the memory of it all! A memory this, indeed, that was to become for me sacred beyond all others; for now came Happiness with arms outstretched to me and I (poor, blind wretch) suffered it to plead in vain and pass me by, as you shall hear.

It was a night of splendour with a full moon uprising in majesty to fill the world with her soft radiance; a night very warm and still and we silent, I think because of the tender beauty of the night.

"Martin," says my companion softly at last, "here is another day sped—"

"Alas, and more's the pity!" quoth I.

"O?" says she, looking at me askance.

"Our days fly all too fast, Damaris, here is a time I fain would linger upon, an I might."

"It hath been a very wonderful time truly, Martin, and hath taught me very much. We are both the better for it, I think, and you—"

"What of me, comrade?" I questioned as she paused.

"You are grown so much gentler since your sickness, so much more my dear friend and companion."

"Why, 'tis all your doing, Damaris."

"I am glad—O very glad!" says she almost in a whisper.

"Why, 'tis you who have taught me to—to love all good, sweet things, to rule myself that I—I may some day, mayhap, be a little more worthy of—of—" here, beginning to flounder, I came to sudden halt, and casting about in my mind for a likely phrase, saw her regarding me, the dimple in her cheek, but her eyes all compassionate and ineffably tender.

"Dear man!" says she, and reached me her hand.

"Damaris," says I heavily and looking down at these slender fingers, yet not daring to kiss them lest my passion sweep me away, "you know that I do love you?"

"Yes, Martin."

"And that, my love, be it what it may, is yet an honest love?"

"Yes, dear Martin."

Here was silence a while, she looking up at the moon, and I at her.

"I broke my oath to you once," says I, "nor will I swear again, but, dear my lady, know this: though I do hunger and thirst for you, yet mine is such reverent love that should we live thus together long years—aye, until the end of our lives, I will school myself to patience and wait ever upon your will. Though 'twill be hard!" says I 'twixt my teeth, thrilling to the sudden clasp of her fingers.

"But, Martin," says she softly, "how if our days together here should all suddenly end—"

"End?" cries I, starting, "Wherefore end? When? Why end?" And I trembled in a sick panic at the mere possibility. "End?" quoth I again, "Would you have an end?"

"No—ah no!" says she leaning to me that I could look down into her eyes.

"Doth this—O Damaris, can this mean that you are happy with me in this solitude—content—?"

"So happy, Martin, so content that I do fear lest it may all suddenly end and vanish like some loved dream."

"Damaris—O Damaris!" says I, kissing her sweet fingers, "Look now, there is question hath oft been on my lips yet one I have it dared to ask."

"Ask me now, Martin."

"'Tis this ... could it ... might it perchance be possible you should learn with time ... mayhap ... to love me a little? Nay, not a little, not gently nor with reason, but fiercely, mightily, beyond the cramping bounds of all reason?"

Now here she laughed, a small, sad laugh with no mirth in it, and leaned her brow against my arm as one very weary.

"O foolish Martin!" she sighed. "How little you have seen, how little guessed—how little you know the real me! For I am a woman, Martin, as you are a man and joy in it. All these months I have watched you growing back to your nobler self, I have seen you strive with yourself for my sake and gloried in your victories, though ... sometimes I have ... tempted you ... just a little, Martin. Nay, wait, dear Martin. Oft-times at night I have known you steal forth, and hearkened to your step going to and fro out in the dark, and getting to my knees have thanked God for you, Martin."

"'Twas not all in vain, then!" says I, hoarsely, bethinking me of the agony of those sleepless nights.

"Vain?" she cried, "Vain? 'Tis for this I do honour you—"

"Honour—me?" says I, wincing.

"Above all men, Martin. 'Tis for this I—"

"Wait!" says I, fronting her all shamefaced. "I do love you so greatly I would not have you dream me better than I am! So now must I tell you this ... I stole to you once ... at midnight ... you were asleep, the moonlight all about you and looked like an angel of God."

And now it was my turn to stare up at the moon whiles I waited miserably enough for her answer.

"And when you went away, Martin," says she at last, "when I heard you striding to and fro, out here beneath God's stars, I knew that yours was the greatest, noblest love in all the world."

"You—saw me?"

"Yes, Martin!"

"Yet your eyes were fast shut."

"Yes, but not—not all the time. And, O Martin, dear, dear Martin, I saw your great, strong arms reach out to take me—but they didn't, they didn't because true love is ever greatly merciful! And your triumph was mine also, Martin! And so it is I love you—worship you, and needs must all my days."

And now we were on our feet, her hands in mine, eyes staring into eyes and never award to speak.

"Is it true?" says I at last, "God, Damaris—is it true?"

"Seems it so wonderful, dear Martin? Why, this love of mine reacheth back through the years to Sir Martin, my little knight-errant, and hath grown with the years till now it filleth me and the universe about me. Have you forgot 'twas your picture hung opposite my bed at home, your sword I kept bright because it had been yours? And often, Martin, here on our dear island I have wept sometimes for love of you because it pained me so! Nay, wait, beloved, first let me speak, though I do yearn for your kisses! But this night is the greatest ever was or mayhap ever shall be, and we, alone here in the wild, do lie beyond all human laws soever save those of our great love—and, O Martin, you—you do love me?"

Now when I would have answered I could not, so I sank to my knees and stooping ere she knew, clasped and kissed the pretty feet of her.

"No, Martin—beloved, ah no!" cries she as it were pain to her, and kneeling before me, set her soft arms about my neck. "Martin," says she, "as we kneel thus in this wilderness alone with God, here and now, before your lips touch mine, before your dear strong hands take me to have and hold forever, so great and trusting is my love I ask of you no pledge but this: Swear now in God's sight to renounce and put away all thought of vengeance now and for ever, swear this, Martin!"

Now I, all bemused by words so unexpected, all dazzled as it were by the pleading, passionate beauty of her, closed my eyes that I might think:

"Give me until to-morrow—" I groaned.

"'Twill be too late! Choose now, Martin."

"Let me think—"

"'Tis no time for thought! Choose, Martin! This hour shall never come again, so, Martin—speak now or—"

The words died on her lip, her eyes opened in sudden dreadful amaze, and thus we remained, kneeling rigid in one another's arms, for, away across Deliverance, deep and full and clear a voice was singing:

"There are two at the fore, At the main are three more, Dead men that swing all in a row; Here's fine dainty meat For the fishes to eat: Black Bartlemy—Bartlemy ho!"



CHAPTER XLII

CONCERNING THE SONG OF A DEAD MAN

Long after the singing was died away I (like one dazed) could think of nought but this accursed song, these words the which had haunted my sick-bed and methought no more than the outcome of my own fevered imagination; thus my mind running on this and very full of troubled perplexity, I suffered my lady to bring me within our refuge, but with my ears on the stretch as expectant to hear again that strange, deep voice sing these words I had heard chanted by a dead man in my dreams.

Being come within our third cave (or kitchen) my lady shows me a small cord that dangled in certain shadowy corner, and pulling on this cord, down falls a rope-ladder and hangs suspended; and I knew this for Adam's "ladder of cords" whereby he had been wont to mount into his fourth (and secret) cavern, as mentioned in his chronicle.

"Here lieth safety, Martin," says my lady, "for as Master Penfeather writes in his journal 'one resolute man lying upon the hidden ledge' (up yonder) 'may withstand a whole army so long as his shot last.' And you are very resolute and so am I!"

"True!" says I, "True!" Yet, even as I spake, stood all tense and rigid, straining my ears to catch again the words of this hateful song. But now my dear lady catches my hand and, peering up at me in the dimness, presently draws me into the outer cave where the moon made a glory.

"O Martin!" says she, looking up at me with troubled eyes, "Dear Martin, what is it?"

"Aye—what?" quoth I, wiping sweat from me. "God knoweth. But you heard? That song? The words—"

"I heard a man singing, Martin. But what of it—we are safe here! Ah—why are you so strange?"

"Damaris," says I, joying in the comfort of her soft, strong arms about me, "dear love of mine, here is thing beyond my understanding, for these were words I dreamed sung to me by a dead man—the man Humphrey—out beyond the reef—"

"Nay, but dear Martin, this was a real voice. 'Tis some shipwrecked mariner belike, some castaway—"

"Aye—but did you—mark these words, Damaris?"

"Nay—O my dear, how should I—at such a moment!"

"They were all—of Black Bartlemy! And what should this mean, think you?"

"Nay, dear love, never heed!" says she, clasping me the closer.

"Aye, but I must, Damaris, for—in a while this singing shall come again mayhap and—if it doth—I know what 'twill be!"

"O Martin—Martin, what do you mean?"

"I mean 'twill be about the poor Spanish lady," says I, and catching up my belt where it hung, I buckled it about me.

"Ah—what would you do, Martin?"

"I'm for Deliverance."

"Then will I come also."

"No!" says I, catching her in fierce arms, "No! You are mine henceforth and more precious than life to me. So must you bide here—I charge you by our love. For look now, 'tis in my mind Tressady and his pirates are upon us at last, those same rogues that dogged the 'Faithful Friend' over seas. Howbeit I must find out who or what is it is that sings this hateful—" I stopped, all at once, for the voice was come again, nearer, louder than before, and singing the very words I had been hearkening for and dreading to hear:

"There's a fine Spanish dame, And Joanna's her name, Shall follow wherever ye go: 'Till your black heart shall feel Yow cursed steel: Black Bartlemy—Bartlemy ho!"

"You heard!" says I, clapping hand on knife, "You heard?"

"Yes—yes," she whispered, her embrace tightening until I might feel her soft body all a-tremble against mine. "But you are safe—here, Martin!"

"So safe," says I, "that needs must I go and find out this thing—nay, never fear, beloved, life hath become so infinite precious that I shall be a very coward—a craven for your sake. Here shall be no fighting, Damaris, but go I must. Meanwhile do you wait me in the secret cave and let down the ladder only to my whistle."

But now, and lying all trembling in my embrace, she brake into passionate weeping, and I powerless to comfort her.

"Farewell happiness!" she sobbed. "Only, Martin, dear Martin, whatsoever may chance, know and remember always that I loved and shall love you to the end of time."

Then (and all suddenly) she was her sweet, calm self again, and bringing me my chain-shirt, insisted I must don it there and then beneath my fine doublet, the which (to please her) I did. Then she brought me one of the arquebuses, but this I put by as too cumbersome, taking one of the pistols in its stead. So, armed with this together with my hatchet and trusty knife, I stepped from the cave and she beside me. And now I saw she had dried her tears and the hand clasping mine was firm and resolute, so that my love and wonder grew.

"Damaris," I cried, casting me on my knees before her, "O God, how I do love thee!" And, kneeling thus, I clasped her slender loveliness, kissing the robes that covered her; and so, rising to my feet I hasted away. Yet in a little I turned to see her watching me but with hands clasped as one in prayer. Now, beholding her thus, I was seized of a sudden great desire to go back to give her that promise and swear that oath she sought of me, viz., that I would forego my vengeance and all thought thereof, forgetting past wrongs in the wonder of her love. But, even as I stood hesitating, she waved her hand in farewell and was gone into the cave.



CHAPTER XLIII

OF THE DEATH-DANCE OF THE SILVER WOMAN

A small wind had sprung up that came in fitful gusts and with sound very mournful and desolate, but the moon was wonderfully bright and, though I went cautiously, my hand on the butt of the pistol in my girdle, yet ever and always at the back of my mind was an infinitude of joy by reason of my dear lady's love for me and the wonder of it.

I chose me a devious course, avoiding the white sands of Deliverance Beach, trending towards that fatal cleft hard by Bartlemy's tree (the which we had come to call Skeleton Cove) though why I must go hither I knew no more then than I do now.

Thus went I (my eyes and ears on the stretch) pondering what manner of man this should be who sang words the which had so haunted my sick dreams; more than once I stopped to stare round about me upon the wide expanse of ocean, dreading and half expecting to behold the loom of that black craft had dogged us over seas.

Full of these disquieting thoughts I reached the cove and began to descend the steep side, following goat-tracks long grown familiar. The place hereabouts was honeycombed with small caves and with ledges screened by bushes and tangled vines; and here, well hid from observation, I paused to look about me. But (and all in a moment) I was down on my knees, for from somewhere close by came the sharp snapping of a dried stick beneath a stealthy foot.

Very still I waited, every nerve a-tingle, and then, forth into the moonlight, sudden and silent as death, a man crept; and verily if ever murderous death stood in human shape it was before me now. The man stood half-crouching, his head twisted back over his shoulder as watching one who followed; beneath the vivid scarf that swathed his temples was a shock of red hair and upon his cheek the sweat was glittering; then he turned his head and I knew him for the man Red Andy, that same I had fought aboard ship. For a long moment he stood thus, staring back ever and anon across Deliverance, and so comes creeping into the shadow of the cliff, and I saw the moon glint on the barrel of the long pistol he clutched, as, sinking down behind a great boulder, he waited there upon his knees.

Now suddenly as I lay there watching Red Andy's murderous figure and strung for swift action, I started and (albeit the night was very warm) felt a chill pass over me, as, loud and clear upon the stilly air, rose again that full, deep voice singing hard by upon Deliverance:

"Go seek ye women everywhere, North, South, lads, East or West, Let 'em be dark, let 'em be fair, My Silver Woman's best, Blow high, blow low, Where e'er ye go The Silver Woman's best. Aha! My Silver Woman's best!"

Thus sang the unknown who, all unwitting, was coming to his death; sudden as it came the voice was hushed and nought to hear save the hiss and murmur of the surge, and I saw the man Andy stir restlessly as minute after minute dragged by.

The rock where he crouched lay at the mouth of this cove towards Deliverance, it being one of many that lay piled thereabout. Now chancing to look towards these scattered rocks (and for no reason in the world) I saw a thing that held me as it were spellbound, and this a small enough thing in itself, a sharp, glittering thing that seemed fast caught in a fissure of one of those rocks, and I knew it for a steel hook; but even as I stared at it, the thing was gone and so noiselessly that I half-doubted if I had seen it or no. But, out from the shadow of this rock flashed something that whirled, glittering as it flew, and Red Andy, starting up from his knees was shaken by a fit of strange and awful coughing and came stumbling forward so that I could see his chin and breast bedabbled with the blood that spurted from his gaping mouth. All at once he sank to his knees and thence to his face, spreading his arms wide like one very weary, but with the moonlight flashing back from that which stood upright betwixt his shoulder-blades. And thus I saw again the silver haft of the dagger that was shaped like to a woman, saw this silver woman dance and leap, glittering, ere it grew terribly still.

Then came Roger Tressady from the shadows and stooping, turned up the dead face to the moon, and tapped it gently with his shining hook. And now, whipping out his dagger, he bent to wipe it on the dead man's shirt, but checked suddenly as a pebble started beneath my foot, and, stooped thus, he glared up beneath thick brows as I rose up with pistol levelled and the moon bright upon my face, whereupon he leaped backwards, uttering a choking cry:

"Black Bartlemy—by God!" he gasped and let fall his reeking dagger upon the sand; and so we stood staring on each other and with the dead man sprawling betwixt us.



CHAPTER XLIV

HOW I HAD SPEECH WITH ROGER TRESSADY TO MY UNDOING

For maybe a full minute we fronted each other unmoving and with never a word; and thus at last I beheld this man Tressady.

A tall, lusty fellow, square of face and with pale eyes beneath a jut of shaggy brow. A vivid neckerchief was twisted about his head and in his hairy ears swung great gold rings; his powerful right hand was clenched to knotted fist, in place of his left glittered the deadly hook.

"Sink me!" says he at last, drawing clenched fist across his brow, "Sink me, but ye gave me a turn, my lord! Took ye for a ghost, I did, the ghost of a shipmate o' mine, one as do lie buried yonder, nought but poor bones—aye, rotten bones—as this will be soon!" Here he spurned the dead man with his foot. "'Tis black rogue this, my lord, one as would ha' made worm's-meat o' poor Tressady—aye, a lump o' murdered clay like my shipmate Bartlemy yonder—but for this Silver Woman o' mine!" Here he stooped for the dagger, and having cleaned it in the sand, held it towards me upon his open palm: "Aha, here's woman hath never failed me yet! She's faithful and true, friend, faithful and true, this Silver Woman o' mine. But 'tis an ill world, my master, and full o' bloody rogues like this sly dog as stole ashore to murder me—the fool! O 'tis a black and bloody world."

"So it is!" quoth I, 'twixt shut teeth, "And all the worse for the likes o' you, Roger Tressady!"

"So ho—he knoweth my name then!" says Tressady, rubbing shaven chin with silver dagger-hilt and viewing me with his pale, keen gaze: "But do I know him now—do I?"

"I know you for pirate and damned murderer, Roger Tressady, so shall you quit this island this very hour or stay here to rot along with Bartlemy and Red Andy!"

Now at this (and all careless of my pistol) he drew a slow pace nearer, great head out-thrust, peering.

"Why," says he at last, "why—bleed me! If—if it aren't—aye 'tis—Martin! Why for sure 'tis my bonnet Marty as saved my skin time and again aboard the 'Faithful Friend!' Though ye go mighty fine, lad, mighty fine! But good luck t'ye and a fair wind, say I!" And thrusting the dagger into his girdle he nodded mighty affable. "But look'ee now, Marty, here's me wishing ye well and you wi' a barker in your fist, 'tis no fashion to greet a shipmate, I'm thinking."

"Enough words!" says I, stepping up to him. "Do you go—alive, or stay here dead—which?"

"Split me!" says he, never stirring. "But 'tis small choice you offer, Marty—"

"My name's Martin!"

"And a curst good name too, Marty. But I've no mind to be worm's-meat yet awhile—no! Come, what's your quarrel wi' me? First Andy would murder me and now 'tis you—why for? Here's me wi' a heart of gold t' cherish a friend and never a friend t' cherish! What's your quarrel, lad, what?"

"Quarrel enough, what with your drugging me and murder aboard ship—"

"Avast, lad! Here's unchancy talk, ill and unmannered!"

"You murdered divers men aboard the 'Faithful Friend.'"

"Only three, Marty, only three—poor souls! Though yours is a foul word for't. I took 'em off, lad, took 'em off as a matter of policy. I've never took off any yet as I wasn't forced to by circumstances. Look'ee, there's men in this world born to be took off by someone or other, and they always come a-drifting across my hawse and get took off accordingly, but don't blame me, lad, don't. And as for a-drugging of ye, Marty, true again! But love me! What was I to do? But I didn't take you off, lad, no, nor never shall unless you and policy force me so to do. I'm no murderer born—like Adam—curse him! Clap me alongside Adam and I'm a turtle-dove, a babe for innocence and a lamb for meekness! There never was such a murderer born into this wicked world as Adam Penfeather, with a curse! 'Twas he as murdered Black Bartlemy and nine sweet, bright lads arter him, murdered 'em here one by one, and wi' a parchment rove about the neck of each poor corpse, Marty. 'Twas he as drove their mates out to sea to perish in a leaky boat—ask Abnegation Mings! 'Twas him nigh murdered me more than once, aye me, lad, as can't BE killed according to the prophecy of the poor mad soul aboard the old 'Delight.' Why Adam, curse him, has murdered more men than you have years. And talking of him, how cometh it you aren't blown t' hell along wi' him and the rest?"

"Do you tell me Adam is dead?"

"Blown up aboard the 'Faithful Friend,' lad. Just after we run her aboard and grappled, aye blew up she did and nigh took us wi' her. Aha, but Adam's dead at last, curse him! Unless he can't be killed either, unless he is—"

Here, and all at once, he turned to stare away across Deliverance, then shrinking, cowered towards me as in sudden terror stabbing at the empty air with his glittering hook:

"Ha—what's yon!" cried he in awful voice; and I turning whither his glaring eyes stared (and half-dreading to behold my lady) had the pistol wrenched from my hold and the muzzle under my ear all in a moment; and stood scowling and defenceless like the vast fool I was.

"Split me!" says he, tapping me gently with his hook "O blind me if I thought ye such a lubberly fool! So old a trick, Marty! Now look'ee, were I a murderer and loved it—like Adam, curse him—I should pull trigger! But being Roger Tressady wi' a heart o' gold, I say sit down, lad, sit down and let us talk, friend, let us talk. Come—sit down! Never mind Andy, he shan't trouble us!" So with the pistol at my ear we sat down side by side and the dead man sprawling at our feet.

"Now first, Marty lad, how come ye here alone on Bartlemy's island—how?"

But sitting thus chin on fist I stared down at Red Andy's stiffening body silent as he, I being too full of fierce anger and bitter scorn of my folly for speech.

"Come, come, Marty, be sociable!" says Tressady, tapping my cheek with the pistol-muzzle, "Was it Penfeather sent ye hither t' give an eye to—the treasure? Was it?"

"Aye!"

"'Twould be the night he made the crew drunk and spoiled my plans. Ha, 'twas like him—a cunning rogue! But for this I'd have had the ship and him and the treasure. O a right cunning, fierce rogue was Adam, and none to match him but me."

"But he nearly did for you once!" says I bitterly, "And he such a small, timid man!"

"Look'ee, Martin, when Adam grows timid 'tis time for your bold, desperate fellows to beware! But he's dead at last, though I'd ha' felt more comfort, aye I'd ha' took it kinder had he been took off by my Silver Woman—or this!" Here he thrust his hook before my eyes. "It ain't a pretty thing, Martin, not pretty, no—but 'tis useful at all times and serves to shepherd my lambs wi' now and then, 'tis likewise a mighty persuading argument, but, and best of all—'tis sure, lad, sure. So I'd ha' took it kinder had I watched him go off on this, lad, this. My hook for my enemies and for my friends a heart o' gold! And, talking o' gold, Marty, what—what o' Bartlemy's Treasure?"

"You are happily welcome to it for all me."

"Why, that's spoke manly and like a friend, rot me but it is! And now where might it lie, Marty, where?"

"I've no idea."

"What ha'n't ye found it, lad?"

"No!"

"Not even—seen it, then?"

"No!"

"Why, think o' that now, think of that! And you wi'—a fortun' o' pearls on you, Marty. These pearl studs and buttons, lad. Pearls—ha, pearls was meat and drink to Bartlemy. And here's you wi' pearls I've seen on Bartlemy many a time. And yet you ha'n't found the treasure, says you. If I was a passionate man, Marty, I should call ye liar, says I. Howsoever what I do say is—as you've forgot, and very right and proper. But we'm friends, you and me, so far, and so, 'twixt friends, I ask you to think again until you remember, and to think hard, lad, hard."

Now as I sat (and miserably enough) staring down at my jewelled buttons that seemed to leer up at me like so many small, malevolent eyes, upon the air rose a distant stir that grew and grew to sound of voices with the creak and rumble of oars.

"Here come my lambs at last, Marty, and among 'em some o' the lads as sailed wi' Bartlemy aboard the 'Delight.' There's Sam Spraggons for one—Smiling Sam as you'll mind aboard the 'Faithful Friend.' Now the Smiler knoweth many and divers methods of persuasion, Marty lad, tricks learned of the Indians as shall persuade a man to anything in this world. But first, seeing 'tis you, Martin, as played 'bonnet' to me and saved my life aboard ship, though all unknowing, here's my offer: show me how to come by Bartlemy's Treasure as is mine—mine by rights, let me get my hands on to it and none the wiser, and there shall be share for you, Marty lad, share for you. Otherwise I must let Sam try to persuade you to remember where it lieth—come, what d'ye say?"

"What—you'll torture me then?"

"If I must, friend, if I must. 'Tis for you to say."

"Why then 'twill be labour in vain, Tressady, for I swear I know nought of this treasure—"

"Sit still, lad, sit still!" says he, clapping the pistol to my ear again. "Though a fool in many ways, Marty, you're proper enough man to look at and 'twill be pity to cripple ye! Aye, there won't be much left when Sam is done wi' you, more's the pity."

Hereupon he hailed loudly and was answered from the lagoon, and glancing thither, I saw two boats crowded with men pulling for the beach.

"A wildish company, Martin, desperate fellows as ever roved the Main, as I do love no more than they love me. So say the word and we'll share Black Bartlemy's treasure betwixt us, just you and me, lad, me and you! Come, what's your will?" But shaking my head (and hopelessly enough) I set my teeth and watched the coming of my tormentors.

And foremost was a short, plump, bright-eyed man who lacked an ear, and at his elbows two others, the one a lank rogue with a patch over one eye, the third a tall, hairy fellow.

And observing them as they came I knew them for those same three rogues I had fought with in the hedge-tavern beside Pembury Hill on that night I had first seen my dear lady. Hard upon their heels came a riotous company variously armed and accoutred, who forthwith thronged upon me pushing and jostling for sight of me, desecrating the quiet night with their hoarse and clamorous ribaldry. Unlovely fellows indeed and clad in garments of every shape and cut, from stained home spun and tattered shirts to velvet coats be-laced and gold-braided; and beholding this tarnished and sordid finery, these clothes looted from sinking ships and blazing towns, I wondered vaguely what had become of their late owners.

At gesture from Tressady I was dragged to my feet and my arms jerked, twisted and bound before me crosswise, and so stood I helpless and in much painful discomfort whiles Tressady harangued his fellows, tapping me gently with his hook:

"Look'ee, my bullies," quoth he, "I promised ye gold a' plenty and here, somewhere on this island, it lieth waiting to be found. It needeth but for this fool Martin here, as some o' you will mind for Adam Penfeather's comrade, with a curse, it needeth but for him to speak, I say, and in that same hour each one o' you may fill your clutch wi' more treasure than ever came out o' Eldorado or Manoa—so speak he must and shall—eh bullies, eh?"

"Aye, aye, Cap'n!" they roared, pressing upon me with a shaking of fists and glitter of eager steel.

"Twist his thumbs, Cap'n!" cried one.

"Slit his nose!" roared another.

"Trim his yeres!" cried a third. But Tressady silenced them with a flourish of his hook.

"Hark'ee, lads!" says he. "You all mean well, but you're bunglers, here's a little delicate matter as none can handle like the Smiler. There's none like Sam can make a man give tongue! Pass the word for Smiling Sam! Step forward, Sammy."

Hereupon cometh the great, fat fellow Spraggons who had been bo'sun's mate aboard the "Faithful Friend," forcing his way with vicious elbows and mighty anxious to come at me.

"O love my limbs!" says he in his high-pitched voice and blinking his hairless lids at me, "O cherish my guts—leave him to me, Cap'n! Sam's the lad to make this yer cock crow. See now—a good, sharp knife 'neath the finger or toe-nails—drew slow, mates, slow! Or a hot iron close agen his eyes is good. Or boiling water poured in his yeres might serve. Then—aha, Cap'n! I know a dainty little trick, a small cord, d'ye see, twisted athwart his head just a-low the brows, twisted and twisted—as shall start his eyes out right pretty to behold. I mind too as Lollonais had a trick o' bursting a man's guts wi' water—"

"Bring him to the beach yonder!" says Tressady, watching me ever with his pale eyes, "There shall be more room for't yonder!"

So they hailed me along betwixt them, and with huge merriment; but scarce were we out of the cove and hard beside Bartlemy's tree than I started to the vicious prick of a knife, and whirling about despite the fierce hands that sought to hold me, I saw Smiling Sam about to stab me again. But now, as I strove with my reeling captors, was a flicker of vicious steel as Tressady sprang and, whipping his hook beneath the great fellow's belt, whirled Smiling Sam from his feet despite his prodigious weight and forthwith trampled upon him.

"So-ho, my merry lad!" quoth Tressady, glaring down into Smiling Sam's convulsed face, "And must ye be at it afore I give the word? Who's captain here—who? Come speak up, my roaring boy!" and he thrust his hook beneath the Smiler's great, flabby chin.

"Mercy, Cap'n—mercy!" cried Spraggons, his high-pitched voice rising to a pitiful squeal. "Not the hook, Cap'n—O Lord love me—not the hook!"

"Hook? And why not, Sam, why not? 'Tis sharp and clean and quick, and hath done the business o' nicer rogues than you, bully, aye and better, Sam, better—"

"O Cap'n—for God's sake—"

"Who're you to call on God so glib, Sammy? 'Tis marvel He don't strike ye blind, lad. Or there's your innards, Sam, here's that may whip out your liver, lad—So!" I saw the glitter of the hook, heard Smiling Sam's gasping scream as the steel bit into him, and then Tressady was on his feet smiling round upon his awed and silent company.

"Look'ee, bullies!" says he, pointing to the Smiler's inanimate form, "Here's poor Sam all swounded away at touch o' my hook like any woman—and him my bo'sun! Pshaw! I want a man!" Here he stooped, and wrenching the silver pipe from Smiling Sam's fat throat stared from one shuffling rogue to another: "Step forward, Abner," says he at last, "Come, you'll do—you're a prime sailor-man, you're my bo'sun henceforth."

But now Smiling Sam awaking from his swoon moaned feebly and sat up:

"Not the hook, Cap'n!" he wailed, "O not that—"

"No, Smiler, no, I keep it for better men. Disobey me again and I'll drown ye in a puddle. And now up wi' you, Sammy, up wi' you and stand by to teach Martin here how to talk."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n—aye, aye!" says the gross fellow, rising nimbly enough, whiles his comrades closed about us expectant, and glancing from me to Tressady where he had seated himself on a boulder:

"Here will do!" says he, pointing to a brilliant strip of moonlit sand midway betwixt the shadows of the cliff and Bartlemy's tree. "On his back, hearties, and grapple him fast, he's strong well-nigh as I am. Now his hand, Smiler, his right hand—"

"Aye, aye, Cap'n!" quoth the fellow, kneeling above me where I lay helpless. "Will I cut it adrift—slow like?" And as he flourished his knife I saw a trickle of saliva at the corners of his great, loose mouth, "Off at the wrist, Cap'n, or fingers first?"

"No, fool! His thumb-nail first—try that!"

Sweating and with every nerve a-quiver I watched that cruel knife, holding my breath in expectation of the coming agony, and then—from the black gloom of the cliff beyond burst a sudden echoing roar, I heard the whine of a bullet and immediately all was confusion and uproar, shouts of dismay and a wild rush for shelter from this sudden attack. But as I struggled to my knees Tressady's great hand gripped my throat, and dragging me behind a boulder he pinned me there.

"Stand by, lads!" he roared. "Level at the cliff yonder, but let no man pull trigger! Wait till they fire again and mark the flash!"

Helpless in my bonds and crushed beneath Tressady's knee I heard a stir and rustle to right and left of me, the click of cocking triggers and thereafter—silence. And, marking the gleam of pistol and musket-barrel, I fell to an agony of dread, well knowing whence that merciful shot had come. For mayhap five minutes nought was to hear save the rustle of stealthy arm or leg and the sound of heavy breathing, until at length one spoke, loud-voiced:

"What now, Captain? Us can't bide here all night."

"How many are we, Purdy?"

"Thirty and nine, Captain."

"Then do you take ten and scale the starboard cliff and you, Abner, with other ten take the cliff to larboard. I'll bide here wi' the rest and so we'll have 'em—"

"Them cliffs be perilous high, Cap'n!"

"My hook is more perilous, Tom Day! Off wi' you, ye dogs, or I'll show ye a liver yet and be—"

He stopped all at once as, faint at first yet most dreadful to hear, there rose a man's cry, chilling the flesh with horror, a cry that waxed and swelled louder and louder to a hideous screaming that shrilled upon the night and, sinking to an awful bubbling murmur, was gone.

Up sprang Tressady to stare away across Deliverance whence this dreadful cry had come, and I saw his hook tap-tapping at his great chin; then beyond these shining sands was the thunderous roar of a great gun, a furious rattle of small-arms that echoed and re-echoed near and far, and thereafter single shots in rapid succession. Hereupon rose shouts and cries of dismay:

"Lord love us we'm beset! O Cap'n, we be took fore and aft. What shall us do, Cap'n? Yon was a gun. What o' the ship, Cap'n—what o' the ship?"

"Yonder—look yonder! Who comes?" cried Tressady, pointing towards Deliverance Beach with his glittering hook.

Twisting my head as I lay, I looked whither he pointed, and saw one that ran towards us, yet in mighty strange fashion, reeling in wide zig-zags like a drunken man; and sometimes he checked, only to come on again, and sometimes he fell, only to struggle up.

"By God—it's Abnegation!" cries Tressady. "'Tis my comrade Mings! Look to the prisoner, ye dogs—you Tom Purdy! I'm for Abnegation!" And off he went at a run. At his going was mighty talk and discussion what they should do, some men being for stealing away in the boats, others for taking to the woods, and all clean forgetting me where I lay. But suddenly they fell silent all for Abnegation was hailing feebly, and was come so nigh that we might see him, his face all bloody, his knees bending under him with weakness as he stumbled on. Suddenly, beholding Tressady, he stopped and hailed him in wild, gasping voice:

"Roger—O Roger! The devil's aboard us, Roger—Penfeather's on us—Penfeather's took the ship—I'm all that's left alive! They killed Sol first—did ye—hear him die, Roger? O did ye hear—"

I saw him fall and Tressady run to lift him, and watched these pirate rogues as, with oaths and cries of dismay, they hasted hither to throng about the two; then, rolling into the nearest shadow I struggled to my feet and found myself beneath the spreading branches of Bartlemy's tree. And now, as I strove desperately against the rope that bit into the flesh of me, I felt the rope fall away, felt two soft arms close about me and a soft breath on my cheek:

"Martin—O thank God!" Turning, I caught my dear, brave lady to my heart. Heedless of aught else in the world beside I clasped her in my aching arms, and kissed her until she stayed me and showing me where stood our enemies, a wild disordered company, took my hand and began to run. Reaching the cliff we climbed together nor stayed until she had brought me to a little cave where lay an arquebus together with bandoliers. "I tried to reload it, dear Martin, but 'twas vain—my poor, silly hands shook so. For, O my dear, I—heard them—saw them and—thought I should run mad—O Martin my love!"

So now whiles I loaded the arquebus I told her as well as I might something of what I thought concerning her brave spirit, of my undying love for her, though in fashion very lame and halting. Thereafter, the weapon being ready I placed it near and, sitting within the gloom of this little cave, I took my love into my arms, her dear head pillowed on my breast, and kissed the tremors from her sweet mouth and the horror from her eyes. And thus with her arms about my neck and her soft, smooth cheek against mine, we waited for what was to be.



CHAPTER XLV

OF THE COMING OF ADAM PENFEATHER

In the shadow of the cliff below our hiding-place crept divers of these pirate rogues, and, crouching there cheek by jowl fell to a hoarse mutter of talk yet all too low for us to catch; but presently there brake out a voice high-pitched, the which I knew for that of Smiling Sam.

"We'm done, lads, I tell ye. O love my lights—we'm done! 'Tis the end o' we since Penfeather hath took the ship—and here's us shall lie marooned to perish o' plagues, or Indian-savages, or hunger unless, lads, unless—"

"Unless what, Smiler?" questioned one, eagerly.

"Unless we'm up and doing. Penfeather do lack for men—Mings says he counted but ten at most when they boarded him! Well, mates—what d'ye say?"

"Ha, d'ye mean fight, Smiler? Fall on 'em by surprise and recapture the ship—ha?"

"O bless my guts—no! Penfeather aren't to be caught so—not him! He'll ha' warped out from the anchorage by this! But he be shorthanded to work the vessel overseas, 'tis a-seekin' o' likely lads and prime sailor-men is Penfeather, and we sits on these yere sands. Well, mates, on these yere sands we be but what's took up us on these yere sands? The boats lie yonder! Well?"

"Where be you heading of now, Smiler? Where's the wind? Talk plain!"

"Why look'ee all, if Penfeather wants men, as wants 'em he doth, what's to stay or let us from rowing out to Penfeather soft and quiet and 'listing ourselves along of Penfeather, and watch our chance t' heave Penfeather overboard and go a-roving on our own account? Well?"

At this was sudden silence and thereafter a fierce mutter of whispering lost all at once in the clatter of arms and breathless scuffling as they scrambled to their feet; for there, within a yard of them, stood Tressady, hand grasping the dagger in his belt, his glittering hook tapping softly at his great chin as he stared from one to other of them.

"Ha, my pretty lambs!" says he, coming a pace nearer. "Will ye skulk then, will ye skulk with your fools' heads together? What now, mutiny is it, mutiny? And what's come o' my prisoner Martin, I don't spy him hereabouts?"

Now at this they shuffled, staring about and upon each other and (as I think) missed me for the first time.

"You, Tom Purdy, step forward—so! Now where's the prisoner as I set i' your charge, where, my merry bird, where?"

The fellow shrank away, muttering some sullen rejoinder that ended in a choking scream as Tressady sprang. Then I (knowing what was toward) clasped my lady to me, covering her ears that she might not hear those ghastly bubbling groans, yet felt her sweet body shaking with the horror that shook me.

"So—there's an end—o' Tom Purdy, my bullies!" gasped Tressady, stooping to clean his hook in the sand. "And I did it—look'ee, because he failed me once, d'ye see! Who'll be next? Who's for mutiny—you, Sammy, you—ha?"

"No—no, Cap'n!" piped Smiling Sam, "Us do be but contriving o' ways and means seeing' as Penfeather do ha' took our ship, curse him!"

"And what though he has? 'Tis we have the island and 'tis on this island lieth Black Bartlemy's Treasure, and 'tis the treasure we're after! As to ways and means, here we be thirty and eight to Penfeather's fourteen, and in a little 'twill be dark and the guns shan't serve 'em and then—aha, look yonder! The fools be coming into our very clutches! To cover, lads, and look to your primings and wait my word."

Now glancing whither he pointed, I saw, above the adjacent headland, the tapering spars of a ship. Slowly she hove into view, boltsprit, forecastle, waist and poop, until she was plain to view, and I knew her for that same black ship that fouled us in Deptford Pool. She was standing in for the island under her lower courses only, although the wind was very light, but on she came, and very slowly, until she was so near that I might see the very muzzles of her guns. Suddenly with a cheery yo-ho-ing her yards were braced round, her anchor was let go and she brought to opposite Skeleton Cove and within fair pistol-shot.

Now glancing below I saw Tressady stand alone and with Abnegation Mings huddled at his feet, but in the gloom of the cave and to right and left, in every patch of shadow and behind every bush and rock, was the glimmer of pistol or musket-barrel, and all levelled in the one direction.

Presently up to the lofty poop of the ship clambered a short, squat man in marvellous wide breeches and a great cutlass on hip, who clapping speaking-trumpet to mouth, roared amain:

"Ahoy the shore! We be shorthanded. Now what rogues o' ye will turn honest mariners and 'list aboard us for England? Who's for a free pardon and Old England?"

Hereupon, from bush and shadow and rock, I heard a whisper, a murmur, and the word "England" oft repeated.

Tressady heard it also, and stepping forward he drew a long furrow in the sand with the toe of his shoe.

"Look'ee my hearty boys," says he, pointing to this furrow with his hook, "the first man as setteth foot athwart this line I send to hell-fire along o' Tom Purdy yonder!"

"Ahoy the shore!" roared Godby louder than ever, "who's for an honest life, a free pardon and a share in Black Bartlemy's Treasure—or shall it be a broadside? Here be every gun full charged wi' musket-balls—and 'tis point-blank range! Which shall it be?"

Once again rose a murmur that swelled to an angry muttering, and I saw Smiling Sam come creeping from the shadow of the cave.

"O Cap'n," he piped, "'Tis plaguy desperate business, here's some on us like to be bloody corpses—but I'm wi' you, Cap'n Roger, whether or no, 'tis me to your back!"

"To my back, Sammy? Why so you shall, lad, so you shall, but I'll ha' your pistols first, Smiler—so!" And whipping the weapons from the great fellow's belt, Tressady gave them to Abnegation Mings where he lay in the shelter of a rock, and sitting down, crossed long legs and cocked an eye at the heavens.

"Hearties all," quoth he, "the moon sinketh apace and 'twill be ill shooting for 'em in the dark, so with dark 'tis us for the boats—muffled oars—we clap 'em aboard by the forechains larboard and starboard, and the ship is ours, bullies—ours!"

"Well and good, Cap'n!" piped Smiling Sam. "But how if she slip her cable and stand from us—"

"And how shall she, my fool lad, and the wind dropped? The wind's failed 'em and they lie helpless—"

"And that's gospel true, Cap'n. Aye, aye, we'm wi' you! Gi'e us the word, Cap'n!" quoth divers voices in fierce answer.

"O sink me!" groaned Mings, "here lies poor Abnegation shattered alow and aloft—O burn me, here's luck! But you'll take me along, Roger? If Death boards me to-night I'd rayther go in honest fight than lying here like a sick dog—so you'll have me along, Roger?"

"Aye that will I, lad, that will I and—"

"Ahoy the shore!" roared Godby's great voice again, "Let them rogue-dogs as'll turn honest mariners, them as is for England and a free pardon, stand by to come aboard and lively! In ten minutes we open fire wi' every gun as bears!"

Now here there brake forth a clamour of oaths, cries and dismayed questioning:

"Lord love us, what now, Cap'n? Is us to be murdered, look'ee? Doomed men we be, lads! Shall us wait to be shot, mates? What shall us do, Cap'n, what shall us do?"

"Lie low!" quoth Tressady, rising, "Bide still all and let no man stir till I give word. In half an hour or less 'twill be black dark—very well, for half an hour I'll hold 'em in parley, I'll speak 'em smooth and mighty friendly, here shall be no shooting. I'll hold 'em till the moon be down—and Smiler shall come wi' me—come, Sammy lad—come!"

So saying he turned and I watched him stride out upon that spit of sand hard by Bartlemy's tree and this great fat fellow trotting at his heels. Upon the edge of the tide Tressady paused and hailed loud and cheerily:

"Penfeather ahoy! O Adam Penfeather here come I Roger Tressady for word wi' you. Look'ee Adam, we've fought and run foul of each other this many a year—aye, half round the world and all for sake o' Black Bartlemy's Treasure as is mine by rights, Adam, mine by rights. Well now to-night let's, you and me, make an end once and for all one way or t'other. There's you wi' my ship—true, Adam, true! But here's me wi' the island and the treasure, Adam, and the treasure. And what then? Why then, says I, let's you and me, either come to some composition or fight it out man to man, Adam, man to man. So come ashore, Captain Penfeather—you as do be blacker pirate than ever was Bartlemy—come out yonder on the reef alone wi' me and end it one way or t'other. Come ashore, Adam, come ashore if ye dare adventure!"

"Ahoy you, Tressady!" roared Godby in reply, "Cap'n Adam is ashore wi' ye this moment—look astarn o' you, ye rogue!"

Round sprang Tressady as out from the dense shadow of Bartlemy's tree stepped Adam Penfeather himself. He stood there in the moonlight very still and viewing Tressady with head grimly out-thrust, his arms crossed upon his breast, a pistol in the fist and deadly menace in every line of his small, spare figure.

"I'm here, Tressady!" says he, his voice ringing loud and clear. "And I am come to make an end o' you this night. It hath been long a-doing—but I have ye at last, Roger."

"Be ye sure, Adam, so sure?"

"As death, Tressady, for I have ye secure at last."

"Bleed me but you're out there, Adam, you're out there! The boot's on t'other leg, for hereabouts do lie thirty and eight o' my lads watching of ye this moment and wi' finger on trigger."

"I know it!" says Adam nodding. "But there's never a one dare shoot me, for the first shot fired ashore shall bring a whole broadside in answer, d'ye see. But as for you, Tressady, pray if you can, for this hour you hang."

"Hang is it, Adam?" says Tressady, and with swift glance towards the sinking moon, "And who's to do it—who?"

"There be thirty and eight shall swing ye aloft so soon as I give 'em the word, Tressady."

"You do talk rank folly, Adam, folly, and ye know it!" says he smiling and stealing furtive hand to the dagger in his girdle. "But and I should die this night I take you along wi' me and you can lay to—" But he got no further, for Smiling Sam (and marvellous nimble) whipped up a stone, and leaping on him from behind smote him two murderous blows and, staggering helplessly, Tressady pitched forward upon his face and lay upon the verge of the incoming tide.

Beholding his handiwork, Smiling Sam uttered a thin, high-shrilling laugh, and spitting upon that still form kicked it viciously.

"Oho, Cap'n Penfeather," cries he, "'tis the Smiler hath saved ye the labour, look'ee! 'Tis Sam hath finished Tressady at last and be damned t' him! And now 'tis the Smiler as do be first to 'list wi' ye!" and he began to shamble across the sands; but passing that rock where crouched Abnegation Mings he tripped and fell, and I saw the flash of Abnegation's knife as they rolled and twisted in the shadow of this rock, whiles, from this shadow, rose a shrill crying like the wail of a hurt child, and into the moonlight came a great, fat hand that clutched and tore at the sand then grew suddenly still, and with crooked fingers plunged deep into the sand like a white claw. Then, tossing aside his bloody knife, Abnegation Mings struggled to his feet and came staggering to kneel above his comrade Tressady and to turn up the pallid face of him to the moon.

And now Adam thrust away his pistols and with hands clasped behind him, turned to face the gloomy shadows of Skeleton Cove:

"Come out, sons o' dogs!" says he. "Step forward and show yourselves—and lively it is!" Ensued a moment's breathless pause, then, from bush and shadow and rocks, they stole forth these thirty and eight and, at Adam's harsh command, lined up before him shoulder and shoulder. "Well," says Adam, pacing slowly along their rank to peer into every sullen, hang-dog face. "Am I captain here? Aye or no?"

"Aye—aye!" they cried in eager chorus.

"And us was promised a free pardon, Cap'n!" quoth one.

"And a share of the treasure, Cap'n!" says another.

"And England, Cap'n!" cried a third. "There's some on us as do be honest sailor-men and forced to turn pirate in spite o' we—"

"Avast!" says Adam. "What I promise I stand by. But mark this! Let any man fail of his duty to me but once and I shoot that man or hang him out o' hand—is't understood?"

"Aye, aye, Cap'n—'tis agreed! We'll serve ye faithful and true," they cried.

"Why then, bring ropes!" says Adam, and with his new 'listed men at his heels, goes whither lay Tressady and with Abnegation Mings yet crouched above him.

What now was doing I might not see by reason of the crowd, but I heard the voice of Mings upraised in fierce invective, and the throng presently parting, beheld him trussed hand and foot and dragged along with Tressady towards Bartlemy's tree. There a noose was set about the neck of each, and the rope's ends cast over a branch. But as at Adam's command these miserable wretches were hauled aloft to their deaths, my lady uttered a cry of horror and grasped my arm in desperate hands.

"Martin!" she panted, "O Martin, 'tis horrible! Save them, this must not—shall not be—"

"'Tis but justice," says I, "these men are pirates and murderers—"

"This is no justice!" cries she breathlessly, her face all pale and drawn, "And these men are sore hurt beside—Ah God—look! Stop them, Martin—O stop them! Nay then I will!" And here, or ever I could let or stay her, she begins to clamber down into the cove. Howbeit, quick and sure-footed though she was, I was presently before her and so came running, knife in hand. Nor was I any too soon, for as I reached the tree Tressady and Mings were dragged, choking, from their feet; but with a couple of strokes my keen knife had cut those deadly ropes asunder, and as the two fell gasping on the sand I turned to stare into the scowling eyes of Adam Penfeather.

Now as I stood thus someone spoke 'twixt sigh and groan: "Bartlemy—'tis Bartlemy!" and the word was taken up by others, "Bartlemy—Black Bartlemy!" and all men fell back from me whiles Adam scowled at me above levelled pistol.

"Hold off—Adam!" I panted. "Let be, Adam Penfeather—let be!"

"What?" says he, peering, "And is it—Martin? Lord love me, now what fool's ploy is this?"

"What you will," quoth I, "only here has been enough of death for one night—"

"'Tis but you do think so, Martin, and you was ever a fool! I came ashore to see these two rogues hang, and hang they shall!"

"Now look you, Adam Penfeather," says I, scowling in turn, "you have cozened and tricked me since first you crossed my path, well, let that go! But mark this—according to your letter three-quarters of this treasure is mine. Very well—take it back—I'll buy these rogues' lives of you—"

"Lord love me!" says he, staring in blank amaze, "What new fool craze is this? Will ye save this bloody murderer Tressady that drugged ye aboard ship, the man that was our bane and plague all along? The rogue hath been my deadliest enemy seeking my destruction these fifteen years, and you would save him alive! It seemeth my pistol-butt must ha' harmed what little brain you have and you be run stark, staring mad, Martin!"

"Howbeit," says I, mighty determined, "you don't hang these men whiles I live!"

"Why, there's no difficulty either, Martin, for what's to stay me from hanging you along with 'em, or shooting you for the fool you are?"

"I!" cried a voice, and there betwixt us was my lady, she all stately dignity despite her hurried breathing, at sight of whom these lawless fellows gave back one and all, even Adam himself retreated a step, staring upon her round-eyed. Then, very slowly he thrust pistols into belt and uncovering his head bowed full low, and I fancied his thin lips twitched as he did so.

"So be it, my lady," says he, "I call on your ladyship to witness that I sell two bundles of very unseemly merchandise," and he pointed towards the two helpless forms at his feet. "And now, with your fair leave, madam, I'll see these fellows safe aboard and warn my Lord Dering and gentlemen of your welfare and presence here."

"Wait!" says I as he turned to go. "First I would have these my purchases set aboard a boat, with such stores needful, and cast adrift."

"Why, this was not in the bargain, Martin!" says he, shaking his head, "But it shall be done for sake of our one-time comradeship." And away he goes and his fellows with him. True to his word he orders the pinnace launched and sends divers men to bear these two rogues aboard. Hereupon I cut away their bonds, doing the which I found Tressady still unconscious, but Mings for all his wounds seemed lively enough.

"Master," says he, staring hard at me, "Your name's Martin, as I think?"

"And what then?" says I, mighty short.

"'Tis a name I shall mind as long as I do my own, and that is Mings—Abnegation Mings."

"Aye," says I. "You told me this when you sang of dead men in a wood at midnight—"

"Ha, 'twas you, was it, master! Well, here lieth poor Roger dead or dying and me little better, and 'tis far to the Main and an ill journey, but should we come there and live, there be two men shall wonder at ye, master, nor ever forget the name o' the man as saved our necks. Howsoever, come life or death, here's Abnegation doth wish ye a fair wind ever and always, master."

So they bore him, together with Tressady, to the pinnace, and setting them aboard, shoved them adrift, and I watched Abnegation ply feeble oars until the boat was through the passage in the reef and out in the open sea beyond.



CHAPTER XLVI

HOW I DOUBTED MYSELF

Now as I stood thus, staring out to sea, the moon sank and with it my heart also, for as the dark came about me so came darkness within me and sudden sorrow with great fear of the future; wherefore, beholding the loom of the ship where lights twinkled, I would gladly have seen her a shattered wreck, and hearing the hoarse laughter and voices of these lawless fellows waking the echoes of Deliverance Beach, I hated them one and all, and to my fear and sorrow anger was added. But now cometh my dear lady to stand beside me, to steal her hand into mine, and never a word betwixt us for a while. At last:

"So endeth our solitude, Martin!"

"Aye!"

"Our deliverance is come!" says she and then, very softly, "Doth not this rejoice you?" Here answer found I none, since now at last I knew this the very thing I had come most to dread. So was silence again save for these hoarse unlovely voices where they launched and boarded the longboat. "Master Adam would have me go on board, Martin, but 'tis near dawn so will I bide with you to welcome this new day."

"I'm glad you stayed, Damaris." At this I felt her clasp tighten on my fingers, and so she brings me to a rock hard by and, sinking on the warm sand, would have me sit by her; thus, side by side, we watched the boat pull away to the ship, and presently all about us was hushed and still save for the never-ceasing murmur of the surge.

"Martin," says she in a while, "with this new day beginneth for us a new life! In a few short hours we sail for England."

"England! Aye, to be sure!" says I, mighty doleful, but, conscious of her regard, strove to look happy yet made such a botch of it that, getting to her knees, she takes my hang-dog face betwixt her two hands.

"O but you are glad?" she questions, a little breathlessly, "Glad to come with me to England—to leave this wilderness?"

"Aye!" I nodded, well-nigh choking on the word.

"Dear Martin, look at me!" she commanded, "Now speak me plain. Whence is your grief?"

"O, my lady," quoth I, "'tis the knowledge of my unworthiness, my unloveliness, my rude and graceless ways; England is no place for like of me. I am well enough here in the wild—to work for you, fight for you an' need be, but how may I compare with your fine gallants and courtly gentlemen?"

Now at this she clasps me all sudden in her arms and setting soft cheek to mine falls a-chiding me, yet kissing me full oft, calling me "silly," "dear," "foolish," and "beloved."

"How shall you compare?" cries she, "Thus and thus, dear Martin—so infinitely above and beyond all other men that unless you wed me needs must I die a maid!"

Thus did she comfort me, soothing my fears, and thus the dawn found us.

"O 'tis day!" she sighed, "'Tis day already!" And now 'twas her voice was doleful whiles her eyes gazed regretful round about the white sands of Deliverance and the tree-clad highlands beyond. "O indeed I do love this dear island of ours, Martin!"

Sudden upon the stilly air was the beat of oars, and we beheld a boat rowed by a couple of mariners and in the stern-sheets Sir Rupert Dering and the three gentlemen, his companions. Hereupon my lady would have me go with her to meet them then and there, but I shook my head.

"Do you go, Damaris, I'll not speak them before I must. And should you have cause to mention me I pray you will not tell my name."

"As you will, dear Martin," says she and, pressing my hand, goes her way. From the shadow of the rock I watched these gentlemen leap gaily ashore to bow before her with many and divers elegant posturings, flourishes and flauntings of hats, kissing of her hands and the like gallantries until I must needs scowl otherwhere; yet even so, was conscious of their merry laughter where they paced to and fro and the new risen sun making a glory about her. At last she curtseys, and staying them with a gesture, comes hasting back to me.

"Martin," says she, "it seems there be men wounded and dying on board ship, so must I go to them. Will you not come with me?"

"Nay," I answered, "I'll to the caves for such things as you would bring away."

"Why then, my spoon, Martin, and three-legged stool, bring these—nay wait, 'tis there I would bid farewell to this our dear island. Wait me there, Martin."

So away she goes on her errand of mercy, leaving me to my thoughts and these all of England and my future life there. I was fain to picture myself married and happy in my lady's love, my life thenceforth a succession of peaceful days amid the ordered quiet of that Kentish countryside I knew and loved so well. With the eye of my mind I seemed to see a road winding 'twixt bloomy hedgerows, past chattering brooks and pleasant meadows, past sleepy hamlet bowered 'mid trees and so, 'neath a leafy shade, to where rose tall gates, their pillars crowned by couchant leopards wrought in the stone, and beyond these a broad avenue, its green shadow splashed with sunlight, leading away to the house of Conisby Shene with its wide terrace where stood my lady waiting and expectant; yet nowhere could I vision myself. And now I must needs bethink me of Godby's "long, dark road with the beckoning light and the waiting arms of love," and in my heart the old doubt waked and a fear that such peace, such tender meetings and welcomes sweet, were not for such as I, nor ever could be.

From these gloomy reflections I was roused by a giggling laugh, and glancing about, espied Sir Rupert and his three fellows, their finery somewhat the worse for their late hardship yet themselves very gay and debonair none the less as they stood viewing me and mighty interested. Presently Sir Rupert steps up to me with his haughtiest fine-gentlemanly air and no civility of bowing.

"Let me perish but here's notable change!" says he, surveying my rich attire, so that I yearned for my rags again. "Here is strange metamorphosis! The sullen and rustic Cymon bloometh at Beauty's mandate, Caliban is tamed!" At the which sally his companions giggled again.

"Sir," quoth I, and awkwardly enough, "I am in no mood for your pleasantries. If therefore you have aught else to say of me, pray remove out o' my hearing." This protest Sir Rupert fanned airily aside with be-ringed hand.

"I gather," says he, "that you have been at some pains of service to my Lady Brandon in her late dolorous situation here—receive my thanks!"

"I wish none o' your thanks, sir—"

"None the less I bestow 'em—on my Lady Brandon's behalf. Furthermore—"

"Enough, sir, I would be alone."

"Furthermore," he continued and with another airy motion of his white fingers, "I would have you particularly remark that if my Lady Brandon, lacking better company, hath stooped to any small familiarities with you, these must be forgot and—"

"Ha!" I cried, springing to my feet, "Begone, paltry fool, lest I kick you harder than I did last time at Conisby Shene."

"Insolent gallows'-rogue!" he panted, reaching for his sword-hilt, but as he freed it from scabbard I closed with him and, wrenching it from his hold, belaboured him soundly with the flat of it, and such of his companions as chanced within my reach, until hearing shouts, I espied Adam approaching with divers of his grinning fellows; whereupon I snapped the blade across my knee and hasted from the place.

I strode on haphazard in a blind fury, but reaching the woods at last and safe from all observation, I cast myself down therein, and gradually my anger grew to a great bitterness. For (thinks I) "gallows'-rogue" am I in very truth an outcast from my kind, a creature shamed by pillory and lash, a poor wretch for spiteful Fortune's buffets. Hereupon (being a blind fool ever) I cursed the world and all men in it saving only my unworthy self. And next, bethinking me of my dear lady who of her infinite mercy had stooped to love such as I, it seemed that my shame must smirch her also, that rather than lifting me to her level I must needs drag her down to mine. She, wedding me, gave all, whiles I, taking all, had nought to offer in return save my unworthiness. Verily it seemed that my hopes of life with her in England were but empty dreams, that I had been living in the very Paradise of Fools unless—

Here I raised bowed head, and clenching my fists stared blindly before me.

How if the ship should sail without us?



CHAPTER XLVII

HOW MY DOUBTING WAS RESOLVED FOR ME

The sun being high-risen and myself famished with hunger, I set off for our habitation by paths well-hid from observation and yearning mightily to find my lady there. Having scaled the cliff I reached the little plateau, and parting the bushes, recoiled from the muzzle of a piece levelled at me by a squat, grim fellow.

"What, Godby!" says I, frowning, "D'ye take me for murderer still, then?" At this he let fall his musket in blank amaze, and then came running and with hands outstretched.

"O pal!" cries he, "O pal—have I found ye at last? Ha, many's the time I've grieved for ye and my fool's doubts o' you, Martin, choke me else? I'm sorry, pal, burn me but I've repented my suspecting o' you ever since, though to be sure you was mighty strange aboard the 'Faithful Friend' and small wonder. But here's me full o' repentance, Martin, so—if you can forgive poor Godby—?"

"Full and freely!" says I, whereupon he hugs me and the tears running down his sunburned cheeks.

"Then we'm pals again, Martin, and all's bowmon!"

"And what o' me?" Turning about I beheld Adam on the threshold of the cave, "What o' me, shipmate?"

"Aye—what?" says I, folding my arms.

"Ha, doth the tap o' my pistol-butt smart yet, Martin?"

"I know you beyond all doubt for pirate and buccaneer—"

"All past and done, Martin."

"I know you planned from the first to seize the 'Faithful Friend.'"

"Aye, but where's your proof—the 'Faithful Friend' is blown up—"

"And by your hand, like as not."

"True again, so it was, Martin, and thereby did I outwit Tressady and saved the lives of my own people."

"You have been at great pains to befool me to your evil ends."

"At no pains, Martin, 'twas purely simple matter!"

"You have been the death of divers men on this island."

"But always in fair fight!" says he, glancing at me in his furtive fashion. "'Twas them or me, comrade, and black rogues all."

"So you say!"

"And who's to deny it, shipmate?"

"Aye, who indeed? It seems you've killed 'em all."

"Ha, d'ye doubt my word, Martin?"

"Aye, I do so, and judging from what I know, I do take ye for a very rogue and so I'm done with you henceforth."

"Rogue?" says he, "'Tis an ill word! And yet I had rather be rogue than fool, and you are the fool of the world, Martin, for here are you seeking quarrel with your best friend."

"Friend?" quoth I, "O God protect me from such!"

"Now, look'ee, you have named me rogue and good as called me liar, which is great folly seeing you do lie in my power. So here will I prove my friendship and the depth of your folly."

"Nay—I'll hear no more!"

"Aye—but you will! Cover him, Godby, and fire if I say so!"

"O Lord love me!" groaned Godby, but obeyed nevertheless, and looking where he stood, his piece levelled at me, I knew he would obey Adam's word despite his anguished looks.

"And now," says Adam, crossing his arms, "here's the truth on't. I found a poor wretch bent on vengeance, murder, and a rogue's death, which was pure folly. I offered you riches, the which you refused, and this was arrant folly. I took you for comrade, brought you aboard ship with offer of honest employ which you likewise refused and here was more folly. Your conduct on board ship was all folly. So, despite yourself, I set you on a fair island with the right noble and handsome lady that you, by love, might perchance learn some little wisdom. Well, you fall in love—"

"Stop!" cried I, clenching my fists.

"Not I!" says he, uncrossing his arms, and I saw he had levelled a pistol at me in the crook of his arm, "I'm no fine gentleman for ye to bruise, so haul your wind and listen! You fall in love with my lady, as how could you help, and she with you, which is a matter of some wonder. So here are you full o' love, but doth this teach ye wisdom? Never a whit! For now must you fall foul and belabour our four gallants, and from mere fine gentlemen transform 'em into your deadly enemies, and here was folly stupendous! And now you must quarrel with me, the which is folly absolute. Thus do I find ye fool persistent and consistent ever, and I, being so infinitely the opposite, do contemn you therefore—"

"And now ha' you done?" I demanded, raging.

"Not quite, Martin. You balked me i' the hanging o' these two rogues Tressady and Mings, and here was pitiful folly, since to hang such were a wise and prudent measure. Thus have you loosed murder on my heels again, well, let that go. But you doubted my word, you named me rogue, and for this you shall fight me!" So saying he stepped into the cave and brought thence that same be-jewelled Spanish rapier.

"I've no mind to fight with you," says I, turning away.

"An excellent blade!" says he, making a pass in the air, then he tendered it to me hilt foremost and with the little bow.

"'Tis right you should know I am wearing the chain-shirt."

"No matter," quoth he, drawing, "there is your throat or your eye—come!"

So point to point we fell to it. I had been somewhat esteemed at the art once and now I matched his vicious thrusts with cunning parades, with volts and passes, pushing at him when I might, so that twice I was very near. But suddenly as he retreated before my attack, his blade darted and flashed and he called out: "One!" And now he pressed me in turn with quick thrusts and bewildering feints, and presently called out again: "Two! Three! Four!" Then I saw he was cutting the buttons from my sleeve, how and when he would; therefore I cast away my sword in petulant anger and folded my arms.

"Lord love me! Are ye done, Martin?"

"O make an end one way or t'other, I'll not be played with!"

"Verily, you were more dangers with the club!" says he, and sheathed his rapier. As for me, espying the three-legged stool, I sat me down mighty dejected and full of bitter thoughts until, feeling a touch on my bowed shoulder, I looked up and found him beside me.

"Martin," says he, "'tis true you are a fool but your folly harmeth none but yourself! And thou'rt such honest fool that I must needs love thee, which is strange, yet so it is. Look'ee, we have quarrelled and fought, very well—what's to let us from being friends again?"

"But if I doubt you, Adam?"

"Why, as to that," says he with his whimsical look, "I verily do think myself a something doubtful being at times."

Now at this, up I rose and gripped his hand right heartily; which done he brought me into the cave whiles Godby posted himself on the threshold, leaning on his musket.

"What now, Adam?" I questioned.

"Now let us divide our treasure, Martin—"

"But I bartered my share for the lives of—"

"Tush!" says he, and reaching a valise from shadowy corner he opened it and I beheld such a glory of flashing gems as nigh dazzled me with their splendour. "Look at 'em, Martin, look at 'em!" he whispered. "Here's love and hate, life and death, every good and all the sins—look at 'em!" And catching up a handful he let them fall, glittering, through his fingers. "Lord love me, Martin," he whispered, "'tis enough to turn a man's brain! Have ye counted 'em over, comrade?"

"I never saw them until this moment, Adam." And I confessed how in my folly I had cast his letter of instruction into the sea, and of how my lady had found the secret at her dire peril.

"And she never showed you, Martin?"

"I was always too busy!"

"Busy!" says he, sitting back on his heels to stare up at me. "Busy? O Lord love me! Sure there's not your like i' the whole world, Martin!"

"Which is mighty well for the world!" says I bitterly.

"'Tis vasty treasure, Martin and worth some little risk. And in the cave lie yet fifty and four bars of gold and others of silver, with store of rix-dollars, doubloons, moidores and pieces of eight—gold coins of all countries. There let 'em rot—here's more wealth than we shall ever spend. Shall we divide it here or aboard ship?"

"Wait rather until we reach England."

"So be it, comrade. Then I'm minded to apportion a share to Godby here—what d'ye say?"

"With all my heart!"

"Why then 'tis time we got it safe on board."

"But how to do it—what of Tressady's rogues, Adam?"

"Having buried such of themselves as needed it, Martin, you shall see 'em playing leap-frog on the sands down yonder happy as any innocent school-lads, and never a firearm amongst 'em."

"Hist, Cap'n!" says Godby, suddenly alert, "The man Abner and his two mates a-peeping and a-prying!"

"Where away, Godby man?"

"Hove to in the lee o' them bushes yonder."

"'Tis sly, skulking rogue Abner!" says Adam, closing and strapping the valise, "'Tis in my mind, Godby, this Abner will never live to see England. Summon 'em hither, all three."

This Godby did forthwith, and presently the three fellows appeared who, knuckling their foreheads, made us their several reverences.

"What now, lads?" says Adam, viewing them with his keen eyes, "I seem to mind your looks, you sailed with Black Bartlemy aboard the 'Delight' I think? Nay, 'tis no matter, we'll let bygones be bygones, and we be all marvellous honest these days, the which is well. Meantime take this dunnage down to the boat," and he pointed to the valise. Hereupon one of the fellows took it up, and knuckled an eyebrow to us in turn. "We sail at sundown," says Adam, "so, Godby, you may as well go aboard and see that all be ready."

"Aye, aye!" says Godby, tightening the belt where swung his great cutlass and, shouldering his musket, set off after the three.

"So there goeth our fortune aboard, comrade."

"And in desperate risky fashion, Adam."

"In safe, straightforward fashion rather, and in broad daylight, the which is surer than stealing it aboard in the dark."

"But should these rogues guess what they carry—"

"They won't, Martin, and if they should they have but their knives 'gainst Godby's musket and pistols."

"Ha—murder, Adam?"

"Would you call this murder, comrade?"

"What other? I wonder what manner of man you'll be, away there in England?"

"A worthy, right worshipful justice o' the peace, Martin, if Providence seeth fit, in laced coat and great peruke, to see that my tenants' cottages be sound and wholesome, to pat the touzled heads o' the children, bless 'em! And to have word with every soul i' the village. To snooze i' my great pew o' Sundays and, dying at last, snug abed, to leave behind me a kindly memory. And what for you, Martin? What see you in the ship yonder?"

"God knoweth!" says I, gloomily.

"Why not a woman's love, comrade, why not good works, rank and belike—children to honour your memory?"

"Were I but worthy all this, Adam."

"Zounds, but here's humility! Yet your true lover is ever humble, I've heard, so 'tis very well, Martin. And this doth mind me I bear you a message from my lady—"

"A message—from her?" I cried, gripping his arm, "Out with it, man, out with it and God forgive you this delay! What says my lady?"

"This, Martin: she would have you shave according to late custom."

"Why, so I will! But said she no more?"

"Aye, something of meeting you here. So get to your shaving and cheerily, comrade, cheerily. I'll to the ship, for at sunset 'tis up anchor and hey for England! I'll fire two guns to warn you aboard, and tarry not, for the ship lieth within a sunken reef and we must catch the flood." Here he turned to go, then paused to glance round the horizon with a seaman's eye. "The wind is fair to serve us, Martin," says he, pinching his chin, "yet I could wish for a tempest out o' the north and a rising sea!"

"And why, Adam, in Heaven's name?"

"'Twould be the sure and certain end of Tressady and Mings, comrade. Howbeit what's done is done and all things do lie in the hands of Providence, so do I cherish hope. Go and shave, Martin, go and shave!"

Left alone I betook me to my razors and shaved me with unwonted care, yet hearkening for her quick, light step the while.

Scarce was my labour ended that I thought to hear the rustle of leaves and hasted from the cave, calling on her name and mighty joyous and eager:

"Damaris! Art here at last, dear my lady!" And so came face to face with Sir Rupert.

He stood smiling at my discomfiture, yet his black brows were close—but he halted and folded his arms and I could see the betraying bulge of the pistol on his great side-pocket. For a while he measured me with his eye, at last he spoke:

"Within the hour my Lady Brandon sails for England, and from this hour you will forget my Lady Brandon ever existed or—"

"Tush, man!" says I, "Begone, you weary me."

"Or," he went on with an airy gesture of his hand, "I shall cure your weariness for good—"

"Shoot me?"

"Most joyfully! Whatsoever hath chanced betwixt you in this wilderness, my Lady Brandon's honour must and—"

Warned by my look he clapped hand to his pocket but as he freed the weapon I was upon him, grasping his pistol-hand. For a moment we swayed together, he striving frantically to break my hold, I to wrest the weapon from him, then it exploded, and uttering a sudden, long-drawn gasp he sank to the grass at my feet and lay very mute and still. Whilst I yet stared from his pallid face to the pistol where it had fallen, I heard shouts, a running of feet, and glancing up saw the three gentlemen, his companions, standing at gaze, motionless; then suddenly, they turned and hasted away, crying "murder" on me as they ran. Like one in a dream I stared down at Sir Rupert's motionless form, until I was aware of my lady beside him on her knees and of the pallor of her face as she looked from him to me, her eyes wide with horror:

"If you have killed him, Martin—if you have killed him, here is an end of our happiness—God forgive you!"

Now would I have spoken but found no words, for in this moment I knew that Sir Rupert was surely dead. Dumbly I watched the passionate labour of her dexterous hands, saw them pause at last to clasp and wring themselves in helpless despair, saw the three gentlemen, obedient to her word, stoop and lift that limp form and bear it slowly away towards Deliverance Sands and she going beside them.

Now as I stood watching her leave me, I heard the sudden roar of a gun, and glancing towards the ship saw they were already making sail. Roused by this I came beside my lady, and found my voice at last.

"Here was the work of chance—not I, Damaris, not I!"

But she, gazing ever on that piteous, limp form, sought to silence me with a gesture. "God, Damaris, you'll never doubt my word? Speak—will you not speak to me? He threatened me—we strove together and the pistol went off in his grasp—"

"Damned Murderer!" cried one of the gentlemen.

After this I held my peace, despairing, and thus we went in silence until before us was Deliverance Beach. All at once I caught her up in my arms and, despite her struggles, began to bear her back up the ascent. For a moment only she strove, uttering no word, then hiding her face against me, suffered me to bear her where I would. But now I heard shouts and cries that told me I was pursued:

"You are mine, Damaris!" I cried, "Mine henceforth, and no man shall take you from me whiles I live!"

Despite my haste the noise of pursuit waxed louder, spurring me to greater effort. And now it became the end and aim of my existence to reach the cave in time, wherefore I began to run, on and up, until my breath came in great, panting sobs; my heart seemed bursting, and in my throbbing brain a confusion of wild thoughts:

"Better die thus, my love upon my heart ... The ship shall sail without us ... The door of the cave is stout, God be thanked and, firing from the loophole, I may withstand them all."

Breathless and reeling I gained the plateau at last, but as I staggered towards the cave I tripped and fell heavily, crushing her beneath me. But I struggled up, and bearing her within the cave, laid her upon my bed and closing the door, barred it; then I reached my muskets from their rack and set them in readiness. This done, and finding my lady so still and silent, I came to view her where she lay and, peering in the dimness, uttered a great cry to see the pale oval of cheek horribly bedabbled with blood. Trembling in a sickness of fear I sank beside her on my knees, then, seeing she yet breathed, I parted the silky hair above her temple and so came on a cruel gash. Now as I strove to staunch this precious blood I heard again the echoing thunder of a gun.

"Damaris!" says I, clasping her to me and kissing her pallid lips, "O Damaris, they are summoning us to England, d'ye hear, beloved, d'ye hear? Well, they shall call in vain—they shall sail without us. Love hath found us and here with Love will we abide. Wake, beloved, wake and tell me you would have it so!"

But, save for her breathing, and despite all my pleading and caresses, she lay like one dead. So I brought water and bathed her face and throat and wrists, yet all to no purpose, so that fear grew to agony. How if she die thus? (thinks I) Why then I can die likewise. But again, how if she wake, and finding the ship gone, despise me and, in place of her lover, look on me as her gaoler? For a long while I crouched there, my head bowed on my fists, since well I knew that England might shelter me nevermore. And yet to part with her that was become my very life—

As I knelt thus, in an agony of indecision, was sudden tumult of knocking upon the door and the sound of fierce voices:

"Come forth, murderer! Open to us, rogue—open!"

But still I knelt there heeding only the hurry of my thoughts:

"How if the ship sail without us? How if she wake and know me for her gaoler? How might I endure loneliness? How part with her that was become my life? Belike she might not hate me—"

"Open, murderer, open!" roared the voices.

"A murderer! How if she believe this? Better loneliness and death than to read horror of me in her every look!"

And now beyond the door was silence, and then I heard Adam hailing me:

"Oho, shipmate—unbar! Tide's on the turn and we must aboard. And trust me, Martin, for your comrade as will see justice done ye. So come, Martin, you and my lady and let's aboard!"

"Aye, aye, Adam!" quoth I, "Better die o' solitude than live with a breaking heart. So cheerily it is, Adam!"

Then rising, I took my dear lady in my arms, and holding her against my heart, I kissed her hair, her closed eyes, her pale, unresponsive lips, and bearing her to the door, contrived to open it and stepped forth of the cave. And here I found Adam, pistol in hand, with divers of his fellows and the three gentlemen who scowled amain, yet, eyeing Adam's weapon, did no more than clench their fists and mutter of gibbets and the like.

"Look you, Adam," says I, "my lady is stunned of a fall, but 'twill be no great matter once we come aboard—let us go."

"Why then, Lord love you, Martin—hasten!" says he, "For tide's falling and it's all we shall do to clear the reef."

Reaching Deliverance Sands I saw the boat already launched and manned and, wading into the water, laid my lady in the stern sheets.

"Come!" cried Adam, reaching me his hand, "In with ye man—"

"Not I, Adam."

"Why, what now, comrade?" says he, staring.

"Now—my hand, Adam, and a prosperous voyage!"

"How, comrade, will ye stay marooned in this desolation?" and he stooped to peer down at me. "Martin," says he, gripping my hand and staring into my eyes, "Doth this mean you are safer here by reason of the mystery of Sir Rupert's sudden end?"

"Mayhap!" says I, and loosed his hand. "What think you?"

"That you are no murderer, comrade, nor ever will be!"

"My lady said as much once! Farewell, Adam!" And I waded back to the beach.

"Give way, lads!" cries he, "Give way!" I heard the splash and beat of their oars, and when I turned to look I saw them half-way across the lagoon.

Then I turned and wandered aimlessly along these white sands that had known so often the light tread of her pretty feet. Very slowly I went, with eyes that saw not, ears that heard not and my mind a confusion of bitter thoughts.

At last I reached the little plateau, and from this eminence beheld the ship standing away under a press of sail, and saw that night was at hand. Suddenly as I watched, the ship, her lofty masts and gleaming canvas swam all blurred and misty on my sight, and sinking to my knees I bowed my head.

"Almighty God!" says I, "Thou hast shown unto me the wonder of love and the heaven it might have been, but since love is not for me, teach me how I may be avenged."

But now, even as I prayed thus, my voice brake upon a great sob insomuch that I might pray no more. Therefore I cast myself upon my face, forgetting all things but my great and bitter loneliness.

And so came night and shut me in.

* * *

Here then I make an end of this narrative of Black Bartlemy's Treasure, but how and in what manner I came to my vengeance is yet to tell.