"'THE SEA-HAWK\n\n\nBy Rafael Sabatini\n\n\n\n\nNOTE\n\nLord Henry Goade, who had, as we shall see, some personal acquaintance\nwith Sir Oliver Tressilian, tells us quite bluntly that he was\nill-favoured. But then his lordship is addicted to harsh judgments and\nhis perceptions are not always normal. He says, for instance, of Anne of\nCleves, that she was the \"ugliest woman that ever I saw.\" As far as we\ncan glean from his own voluminous writings it would seem to be extremely\ndoubtful whether he ever saw Anne of Cleves at all, and we suspect him\nhere of being no more than a slavish echo of the common voice, which\nattributed Cromwell\'s downfall to the ugliness of this bride he procured\nfor his Bluebeard master. To the common voice from the brush of Holbein,\nwhich permits us to form our own opinions and shows us a lady who\nis certainly very far from deserving his lordship\'s harsh stricture.\nSimilarly, I like to believe that Lord Henry was wrong in his\npronouncement upon Sir Oliver, and I am encouraged in this belief by the\npen-portrait which he himself appends to it. \"He was,\" he says, \"a tall,\npowerful fellow of a good shape, if we except that his arms were too\nlong and that his feet and hands were of an uncomely bigness. In face he\nwas swarthy, with black hair and a black forked beard; his nose was\nbig and very high in the bridge, and his eyes sunk deep under beetling\neyebrows were very pale-coloured and very cruel and sinister. He\nhad--and this I have ever remarked to be the sign of great virility in\na man--a big, deep, rough voice, better suited to, and no doubt oftener\nemployed in, quarter-deck oaths and foulnesses than the worship of his\nMaker.\"\n\nThus my Lord Henry Goade, and you observe how he permits his lingering\ndisapproval of the man to intrude upon his description of him. The\ntruth is that--as there is ample testimony in his prolific writings--is\nlordship was something of a misanthropist. It was, in fact, his\nmisanthropy which drove him, as it has driven many another, to\nauthorship. He takes up the pen, not so much that he may carry out his\nprofessed object of writing a chronicle of his own time, but to the\nend that he may vent the bitterness engendered in him by his fall from\nfavour. As a consequence he has little that is good to say of anyone,\nand rarely mentions one of his contemporaries but to tap the sources of\na picturesque invective. After all, it is possible to make excuses for\nhim. He was at once a man of thought and a man of action--a combination\nas rare as it is usually deplorable. The man of action in him might have\ngone far had he not been ruined at the outset by the man of thought. A\nmagnificent seaman, he might have become Lord High Admiral of England\nbut for a certain proneness to intrigue. Fortunately for him--since\nhead where nature had placed it--he came betimes under a cloud of\nsuspicion. His career suffered a check; but it was necessary to afford\nhim some compensation since, after all, the suspicions could not be\nsubstantiated.\n\nConsequently he was removed from his command and appointed by the\nQueen\'s Grace her Lieutenant of Cornwall, a position in which it was\njudged that he could do little mischief. There, soured by this blighting\nof his ambitions, and living a life of comparative seclusion, he turned,\nas so many other men similarly placed have turned, to seek consolation\nin his pen. He wrote his singularly crabbed, narrow and superficial\nHistory of Lord Henry Goade: his own Times--which is a miracle of\ninjuvenations, distortions, misrepresentations, and eccentric spelling.\nIn the eighteen enormous folio volumes, which he filled with his minute\nand gothic characters, he gives his own version of the story of what\nhe terms his downfall, and, having, notwithstanding his prolixity,\nexhausted this subject in the first five of the eighteen tomes, he\nproceeds to deal with so much of the history of his own day as came\nimmediately under his notice in his Cornish retirement.\n\nFor the purposes of English history his chronicles are entirely\nnegligible, which is the reason why they have been allowed to remain\nunpublished and in oblivion. But to the student who attempts to follow\nthe history of that extraordinary man, Sir Oliver Tressilian, they are\nentirely invaluable. And, since I have made this history my present\ntask, it is fitting that I should here at the outset acknowledge my\nextreme indebtedness to those chronicles. Without them, indeed, it were\nimpossible to reconstruct the life of that Cornish gentleman who\nbecame a renegade and a Barbary Corsair and might have become Basha of\nAlgiers--or Argire, as his lordship terms it--but for certain matters\nwhich are to be set forth.\n\nLord Henry wrote with knowledge and authority, and the tale he has to\ntell is very complete and full of precious detail. He was, himself, an\neyewitness of much that happened; he pursued a personal acquaintance\nwith many of those who were connected with Sir Oliver\'s affairs that he\nmight amplify his chronicles, and he considered no scrap of gossip that\nwas to be gleaned along the countryside too trivial to be recorded. I\nsuspect him also of having received no little assistance from Jasper\nLeigh in the matter of those events that happened out of England, which\nseem to me to constitute by far the most interesting portion of his\nnarrative.\n\n R. S.\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n\nPART ONE\n\nSIR OLIVER TRESSILIAN\n\n\nCHAPTER\n\n I. THE HUCKSTER\n\n II. ROSAMUND\n\n III. THE FORGE\n\n IV. THE INTERVENER\n\n V. THE BUCKLER\n\n VI. JASPER LEIGH\n\n VII. TREPANNED\n\n VIII. THE SPANIARD\n\n\n\nPART TWO\n\nSAKR-EL-BAHR\n\n I. THE CAPTIVE\n\n II. THE RENEGADE\n\n III. HOMEWARD BOUND\n\n IV. THE RAID\n\n V. THE LION OF THE FAITH\n\n VI. THE CONVERT\n\n VII. MARZAK-BEN-ASAD\n\n VIII. MOTHER AND SON\n\n IX. COMPETITORS\n\n X. THE SLAVE-MARKET\n\n XI. THE TRUTH\n\n XII. THE SUBTLETY OF FENZILEH\n\n XIII. IN THE SIGHT OF ALLAH\n\n XIV. THE SIGN\n\n XV. THE VOYAGE\n\n XVI. THE PANNIER\n\n XVII. THE DUPE\n\nXVIII. SHEIK MAT\n\n XIX. THE MUTINEERS\n\n XX. THE MESSENGER\n\n XXI. MORITURUS\n\n XXII. THE SURRENDER\n\nXXIII. THE HEATHEN CREED\n\n XXIV. THE JUDGES\n\n XXV. THE ADVOCATE\n\n XXVI. THE JUDGMENT\n\n\n\n\n\nPART I. SIR OLIVER TRESSILIAN\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I. THE HUCKSTER\n\n\nSir Oliver Tressilian sat at his ease in the lofty dining-room of the\nhandsome house of Penarrow, which he owed to the enterprise of his\nfather of lamented and lamentable memory and to the skill and invention\nof an Italian engineer named Bagnolo who had come to England half a\ncentury ago as one of the assistants of the famous Torrigiani.\n\nThis house of such a startlingly singular and Italianate grace for so\nremote a corner of Cornwall deserves, together with the story of its\nconstruction, a word in passing.\n\nThe Italian Bagnolo who combined with his salient artistic talents a\nquarrelsome, volcanic humour had the mischance to kill a man in a brawl\nin a Southwark tavern. As a result he fled the town, nor paused in his\nheadlong flight from the consequences of that murderous deed until he\nhad all but reached the very ends of England. Under what circumstances\nhe became acquainted with Tressilian the elder I do not know. But\ncertain it is that the meeting was a very timely one for both of them.\nTo the fugitive, Ralph Tressilian--who appears to have been inveterately\npartial to the company of rascals of all denominations--afforded\nshelter; and Bagnolo repaid the service by offering to rebuild the\ndecaying half-timbered house of Penarrow. Having taken the task in\nhand he went about it with all the enthusiasm of your true artist, and\nachieved for his protector a residence that was a marvel of grace\nin that crude age and outlandish district. There arose under the\nsupervision of the gifted engineer, worthy associate of Messer\nTorrigiani, a noble two-storied mansion of mellow red brick, flooded\nwith light and sunshine by the enormously tall mullioned windows that\nrose almost from base to summit of each pilastered facade. The main\ndoorway was set in a projecting wing and was overhung by a massive\nbalcony, the whole surmounted by a pillared pediment of extraordinary\ngrace, now partly clad in a green mantle of creepers. Above the burnt\nred tiles of the roof soared massive twisted chimneys in lofty majesty.\n\nBut the glory of Penarrow--that is, of the new Penarrow begotten of the\nfertile brain of Bagnolo--was the garden fashioned out of the tangled\nwilderness about the old house that had crowned the heights above\nPenarrow point. To the labours of Bagnolo, Time and Nature had added\ntheir own. Bagnolo had cut those handsome esplanades, had built\nthose noble balustrades bordering the three terraces with their fine\nconnecting flights of steps; himself he had planned the fountain, and\nwith his own hands had carved the granite faun presiding over it and the\ndozen other statues of nymphs and sylvan gods in a marble that gleamed\nin white brilliance amid the dusky green. But Time and Nature had\nsmoothed the lawns to a velvet surface, had thickened the handsome\nboxwood hedges, and thrust up those black spear-like poplars that\ncompleted the very Italianate appearance of that Cornish demesne.\n\nSir Oliver took his ease in his dining-room considering all this as it\nwas displayed before him in the mellowing September sunshine, and found\nit all very good to see, and life very good to live. Now no man has ever\nbeen known so to find life without some immediate cause, other than that\nof his environment, for his optimism. Sir Oliver had several causes.\nThe first of these--although it was one which he may have been far from\nsuspecting--was his equipment of youth, wealth, and good digestion; the\nsecond was that he had achieved honour and renown both upon the Spanish\nMain and in the late harrying of the Invincible Armada--or, more\naptly perhaps might it be said, in the harrying of the late Invincible\nArmada--and that he had received in that the twenty-fifth year of his\nlife the honour of knighthood from the Virgin Queen; the third and last\ncontributor to his pleasant mood--and I have reserved it for the end as\nI account this to be the proper place for the most important factor--was\nDan Cupid who for once seemed compounded entirely of benignity and who\nhad so contrived matters that Sir Oliver\'s wooing Of Mistress Rosamund\nGodolphin ran an entirely smooth and happy course.\n\nSo, then, Sir Oliver sat at his ease in his tall, carved chair, his\ndoublet untrussed, his long legs stretched before him, a pensive smile\nabout the firm lips that as yet were darkened by no more than a small\nblack line of moustachios. (Lord Henry\'s portrait of him was drawn at\na much later period.) It was noon, and our gentleman had just dined, as\nthe platters, the broken meats and the half-empty flagon on the board\nbeside him testified. He pulled thoughtfully at a long pipe--for he had\nacquired this newly imported habit of tobacco-drinking--and dreamed of\nhis mistress, and was properly and gallantly grateful that fortune had\nused him so handsomely as to enable him to toss a title and some measure\nof renown into his Rosamund\'s lap.\n\nBy nature Sir Oliver was a shrewd fellow (\"cunning as twenty devils,\" is\nmy Lord Henry\'s phrase) and he was also a man of some not inconsiderable\nlearning. Yet neither his natural wit nor his acquired endowments appear\nto have taught him that of all the gods that rule the destinies of\nmankind there is none more ironic and malicious than that same Dan Cupid\nin whose honour, as it were, he was now burning the incense of that pipe\nof his. The ancients knew that innocent-seeming boy for a cruel, impish\nknave, and they mistrusted him. Sir Oliver either did not know or did\nnot heed that sound piece of ancient wisdom. It was to be borne in upon\nhim by grim experience, and even as his light pensive eyes smiled upon\nthe sunshine that flooded the terrace beyond the long mullioned window,\na shadow fell athwart it which he little dreamed to be symbolic of the\nshadow that was even falling across the sunshine of his life.\n\nAfter that shadow came the substance--tall and gay of raiment under a\nbroad black Spanish hat decked with blood-red plumes. Swinging a long\nberibboned cane the figure passed the windows, stalking deliberately as\nFate.\n\nThe smile perished on Sir Oliver\'s lips. His swarthy face grew\nthoughtful, his black brows contracted until no more than a single deep\nfurrow stood between them. Then slowly the smile came forth again, but\nno longer that erstwhile gentle pensive smile. It was transformed into a\nsmile of resolve and determination, a smile that tightened his lips even\nas his brows relaxed, and invested his brooding eyes with a gleam that\nwas mocking, crafty and almost wicked.\n\nCame Nicholas his servant to announce Master Peter Godolphin, and close\nupon the lackey\'s heels came Master Godolphin himself, leaning upon\nhis beribboned cane and carrying his broad Spanish hat. He was a tall,\nslender gentleman, with a shaven, handsome countenance, stamped with\nan air of haughtiness; like Sir Oliver, he had a high-bridged, intrepid\nnose, and in age he was the younger by some two or three years. He wore\nhis auburn hair rather longer than was the mode just then, but in his\napparel there was no more foppishness than is tolerable in a gentleman\nof his years.\n\nSir Oliver rose and bowed from his great height in welcome. But a wave\nof tobacco-smoke took his graceful visitor in the throat and set him\ncoughing and grimacing.\n\n\"I see,\" he choked, \"that ye have acquired that filthy habit.\"\n\n\"I have known filthier,\" said Sir Oliver composedly.\n\n\"I nothing doubt it,\" rejoined Master Godolphin, thus early giving\nindications of his humour and the object of his visit.\n\nSir Oliver checked an answer that must have helped his visitor to his\nends, which was no part of the knight\'s intent.\n\n\"Therefore,\" said he ironically, \"I hope you will be patient with my\nshortcomings. Nick, a chair for Master Godolphin and another cup. I bid\nyou welcome to Penarrow.\"\n\nA sneer flickered over the younger man\'s white face. \"You pay me a\ncompliment, sir, which I fear me \'tis not mine to return to you.\"\n\n\"Time enough for that when I come to seek it,\" said Sir Oliver, with\neasy, if assumed, good humour.\n\n\"When you come to seek it?\"\n\n\"The hospitality of your house,\" Sir Oliver explained.\n\n\"It is on that very matter I am come to talk with you.\"\n\n\"Will you sit?\" Sir Oliver invited him, and spread a hand towards the\nchair which Nicholas had set. In the same gesture he waved the servant\naway.\n\nMaster Godolphin ignored the invitation. \"You were,\" he said, \"at\nGodolphin Court but yesterday, I hear.\" He paused, and as Sir Oliver\noffered no denial, he added stiffly: \"I am come, sir, to inform you that\nthe honour of your visits is one we shall be happy to forgo.\"\n\nIn the effort he made to preserve his self-control before so direct an\naffront Sir Oliver paled a little under his tan.\n\n\"You will understand, Peter,\" he replied slowly, \"that you have said too\nmuch unless you add something more.\" He paused, considering his visitor\na moment. \"I do not know whether Rosamund has told you that yesterday\nshe did me the honour to consent to become my wife....\"\n\n\"She is a child that does not know her mind,\" broke in the other.\n\n\"Do you know of any good reason why she should come to change it?\" asked\nSir Oliver, with a slight air of challenge.\n\nMaster Godolphin sat down, crossed his legs and placed his hat on his\nknee.\n\n\"I know a dozen,\" he answered. \"But I need not urge them. Sufficient\nshould it be to remind you that Rosamund is but seventeen and that she\nis under my guardianship and that of Sir John Killigrew. Neither Sir\nJohn nor I can sanction this betrothal.\"\n\n\"Good lack!\" broke out Sir Oliver. \"Who asks your sanction or Sir\nJohn\'s? By God\'s grace your sister will grow to be a woman soon and\nmistress of herself. I am in no desperate haste to get me wed, and by\nnature--as you may be observing--I am a wondrous patient man. I\'ll even\nwait,\" And he pulled at his pipe.\n\n\"Waiting cannot avail you in this, Sir Oliver. \'Tis best you should\nunderstand. We are resolved, Sir John and I.\"\n\n\"Are you so? God\'s light. Send Sir John to me to tell me of his resolves\nand I\'ll tell him something of mine. Tell him from me, Master Godolphin,\nthat if he will trouble to come as far as Penarrow I\'ll do by him what\nthe hangman should have done long since. I\'ll crop his pimpish ears for\nhim, by this hand!\"\n\n\"Meanwhile,\" said Master Godolphin whettingly, \"will you not essay your\nrover\'s prowess upon me?\"\n\n\"You?\" quoth Sir Oliver, and looked him over with good-humoured\ncontempt. \"I\'m no butcher of fledgelings, my lad. Besides, you are your\nsister\'s brother, and \'tis no aim of mine to increase the obstacles\nalready in my path.\" Then his tone changed. He leaned across the table.\n\"Come, now, Peter. What is at the root of all this matter? Can we not\ncompose such differences as you conceive exist? Out with them. \'Tis\nno matter for Sir John. He\'s a curmudgeon who signifies not a finger\'s\nsnap. But you, \'tis different. You are her brother. Out with your\nplaints, then. Let us be frank and friendly.\"\n\n\"Friendly?\" The other sneered again. \"Our fathers set us an example in\nthat.\"\n\n\"Does it matter what our fathers did? More shame to them if, being\nneighbours, they could not be friends. Shall we follow so deplorable an\nexample?\"\n\n\"You\'ll not impute that the fault lay with my father,\" cried the other,\nwith a show of ready anger.\n\n\"I impute nothing, lad. I cry shame upon them both.\"\n\n\"\'Swounds!\" swore Master Peter. \"Do you malign the dead?\"\n\n\"If I do, I malign them both. But I do not. I no more than condemn a\nfault that both must acknowledge could they return to life.\"\n\n\"Then, Sir, confine your condemnings to your own father with whom no man\nof honour could have lived at peace....\"\n\n\"Softly, softly, good Sir....\"\n\n\"There\'s no call to go softly. Ralph Tressilian was a dishonour, a\nscandal to the countryside. Not a hamlet between here and Truro, or\nbetween here and Helston, but swarms with big Tressilian noses like your\nown, in memory of your debauched parent.\"\n\nSir Oliver\'s eyes grew narrower: he smiled. \"I wonder how you came by\nyour own nose?\" he wondered.\n\nMaster Godolphin got to his feet in a passion, and his chair crashed\nover behind him. \"Sir,\" he blazed, \"you insult my mother\'s memory!\"\n\nSir Oliver laughed. \"I make a little free with it, perhaps, in return\nfor your pleasantries on the score of my father.\"\n\nMaster Godolphin pondered him in speechless anger, then swayed by his\npassion he leaned across the board, raised his long cane and struck Sir\nOliver sharply on the shoulder.\n\nThat done, he strode off magnificently towards the door. Half-way\nthither he paused.\n\n\"I shall expect your friends and the length of your sword,\" said he.\n\nSir Oliver laughed again. \"I don\'t think I shall trouble to send them,\"\nsaid he.\n\nMaster Godolphin wheeled, fully to face him again. \"How? You will take a\nblow?\"\n\nSir Oliver shrugged. \"None saw it given,\" said he.\n\n\"But I shall publish it abroad that I have caned you.\"\n\n\"You\'ll publish yourself a liar if you do; for none will believe you.\"\nThen he changed his tone yet again. \"Come, Peter, we are behaving\nunworthily. As for the blow, I confess that I deserved it. A man\'s\nmother is more sacred than his father. So we may cry quits on that\nscore. Can we not cry quits on all else? What can it profit us to\nperpetuate a foolish quarrel that sprang up between our fathers?\"\n\n\"There is more than that between us,\" answered Master Godolphin. \"I\'ll\nnot have my sister wed a pirate.\"\n\n\"A pirate? God\'s light! I am glad there\'s none to hear you for since her\ngrace has knighted me for my doings upon the seas, your words go very\nnear to treason. Surely, lad, what the Queen approves, Master Peter\nGodolphin may approve and even your mentor Sir John Killigrew. You\'ve\nbeen listening to him. \'Twas he sent you hither.\"\n\n\"I am no man\'s lackey,\" answered the other hotly, resenting the\nimputation--and resenting it the more because of the truth in it.\n\n\"To call me a pirate is to say a foolish thing. Hawkins with whom I\nsailed has also received the accolade, and who dubs us pirates insults\nthe Queen herself. Apart from that, which, as you see, is a very empty\ncharge, what else have you against me? I am, I hope, as good as any\nother here in Cornwall; Rosamund honours me with her affection and I am\nrich and shall be richer still ere the wedding bells are heard.\"\n\n\"Rich with the fruit of thieving upon the seas, rich with the treasures\nof scuttled ships and the price of slaves captured in Africa and sold to\nthe plantations, rich as the vampire is glutted--with the blood of dead\nmen.\"\n\n\"Does Sir John say that?\" asked Sir Oliver, in a soft deadly voice.\n\n\"I say it.\"\n\n\"I heard you; but I am asking where you learnt that pretty lesson. Is\nSir John your preceptor? He is, he is. No need to tell me. I\'ll deal\nwith him. Meanwhile let me disclose to you the pure and disinterested\nsource of Sir John\'s rancour. You shall see what an upright and honest\ngentleman is Sir John, who was your father\'s friend and has been your\nguardian.\"\n\n\"I\'ll not listen to what you say of him.\"\n\n\"Nay, but you shall, in return for having made me listen to what he says\nof me. Sir John desires to obtain a licence to build at the mouth of the\nFal. He hopes to see a town spring up above the haven there under the\nshadow of his own Manor of Arwenack. He represents himself as nobly\ndisinterested and all concerned for the prosperity of the country, and\nhe neglects to mention that the land is his own and that it is his own\nprosperity and that of his family which he is concerned to foster.\nWe met in London by a fortunate chance whilst Sir John was about this\nbusiness at the Court. Now it happens that I, too, have interests in\nTruro and Penryn; but, unlike Sir John, I am honest in the matter, and\nproclaim it. If any growth should take place about Smithick it follows\nfrom its more advantageous situation that Truro and Penryn must suffer,\nand that suits me as little as the other matter would suit Sir John. I\ntold him so, for I can be blunt, and I told the Queen in the form of a\ncounter-petition to Sir John\'s.\" He shrugged. \"The moment was\npropitious to me. I was one of the seamen who had helped to conquer the\nunconquerable Armada of King Philip. I was therefore not to be denied,\nand Sir John was sent home as empty-handed as he went to Court. D\'ye\nmarvel that he hates me? Knowing him for what he is, d\'ye marvel that\nhe dubs me pirate and worse? \'Tis natural enough so to misrepresent my\ndoings upon the sea, since it is those doings have afforded me the\npower to hurt his profit. He has chosen the weapons of calumny for this\ncombat, but those weapons are not mine, as I shall show him this very\nday. If you do not credit what I say, come with me and be present at the\nlittle talk I hope to have with that curmudgeon.\"\n\n\"You forget,\" said Master Godolphin, \"that I, too, have interests in the\nneighbourhood of Smithick, and that you are hurting those.\"\n\n\"Soho!\" crowed Sir Oliver. \"Now at last the sun of truth peeps forth\nfrom all this cloud of righteous indignation at my bad Tressilian blood\nand pirate\'s ways! You, too, are but a trafficker. Now see what a fool I\nam to have believed you sincere, and to have stood here in talk with\nyou as with an honest man.\" His voice swelled and his lip curled in a\ncontempt that struck the other like a blow. \"I swear I had not wasted\nbreath with you had I known you for so mean and pitiful a fellow.\"\n\n\"These words....\" began Master Godolphin, drawing himself up very\nstiffly.\n\n\"Are a deal less than your deserts,\" cut in the other, and he raised his\nvoice to call--\"Nick.\"\n\n\"You shall answer to them,\" snapped his visitor.\n\n\"I am answering now,\" was the stern answer. \"To come here and prate to\nme of my dead father\'s dissoluteness and of an ancient quarrel between\nhim and yours, to bleat of my trumped-up course of piracy and my own\nways of life as a just cause why I may not wed your sister whilst the\nreal consideration in your mind, the real spur to your hostility is not\nmore than the matter of some few paltry pounds a year that I hinder you\nfrom pocketing. A God\'s name get you gone.\"\n\nNick entered at that moment.\n\n\"You shall hear from me again, Sir Oliver,\" said the other, white with\nanger. \"You shall account to me for these words.\"\n\n\"I do not fight with... with hucksters,\" flashed Sir Oliver.\n\n\"D\'ye dare call me that?\"\n\n\"Indeed, \'tis to discredit an honourable class, I confess it. Nick, the\ndoor for Master Godolphin.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II. ROSAMUND\n\n\nAnon, after his visitor had departed, Sir Oliver grew calm again. Then\nbeing able in his calm to consider his position, he became angry anew at\nthe very thought of the rage in which he had been, a rage which had so\nmastered him that he had erected additional obstacles to the already\nconsiderable ones that stood between Rosamund and himself. In full\nblast, his anger swung round and took Sir John Killigrew for its\nobjective. He would settle with him at once. He would so, by Heaven\'s\nlight!\n\nHe bellowed for Nick and his boots.\n\n\"Where is Master Lionel? he asked when the boots had been fetched.\n\n\"He be just ridden in, Sir Oliver.\"\n\n\"Bid him hither.\"\n\nPromptly, in answer to that summons, came Sir Oliver\'s half-brother--a\nslender lad favouring his mother the dissolute Ralph Tressilian\'s second\nwife. He was as unlike Sir Oliver in body as in soul. He was comely in a\nvery gentle, almost womanish way; his complexion was fair and delicate,\nhis hair golden, and his eyes of a deep blue. He had a very charming\nstripling grace--for he was but in his twenty-first year--and he dressed\nwith all the care of a Court-gallant.\n\n\"Has that whelp Godolphin been to visit you?\" he asked as he entered.\n\n\"Aye,\" growled Sir Oliver. \"He came to tell me some things and to hear\nsome others in return.\"\n\n\"Ha. I passed him just beyond the gates, and he was deaf to my greeting.\n\'Tis a most cursed insufferable pup.\"\n\n\"Art a judge of men, Lal.\" Sir Oliver stood up booted. \"I am for\nArwenack to exchange a compliment or two with Sir John.\"\n\nHis tight-pressed lips and resolute air supplemented his words so well\nthat Lionel clutched his arm.\n\n\"You\'re not... you\'re not...?\"\n\n\"I am.\" And affectionately, as if to soothe the lad\'s obvious alarm,\nhe patted his brother\'s shoulder. \"Sir John,\" he explained, \"talks too\nmuch. \'Tis a fault that wants correcting. I go to teach him the virtue\nof silence.\"\n\n\"There will be trouble, Oliver.\"\n\n\"So there will--for him. If a man must be saying of me that I am a\npirate, a slave-dealer, a murderer, and Heaven knows what else, he must\nbe ready for the consequences. But you are late, Lal. Where have you\nbeen?\"\n\n\"I rode as far as Malpas.\"\n\n\"As far as Malpas?\" Sir Oliver\'s eyes narrowed, as was the trick with\nhim. \"I hear it whispered what magnet draws you thither,\" he said. \"Be\nwary, boy. You go too much to Malpas.\"\n\n\"How?\" quoth Lionel a trifle coldly.\n\n\"I mean that you are your father\'s son. Remember it, and strive not to\nfollow in his ways lest they bring you to his own end. I have just been\nreminded of these predilections of his by good Master Peter. Go not over\noften to Malpas, I say. No more.\" But the arm which he flung about\nhis younger brother\'s shoulders and the warmth of his embrace made\nresentment of his warning quite impossible.\n\nWhen he was gone, Lionel sat him down to dine, with Nick to wait on him.\nHe ate but little, and never addressed the old servant in the course\nof that brief repast. He was very pensive. In thought he followed his\nbrother on that avenging visit of his to Arwenack. Killigrew was no\nbabe, but man of his hands, a soldier and a seaman. If any harm should\ncome to Oliver...He trembled at the thought; and then almost despite him\nhis mind ran on to calculate the consequences to himself. His fortune\nwould be in a very different case, he refected. In a sort of horror, he\nsought to put so detestable a reflection from his mind; but it returned\ninsistently. It would not be denied. It forced him to a consideration of\nhis own circumstances.\n\nAll that he had he owed to his brother\'s bounty. That dissolute father\nof theirs had died as such men commonly die, leaving behind him heavily\nencumbered estates and many debts; the very house of Penarrow was\nmortgaged, and the moneys raised on it had been drunk, or gambled, or\nspent on one or another of Ralph Tressilian\'s many lights o\' love. Then\nOliver had sold some little property near Helston, inherited from his\nmother; he had sunk the money into a venture upon the Spanish Main. He\nhad fitted out and manned a ship, and had sailed with Hawkins upon one\nof those ventures, which Sir John Killigrew was perfectly entitled to\naccount pirate raids. He had returned with enough plunder in specie and\ngems to disencumber the Tressilian patrimony. He had sailed again and\nreturned still wealthier. And meanwhile, Lionel had remained at home\ntaking his ease. He loved his ease. His nature was inherently indolent,\nand he had the wasteful extravagant tastes that usually go with\nindolence. He was not born to toil and struggle, and none had sought to\ncorrect the shortcomings of his character in that respect. Sometimes he\nwondered what the future might hold for him should Oliver come to marry.\nHe feared his life might not be as easy as it was at present. But he did\nnot seriously fear. It was not in his nature--it never is in the natures\nof such men--to give any excess of consideration to the future. When\nhis thoughts did turn to it in momentary uneasiness, he would abruptly\ndismiss them with the reflection that when all was said Oliver loved\nhim, and Oliver would never fail to provide adequately for all his\nwants.\n\nIn this undoubtedly he was fully justified. Oliver was more parent than\nbrother to him. When their father had been brought home to die from the\nwound dealt him by an outraged husband--and a shocking spectacle that\nsinner\'s death had been with its hasty terrified repentance--he had\nentrusted Lionel to his elder brother\'s care. At the time Oliver was\nseventeen and Lionel twelve. But Oliver had seemed by so many years\nolder than his age, that the twice-widowed Ralph Tressilian had come\nto depend upon this steady, resolute, and masterful child of his first\nmarriage. It was into his ear that the dying man had poured the wretched\ntale of his repentance for the life he had lived and the state in which\nhe was leaving his affairs with such scant provision for his sons. For\nOliver he had no fear. It was as if with the prescience that comes\nto men in his pass he had perceived that Oliver was of those who must\nprevail, a man born to make the world his oyster. His anxieties were\nall for Lionel, whom he also judged with that same penetrating insight\nvouchsafed a man in his last hours. Hence his piteous recommendation\nof him to Oliver, and Oliver\'s ready promise to be father, mother, and\nbrother to the youngster.\n\nAll this was in Lionel\'s mind as he sat musing there, and again he\nstruggled with that hideous insistent thought that if things should\ngo ill with his brother at Arwenack, there would be great profit to\nhimself; that these things he now enjoyed upon another\'s bounty he\nwould then enjoy in his own right. A devil seemed to mock him with\nthe whispered sneer that were Oliver to die his own grief would not be\nlong-lived. Then in revolt against that voice of an egoism so loathsome\nthat in his better moments it inspired even himself with horror, he\nbethought him of Oliver\'s unvarying, unwavering affection; he pondered\nall the loving care and kindness that through these years past Oliver\nhad ever showered upon him; and he cursed the rottenness of a mind that\ncould even admit such thoughts as those which he had been entertaining.\nSo wrought upon was he by the welter of his emotions, by that fierce\nstrife between his conscience and his egotism, that he came abruptly to\nhis feet, a cry upon his lips.\n\n\"Vade retro, Sathanas!\"\n\nOld Nicholas, looking up abruptly, saw the lad\'s face, waxen, his brow\nbedewed with sweat.\n\n\"Master Lionel! Master Lionel!\" he cried, his small bright eyes\nconcernedly scanning his young master\'s face. \"What be amiss?\"\n\nLionel mopped his brow. \"Sir Oliver has gone to Arwenack upon a punitive\nbusiness,\" said he.\n\n\"An\' what be that, zur?\" quoth Nicholas.\n\n\"He has gone to punish Sir John for having maligned him.\"\n\nA grin spread upon the weather-beaten countenance of Nicholas.\n\n\"Be that so? Marry, \'twere time. Sir John he be over long i\' th\' tongue.\"\n\nLionel stood amazed at the man\'s easy confidence and supreme assurance\nof how his master must acquit himself.\n\n\"You... you have no fear, Nicholas....\" He did not add of what. But the\nservant understood, and his grin grew broader still.\n\n\"Fear? Lackaday! I bain\'t afeeard for Sir Oliver, and doan\'t ee be\nafeeard. Sir Oliver\'ll be home to sup with a sharp-set appetite--\'tis\nthe only difference fighting ever made to he.\"\n\nThe servant was justified of his confidence by the events, though\nthrough a slight error of judgment Sir Oliver did not quite accomplish\nall that promised and intended. In anger, and when he deemed that he had\nbeen affronted, he was--as his chronicler never wearies of insisting,\nand as you shall judge before the end of this tale is reached--of a\ntigerish ruthlessness. He rode to Arwenack fully resolved to kill\nhis calumniator. Nothing less would satisfy him. Arrived at that fine\nembattled castle of the Killigrews which commanded the entrance to the\nestuary of the Fal, and from whose crenels the country might be surveyed\nas far as the Lizard, fifteen miles away, he found Peter Godolphin\nthere before him; and because of Peter\'s presence Sir Oliver was\nmore deliberate and formal in his accusation of Sir John than he had\nintended. He desired, in accusing Sir John, also to clear himself in\nthe eyes of Rosamund\'s brother, to make the latter realize how entirely\nodious were the calumnies which Sir John had permitted himself, and how\nbasely prompted.\n\nSir John, however, came halfway to meet the quarrel. His rancour against\nthe Pirate of Penarrow--as he had come to dub Sir Oliver--endered him\nalmost as eager to engage as was his visitor.\n\nThey found a secluded corner of the deer-park for their business,\nand there Sir John--a slim, sallow gentleman of some thirty years of\nage--made an onslaught with sword and dagger upon Sir Oliver, full\nworthy of the onslaught he had made earlier with his tongue. But his\nimpetuosity availed him less than nothing. Sir Oliver was come there\nwith a certain purpose, and it was his way that he never failed to carry\nthrough a thing to which he set his hand.\n\nIn three minutes it was all over and Sir Oliver was carefully wiping his\nblade, whilst Sir John lay coughing upon the turf tended by white-faced\nPeter Godolphin and a scared groom who had been bidden thither to make\nup the necessary tale of witnesses.\n\nSir Oliver sheathed his weapons and resumed his coat, then came to stand\nover his fallen foe, considering him critically.\n\n\"I think I have silenced him for a little time only,\" he said. \"And I\nconfess that I intended to do better. I hope, however, that the lesson\nwill suffice and that he will lie no more--at least concerning me.\"\n\n\"Do you mock a fallen man?\" was Master Godolphin\'s angry protest.\n\n\"God forbid!\" said Sir Oliver soberly. \"There is no mockery in my heart.\nThere is, believe me, nothing but regret--regret that I should not have\ndone the thing more thoroughly. I will send assistance from the house as\nI go. Give you good day, Master Peter.\"\n\nFrom Arwenack he rode round by Penryn on his homeward way. But he did\nnot go straight home. He paused at the Gates of Godolphin Court, which\nstood above Trefusis Point commanding the view of Carrick Roads. He\nturned in under the old gateway and drew up in the courtyard. Leaping\nto the kidney-stones that paved it, he announced himself a visitor to\nMistress Rosamund.\n\nHe found her in her bower--a light, turreted chamber on the mansion\'s\neastern side, with windows that looked out upon that lovely sheet of\nwater and the wooded slopes beyond. She was sitting with a book in\nher lap in the deep of that tall window when he entered, preceded and\nannounced by Sally Pentreath, who, now her tire-woman, had once been her\nnurse.\n\nShe rose with a little exclamation of gladness when he appeared under\nthe lintel--scarce high enough to admit him without stooping--and stood\nregarding him across the room with brightened eyes and flushing cheeks.\n\nWhat need is there to describe her? In the blaze of notoriety into which\nshe was anon to be thrust by Sir Oliver Tressilian there was scarce a\npoet in England who did not sing the grace and loveliness of Rosamund\nGodolphin, and in all conscience enough of those fragments have\nsurvived. Like her brother she was tawny headed and she was divinely\ntall, though as yet her figure in its girlishness was almost too slender\nfor her height.\n\n\"I had not looked for you so early....\" she was beginning, when\nshe observed that his countenance was oddly stern. \"Why... what\nhas happened?\" she cried, her intuitions clamouring loudly of some\nmischance.\n\n\"Naught to alarm you, sweet; yet something that may vex you.\" He set an\narm about that lissom waist of hers above the swelling farthingale,\nand gently led her back to her chair, then flung himself upon the\nwindow-seat beside her. \"You hold Sir John Killigrew in some affection?\"\nhe said between statement and inquiry.\n\n\"Why, yes. He was our guardian until my brother came of full age.\"\n\nSir Oliver made a wry face. \"Aye, there\'s the rub. Well, I\'ve all but\nkilled him.\"\n\nShe drew back into her chair, recoiling before him, and he saw horror\nleap to her eyes and blench her face. He made haste to explain the\ncauses that had led to this, he told her briefly of the calumnies\nconcerning him that Sir John had put about to vent his spite at having\nbeen thwarted in a matter of his coveted licence to build at Smithick.\n\n\"That mattered little,\" he concluded. \"I knew these tales concerning\nme were abroad, and I held them in the same contempt as I hold their\nutterer. But he went further, Rose: he poisoned your brother\'s mind\nagainst me, and he stirred up in him the slumbering rancour that in my\nfather\'s time was want to lie between our houses. To-day Peter came to\nme with the clear intent to make a quarrel. He affronted me as no man\nhas ever dared.\"\n\nShe cried out at that, her already great alarm redoubled. He smiled.\n\n\"Do not suppose that I could harm him. He is your brother, and, so,\nsacred to me. He came to tell me that no betrothal was possible between\nus, forbade me ever again to visit Godolphin Court, dubbed me pirate and\nvampire to my face and reviled my father\'s memory. I tracked the evil\nof all this to its source in Killigrew, and rode straight to Arwenack to\ndam that source of falsehood for all time. I did not accomplish quite\nso much as I intended. You see, I am frank, my Rose. It may be that Sir\nJohn will live; if so I hope that he may profit by this lesson. I have\ncome straight to you,\" he concluded, \"that you may hear the tale from me\nbefore another comes to malign me with false stories of this happening.\"\n\n\"You... you mean Peter?\" she cried.\n\n\"Alas!\" he sighed.\n\nShe sat very still and white, looking straight before her and not at all\nat Sir Oliver. At length she spoke.\n\n\"I am not skilled in reading men,\" she said in a sad, small voice. \"How\nshould I be, that am but a maid who has led a cloistered life. I was\ntold of you that you were violent and passionate, a man of bitter\nenmities, easily stirred to hatreds, cruel and ruthless in the\npersecution of them.\"\n\n\"You, too, have been listening to Sir John,\" he muttered, and laughed\nshortly.\n\n\"All this was I told,\" she pursued as if he had not spoken, \"and all\ndid I refuse to believe because my heart was given to you. Yet... yet of\nwhat have you made proof to-day?\"\n\n\"Of forbearance,\" said he shortly.\n\n\"Forbearance?\" she echoed, and her lips writhed in a smile of weary\nirony. \"Surely you mock me!\"\n\nHe set himself to explain.\n\n\"I have told you what Sir John had done. I have told you that the\ngreater part of it--and matter all that touched my honour--I know Sir\nJohn to have done long since. Yet I suffered it in silence and contempt.\nWas that to show myself easily stirred to ruthlessness? What was it but\nforbearance? When, however, he carries his petty huckster\'s rancour so\nfar as to seek to choke for me my source of happiness in life and sends\nyour brother to affront me, I am still so forbearing that I recognize\nyour brother to be no more than a tool and go straight to the hand that\nwielded him. Because I know of your affection for Sir John I gave him\nsuch latitude as no man of honour in England would have given him.\"\n\nThen seeing that she still avoided his regard, still sat in that frozen\nattitude of horror at learning that the man she loved had imbrued\nhis hands with the blood of another whom she also loved, his pleading\nquickened to a warmer note. He flung himself upon his knees beside her\nchair, and took in his great sinewy hands the slender fingers which she\nlistlessly surrendered. \"Rose,\" he cried, and his deep voice quivered\nwith intercession, \"dismiss all that you have heard from out your mind.\nConsider only this thing that has befallen. Suppose that Lionel\nmy brother came to you, and that, having some measure of power and\nauthority to support him, he swore to you that you should never wed me,\nswore to prevent this marriage because he deemed you such a woman as\ncould not bear my name with honour to myself; and suppose that to all\nthis he added insult to the memory of your dead father, what answer\nwould you return him? Speak, Rose! Be honest with thyself and me. Deem\nyourself in my place, and say in honesty if you can still condemn me for\nwhat I have done. Say if it differs much from what you would wish to do\nin such a case as I have named.\"\n\nHer eyes scanned now his upturned face, every line of which was pleading\nto her and calling for impartial judgment. Her face grew troubled, and\nthen almost fierce. She set her hands upon his shoulders, and looked\ndeep into his eyes.\n\n\"You swear to me, Noll, that all is as you have told it me--you have\nadded naught, you have altered naught to make the tale more favourable\nto yourself?\"\n\n\"You need such oaths from me?\" he asked, and she saw sorrow spread upon\nhis countenance.\n\n\"If I did I should not love thee, Noll. But in such an hour I need your\nown assurance. Will you not be generous and bear with me, strengthen me\nto withstand anything that may be said hereafter?\"\n\n\"As God\'s my witness, I have told you true in all,\" he answered\nsolemnly.\n\nShe sank her head to his shoulder. She was weeping softly, overwrought\nby this climax to all that in silence and in secret she had suffered\nsince he had come a-wooing her.\n\n\"Then,\" she said, \"I believe you acted rightly. I believe with you that\nno man of honour could have acted otherwise. I must believe you, Noll,\nfor did I not, then I could believe in naught and hope for naught. You\nare as a fire that has seized upon the better part of me and consumed it\nall to ashes that you may hold it in your heart. I am content so you be\ntrue.\"\n\n\"True I shall ever be, sweetheart,\" he whispered fervently. \"Could I be\nless since you are sent to make me so?\"\n\nShe looked at him again, and now she was smiling wistfully through her\ntears.\n\n\"And you will bear with Peter?\" she implored him.\n\n\"He shall have no power to anger me,\" he answered. \"I swear that too. Do\nyou know that but to-day he struck me?\"\n\n\"Struck you? You did not tell me that!\"\n\n\"My quarrel was not with him but with the rogue that sent him. I laughed\nat the blow. Was he not sacred to me?\"\n\n\"He is good at heart, Noll,\" she pursued. \"In time he will come to love\nyou as you deserve, and you will come to know that he, too, deserves\nyour love.\"\n\n\"He deserves it now for the love he bears to you.\"\n\n\"And you will think ever thus during the little while of waiting that\nperforce must lie before us?\"\n\n\"I shall never think otherwise, sweet. Meanwhile I shall avoid him, and\nthat no harm may come should he forbid me Godolphin Court I\'ll even stay\naway. In less than a year you will be of full age, and none may hinder\nyou to come and go. What is a year, with such hope as mine to still\nimpatience?\"\n\nShe stroked his face. \"Art very gentle with me ever, Noll,\" she murmured\nfondly. \"I cannot credit you are ever harsh to any, as they say.\"\n\n\"Heed them not,\" he answered her. \"I may have been something of all\nthat, but you have purified me, Rose. What man that loved you could be\naught but gentle.\" He kissed her, and stood up. \"I had best be going\nnow,\" he said. \"I shall walk along the shore towards Trefusis Point\nto-morrow morning. If you should chance to be similarly disposed....\"\n\nShe laughed, and rose in her turn. \"I shall be there, dear Noll.\"\n\n\"\'Twere best so hereafter,\" he assured her, smiling, and so took his\nleave.\n\nShe followed him to the stair-head, and watched him as he descended\nwith eyes that took pride in the fine upright carriage of that stalwart,\nmasterful lover.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III. THE FORGE\n\n\nSir Oliver\'s wisdom in being the first to bear Rosamund the story\nof that day\'s happenings was established anon when Master Godolphin\nreturned home. He went straight in quest of his sister; and in a frame\nof mind oppressed by fear and sorrow, for Sir John, by his general sense\nof discomfiture at the hands of Sir Oliver and by the anger begotten of\nall this he was harsh in manner and disposed to hector.\n\n\"Madam,\" he announced abruptly, \"Sir John is like to die.\"\n\nThe astounding answer she returned him--that is, astounding to him--did\nnot tend to soothe his sorely ruffled spirit.\n\n\"I know,\" she said. \"And I believe him to deserve no less. Who deals in\ncalumny should be prepared for the wages of it.\"\n\nHe stared at her in a long, furious silence, then exploded into oaths,\nand finally inveighed against her unnaturalness and pronounced her\nbewitched by that foul dog Tressilian.\n\n\"It is fortunate for me,\" she answered him composedly, \"that he was here\nbefore you to give me the truth of this affair.\" Then her assumed calm\nand the anger with which she had met his own all fell away from her.\n\"Oh, Peter, Peter,\" she cried in anguish, \"I hope that Sir John will\nrecover. I am distraught by this event. But be just, I implore you. Sir\nOliver has told me how hard-driven he had been.\"\n\n\"He shall be driven harder yet, as God\'s my life! If you think this deed\nshall go unpunished....\"\n\nShe flung herself upon his breast and implored him to carry this quarrel\nno further. She spoke of her love for Sir Oliver and announced her firm\nresolve to marry him in despite of all opposition that could be made,\nall of which did not tend to soften her brother\'s humour. Yet because of\nthe love that ever had held these two in closest bonds he went so far\nin the end as to say that should Sir John recover he would not himself\npursue the matter further. But if Sir John should die--as was very\nlikely--honour compelled him to seek vengeance of a deed to which he had\nhimself so very largely contributed.\n\n\"I read that man as if he were an open book,\" the boy announced, with\ncallow boastfulness. \"He has the subtlety of Satan, yet he does not\ndelude me. It was at me he struck through Killigrew. Because he desires\nyou, Rosamund, he could not--as he bluntly told me--deal with me however\nI provoked him, not even though I went the length of striking him. He\nmight have killed me for\'t; but he knew that to do so would place a\nbarrier \'twixt him and you. Oh! he is calculating as all the fiends of\nHell. So, to wipe out the dishonour which I did him, he shifts the blame\nof it upon Killigrew and goes out to kill him, which he further thinks\nmay act as a warning to me. But if Killigrew dies....\" And thus he\nrambled on, filling her gentle heart with anguish to see this feud\nincreasing between the two men she loved best in all the world. If the\noutcome of it should be that either were to kill the other, she knew\nthat she could never again look upon the survivor.\n\nShe took heart at last in the memory of Sir Oliver\'s sworn promise that\nher brother\'s life should be inviolate to him, betide what might. She\ntrusted him; she depended upon his word and that rare strength of his\nwhich rendered possible to him a course that no weaker man would dare\npursue. And in this reflection her pride in him increased, and she\nthanked God for a lover who in all things was a giant among men.\n\nBut Sir John Killigrew did not die. He hovered between this world and a\nbetter one for some seven days, at the end of which he began to recover.\nBy October he was abroad again, gaunt and pale, reduced to half the bulk\nthat had been his before, a mere shadow of a man.\n\nOne of his first visits was to Godolphin Court. He went to remonstrate\nwith Rosamund upon her betrothal, and he did so at the request of her\nbrother. But his remonstrances were strangely lacking in the force that\nshe had looked for.\n\nThe odd fact is that in his near approach to death, and with his earthly\ninterest dwindling, Sir John had looked matters frankly in the face,\nand had been driven to the conclusion--a conclusion impossible to him\nin normal health--that he had got no more than he deserved. He realized\nthat he had acted unworthily, if unconscious at the time of the\nunworthiness of what he did; that the weapons with which he had fought\nSir Oliver were not the weapons that become a Gentleman or in which\nthere is credit to be won. He perceived that he had permitted his old\nenmity for the house of Tressilian, swollen by a sense of injury lately\nsuffered in the matter of the licence to build at Smithick, to warp his\njudgment and to persuade him that Sir Oliver was all he had dubbed him.\nHe realized that jealousy, too, had taken a hand in the matter. Sir\nOliver\'s exploits upon the seas had brought him wealth, and with this\nwealth he was building up once more the Tressilian sway in those parts,\nwhich Ralph Tressilian had so outrageously diminished, so that he\nthreatened to eclipse the importance of the Killigrews of Arwenack.\n\nNevertheless, in the hour of reaction he did not go so far as to admit\nthat Sir Oliver Tressilian was a fit mate for Rosamund Godolphin. She\nand her brother had been placed in his care by their late father, and he\nhad nobly discharged his tutelage until such time as Peter had come to\nfull age. His affection for Rosamund was tender as that of a lover,\nbut tempered by a feeling entirely paternal. He went very near to\nworshipping her, and when all was said, when he had cleared his mind\nof all dishonest bias, he still found overmuch to dislike in Oliver\nTressilian, and the notion of his becoming Rosamund\'s husband was\nrepellent.\n\nFirst of all there was that bad Tressilian blood--notoriously bad,\nand never more flagrantly displayed than in the case of the late Ralph\nTressilian. It was impossible that Oliver should have escaped the taint\nof it; nor could Sir John perceive any signs that he had done so. He\ndisplayed the traditional Tressilian turbulence. He was passionate and\nbrutal, and the pirate\'s trade to which he had now set his hand was\nof all trades the one for which he was by nature best equipped. He was\nharsh and overbearing, impatient of correction and prone to trample\nother men\'s feelings underfoot. Was this, he asked himself in all\nhonesty, a mate for Rosamund? Could he entrust her happiness to the care\nof such a man? Assuredly he could not.\n\nTherefore, being whole again, he went to remonstrate with her as he\naccounted it his duty and as Master Peter had besought him. Yet knowing\nthe bias that had been his he was careful to understate rather than to\noverstate his reasons.\n\n\"But, Sir John,\" she protested, \"if every man is to be condemned for the\nsins of his forbears, but few could escape condemnation, and wherever\nshall you find me a husband deserving your approval?\"\n\n\"His father....\" began Sir John.\n\n\"Tell me not of his father, but of himself,\" she interrupted.\n\nHe frowned impatiently--they were sitting in that bower of hers above\nthe river.\n\n\"I was coming to \'t,\" he answered, a thought testily, for these\ninterruptions which made him keep to the point robbed him of his best\narguments. \"However, suffice it that many of his father\'s vicious\nqualities he has inherited, as we see in his ways of life; that he has\nnot inherited others only the future can assure us.\"\n\n\"In other words,\" she mocked him, yet very seriously, \"I am to wait\nuntil he dies of old age to make quite sure that he has no such sins as\nmust render him an unfitting husband?\"\n\n\"No, no,\" he cried. \"Good lack! what a perverseness is thine!\"\n\n\"The perverseness is your own, Sir John. I am but the mirror of it.\"\n\nHe shifted in his chair and grunted. \"Be it so, then,\" he snapped. \"We\nwill deal with the qualities that already he displays.\" And Sir John\nenumerated them.\n\n\"But this is no more than your judgment of him--no more than what you\nthink him.\"\n\n\"\'Tis what all the world thinks him.\"\n\n\"But I shall not marry a man for what others think of him, but for what\nI think of him myself. And in my view you cruelly malign him. I discover\nno such qualities in Sir Oliver.\"\n\n\"\'Tis that you should be spared such a discovery that I am beseeching\nyou not to wed him.\"\n\n\"Yet unless I wed him I shall never make such a discovery; and until I\nmake it I shall ever continue to love him and to desire to wed him. Is\nall my life to be spent so?\" She laughed outright, and came to stand\nbeside him. She put an arm about his neck as she might have put it about\nthe neck of her father, as she had been in the habit of doing any day in\nthese past ten years--and thereby made him feel himself to have reached\nan unconscionable age. With her hand she rubbed his brow.\n\n\"Why, here are wicked wrinkles of ill-humour,\" she cried to him. \"You\nare all undone, and by a woman\'s wit, and you do not like it.\"\n\n\"I am undone by a woman\'s wilfulness, by a woman\'s headstrong resolve\nnot to see.\"\n\n\"You have naught to show me, Sir John.\"\n\n\"Naught? Is all that I have said naught?\"\n\n\"Words are not things; judgments are not facts. You say that he is so,\nand so and so. But when I ask you upon what facts you judge him,\nyour only answer is that you think him to be what you say he is. Your\nthoughts may be honest, Sir John, but your logic is contemptible.\" And\nshe laughed again at his gaping discomfiture. \"Come, now, deal like an\nhonest upright judge, and tell me one act of his--one thing that he has\never done and of which you have sure knowledge--that will bear him out\nto be what you say he is. Now, Sir John!\"\n\nHe looked up at her impatiently. Then, at last he smiled.\n\n\"Rogue!\" he cried--and upon a distant day he was to bethink him of those\nwords. \"If ever he be brought to judgment I can desire him no better\nadvocate than thou.\"\n\nThereupon following up her advantage swiftly, she kissed him. \"Nor could\nI desire him a more honest judge than you.\"\n\nWhat was the poor man to do thereafter? What he did. Live up to her\npronouncement, and go forthwith to visit Sir Oliver and compose their\nquarrel.\n\nThe acknowledgment of his fault was handsomely made, and Sir Oliver\nreceived it in a spirit no less handsome. But when Sir John came to the\nmatter of Mistress Rosamund he was, out of his sense of duty to her,\nless generous. He announced that since he could not bring himself to\nlook upon Sir Oliver as a suitable husband for her, nothing that he had\nnow said must mislead Sir Oliver into supposing him a consenting party\nto any such union.\n\n\"But that,\" he added, \"is not to say that I oppose it. I disapprove,\nbut I stand aside. Until she is of full age her brother will refuse his\nsanction. After that, the matter will concern neither him nor myself.\"\n\n\"I hope,\" said Sir Oliver, \"he will take as wise a view. But whatever\nview he takes will be no matter. For the rest, Sir John, I thank you for\nyour frankness, and I rejoice to know that if I may not count you for my\nfriend, at least I need not reckon you among my enemies.\"\n\nBut if Sir John was thus won round to a neutral attitude, Master Peter\'s\nrancour abated nothing; rather it increased each day, and presently\nthere came another matter to feed it, a matter of which Sir Oliver had\nno suspicion.\n\nHe knew that his brother Lionel rode almost daily to Malpas, and he knew\nthe object of those daily rides. He knew of the lady who kept a sort of\ncourt there for the rustic bucks of Truro, Penryn, and Helston, and he\nknew something of the ill-repute that had attached to her in town--a\nrepute, in fact, which had been the cause of her withdrawal into the\ncountry. He told his brother some frank and ugly truths, concerning her,\nby way of warning him, and therein, for the first time, the twain went\nvery near to quarrelling.\n\nAfter that he mentioned her no more. He knew that in his indolent way\nLionel could be headstrong, and he knew human nature well enough to\nbe convinced that interference here would but set up a breach between\nhimself and his brother without in the least achieving its real object.\nSo Oliver shrugged re-signedly, and held his peace.\n\nThere he left the affair, nor ever spoke again of Malpas and the siren\nwho presided there. And meanwhile the autumn faded into winter, and\nwith the coming of stormy weather Sir Oliver and Rosamund had fewer\nopportunities of meeting. To Godolphin Court he would not go since she\ndid not desire it; and himself he deemed it best to remain away since\notherwise he must risk a quarrel with its master, who had forbidden him\nthe place. In those days he saw Peter Godolphin but little, and on the\nrare occasions when they did meet they passed each other with a very\nmeagre salute.\n\nSir Oliver was entirely happy, and men noticed how gentler were his\naccents, how sunnier had become a countenance that they had known for\nhaughty and forbidding. He waited for his coming happiness with the\nconfidence of an immortal in the future. Patience was all the service\nFate asked of him, and he gave that service blithely, depending upon the\nreward that soon now would be his own. Indeed, the year drew near its\nclose; and ere another winter should come round Penarrow House would own\na mistress. That to him seemed as inevitable as the season itself.\nAnd yet for all his supreme confidence, for all his patience and the\nhappiness he culled from it, there were moments when he seemed oppressed\nby some elusive sense of overhanging doom, by some subconsciousness of\nan evil in the womb of Destiny. Did he challenge his oppression, did he\nseek to translate it into terms of reason, he found nothing upon which\nhis wits could fasten--and he came ever to conclude that it was his very\nhappiness by its excessiveness that was oppressing him, giving him at\ntimes that sense of premonitory weight about the heart as if to check\nits joyous soarings.\n\nOne day, a week from Christmas, he had occasion to ride to Helston on\nsome trifling affair. For half a week a blizzard had whirled about the\ncoast, and he had been kept chafing indoors what time layer upon layer\nof snow was spread upon the countryside. On the fourth day, the storm\nbeing spent, the sun came forth, the skies were swept clear of clouds\nand all the countryside lay robed in a sun-drenched, dazzling whiteness.\nSir Oliver called for his horse and rode forth alone through the crisp\nsnow. He turned homeward very early in the afternoon, but when a couple\nof miles from Helston he found that his horse had cast a shoe. He\ndismounted, and bridle over arm tramped on through the sunlit vale\nbetween the heights of Pendennis and Arwenack, singing as he went. He\ncame thus to Smithick and the door of the forge. About it stood a group\nof fishermen and rustics, for, in the absence of any inn just there,\nthis forge was ever a point of congregation. In addition to the rustics\nand an itinerant merchant with his pack-horses, there were present Sir\nAndrew Flack, the parson from Penryn, and Master Gregory Baine, one of\nthe Justices from the neighbourhood of Truro. Both were well known\nto Sir Oliver, and he stood in friendly gossip with them what time he\nwaited for his horse.\n\nIt was all very unfortunate, from the casting of that shoe to the\nmeeting with those gentlemen; for as Sir Oliver stood there, down the\ngentle slope from Arwenack rode Master Peter Godolphin.\n\nIt was said afterwards by Sir Andrew and Master Baine that Master Peter\nappeared to have been carousing, so flushed was his face, so unnatural\nthe brightness of his eye, so thick his speech and so extravagant and\nfoolish what he said. There can be little doubt that it was so. He was\naddicted to Canary, and so indeed was Sir John Killigrew, and he had\nbeen dining with Sir John. He was of those who turn quarrelsome in\nwine--which is but another way of saying that when the wine was in and\nthe restraint out, his natural humour came uppermost untrammelled. The\nsight of Sir Oliver standing there gave the lad precisely what he needed\nto indulge that evil humour of his, and he may have been quickened\nin his purpose by the presence of those other gentlemen. In his\nhalf-fuddled state of mind he may have recalled that once he had struck\nSir Oliver and Sir Oliver had laughed and told him that none would\nbelieve it.\n\nHe drew rein suddenly as he came abreast of the group, so suddenly that\nhe pulled his horse until it almost sat down like a cat; yet he retained\nhis saddle. Then he came through the snow that was all squelched and\nmudded just about the forge, and leered at Sir Oliver.\n\n\"I am from Arwenack,\" he announced unnecessarily. \"We have been talking\nof you.\"\n\n\"You could have had no better subject of discourse,\" said Sir Oliver,\nsmiling, for all that his eyes were hard and something scared--though\nhis fears did not concern himself.\n\n\"Marry, you are right; you make an engrossing topic--you and your\ndebauched father.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" replied Sir Oliver, \"once already have I deplored your mother\'s\nutter want of discretion.\"\n\nThe words were out of him in a flash under the spur of the gross insult\nflung at him, uttered in the momentary blind rage aroused by that\ninflamed and taunting face above him. No sooner were they sped than he\nrepented them, the more bitterly because they were greeted by a guffaw\nfrom the rustics. He would have given half his fortune in that moment to\nhave recalled them.\n\nMaster Godolphin\'s face had changed as utterly as if he had removed a\nmask. From flushed that it had been it was livid now and the eyes were\nblazing, the mouth twitching. Thus a moment he glowered upon his enemy.\nThen standing in his stirrups he swung aloft his whip.\n\n\"You dog!\" he cried, in a snarling sob. \"You dog!\" And his lash came\ndown and cut a long red wheal across Sir Oliver\'s dark face.\n\nWith cries of dismay and anger the others, the parson, the Justice\nand the rustics got between the pair, for Sir Oliver was looking very\nwicked, and all the world knew him for a man to be feared.\n\n\"Master Godolphin, I cry shame upon you,\" ex-claimed the parson. \"If\nevil comes of this I shall testify to the grossness of your aggression.\nGet you gone from here!\"\n\n\"Go to the devil, sir,\" said Master Godolphin thickly. \"Is my mother\'s\nname to be upon the lips of that bastard? By God, man, the matter rests\nnot here. He shall send his friends to me, or I will horse-whip him\nevery time we meet. You hear, Sir Oliver?\"\n\nSir Oliver made him no reply.\n\n\"You hear?\" he roared. \"There is no Sir John Killigrew this time upon\nwhom you can shift the quarrel. Come you to me and get the punishment of\nwhich that whiplash is but an earnest.\" Then with a thick laugh he drove\nspurs into his horse\'s flanks, so furiously that he all but sent the\nparson and another sprawling.\n\n\"Stay but a little while for me,\" roared Sir Oliver after him. \"You\'ll\nride no more, my drunken fool!\"\n\nAnd in a rage he bellowed for his horse, flinging off the parson and\nMaster Baine, who endeavoured to detain and calm him. He vaulted to\nthe saddle when the nag was brought him, and whirled away in furious\npursuit.\n\nThe parson looked at the Justice and the Justice shrugged, his lips\ntight-pressed.\n\n\"The young fool is drunk,\" said Sir Andrew, shaking his white head.\n\"He\'s in no case to meet his Maker.\"\n\n\"Yet he seems very eager,\" quoth Master Justice Baine. \"I doubt I shall\nhear more of the matter.\" He turned and looked into the forge where the\nbellows now stood idle, the smith himself grimy and aproned in leather\nin the doorway, listening to the rustics account of the happening.\nMaster Baine it seems had a taste for analogies. \"Faith,\" he said, \"the\nplace was excellently well chosen. They have forged here to-day a sword\nwhich it will need blood to temper.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV. THE INTERVENER\n\n\nThe parson had notions of riding after Sir Oliver, and begged Master\nBaine to join him. But the Justice looked down his long nose and opined\nthat no good purpose was to be served; that Tressilians were ever wild\nand bloody men; and that an angry Tressilian was a thing to be avoided.\nSir Andrew, who was far from valorous, thought there might be wisdom in\nthe Justice\'s words, and remembered that he had troubles enough of his\nown with a froward wife without taking up the burdens of others. Master\nGodolphin and Sir Oliver between them, quoth the justice, had got up\nthis storm of theirs. A God\'s name let them settle it, and if in the\nsettling they should cut each other\'s throats haply the countryside\nwould be well rid of a brace of turbulent fellows. The pedlar deemed\nthem a couple of madmen, whose ways were beyond the understanding of a\nsober citizen. The others--the fishermen and the rustics--had not the\nmeans to follow even had they had the will.\n\nThey dispersed to put abroad the news of that short furious quarrel\nand to prophesy that blood would be let in the adjusting of it. This\nprognostication the they based entirely upon their knowledge of the\nshort Tressilian way. But it was a matter in which they were entirely\nwrong. It is true that Sir Oliver went galloping along that road that\nfollows the Penryn river and that he pounded over the bridge in the town\nof Penryn in Master Godolphin\'s wake with murder in his heart. Men who\nsaw him riding wildly thus with the red wheal across his white furious\nface said that he looked a very devil.\n\nHe crossed the bridge at Penryn a half-hour after sunset, as dusk was\nclosing into night, and it may be that the sharp, frosty air had a hand\nin the cooling of his blood. For as he reached the river\'s eastern\nbank he slackened his breakneck pace, even as he slackened the angry\ngalloping of his thoughts. The memory of that oath he had sworn three\nmonths ago to Rosamund smote him like a physical blow. It checked his\npurpose, and, reflecting this, his pace fell to an amble. He shivered to\nthink how near he had gone to wrecking all the happiness that lay ahead\nof him. What was a boy\'s whiplash, that his resentment of it; should\nset all his future life in jeopardy? Even though men should call him\na coward for submitting to it and leaving the insult unavenged, what\nshould that matter? Moreover, upon the body of him who did so proclaim\nhim he could brand the lie of a charge so foolish. Sir Oliver raised\nhis eyes to the deep sapphire dome of heaven where an odd star was\nglittering frostily, and thanked God from a swelling heart that he had\nnot overtaken Peter Godolphin whilst his madness was upon him.\n\nA mile or so below Penryn, he turned up the road that ran down to the\nferry there, and took his way home over the shoulder of the hill with\na slack rein. It was not his usual way. He was wont ever to go round by\nTrefusis Point that he might take a glimpse at the walls of the house\nthat harboured Rosamund and a glance at the window of her bower. But\nto-night he thought the shorter road over the hill would be the safer\nway. If he went by Godolphin Court he might chance to meet Peter again,\nand his past anger warned him against courting such a meeting, warned\nhim to avoid it lest evil should betide. Indeed, so imperious was the\nwarning, and such were his fears of himself after what had just passed,\nthat he resolved to leave Penarrow on the next day. Whither he would go\nhe did not then determine. He might repair to London, and he might even\ngo upon another cruise--an idea which he had lately dismissed under\nRosamund\'s earnest intercession. But it was imperative that he should\nquit the neighbourhood, and place a distance between Peter Godolphin and\nhimself until such time as he might take Rosamund to wife. Eight months\nor so of exile; but what matter? Better so than that he should be driven\ninto some deed that would compel him to spend his whole lifetime apart\nfrom her. He would write, and she would understand and approve when he\ntold her what had passed that day.\n\nThe resolve was firmly implanted in him by the time he reached Penarrow,\nand he felt himself uplifted by it and by the promise it afforded him\nthat thus his future happiness would be assured.\n\nHimself he stabled his horse; for of the two grooms he kept, one had\nby his leave set out yesterday to spend Christmas in Devon with his\nparents, the other had taken a chill and had been ordered to bed that\nvery day by Sir Oliver, who was considerate with those that served him.\nIn the dining-room he found supper spread, and a great log fire blazed\nin the enormous cowled fire-place, diffusing a pleasant warmth through\nthe vast room and flickering ruddily upon the trophies of weapons\nthat adorned the walls, upon the tapestries and the portraits of dead\nTressilians. Hearing his step, old Nicholas entered bearing a great\ncandle-branch which he set upon the table.\n\n\"You\'m late, Sir Oliver,\" said the servant, \"and Master Lionel bain\'t\nhome yet neither.\"\n\nSir Oliver grunted and scowled as he crunched a log and set it sizzling\nunder his wet heel. He thought of Malpas and cursed Lionel\'s folly, as,\nwithout a word, he loosed his cloak and flung it on an oaken coffer\nby the wall where already he had cast his hat. Then he sat down, and\nNicholas came forward to draw off his boots.\n\nWhen that was done and the old servant stood up again, Sir Oliver\nshortly bade him to serve supper.\n\n\"Master Lionel cannot be long now,\" said he. \"And give me to drink,\nNick. \'Tis what I most require.\"\n\n\"I\'ve brewed ee a posset o\' canary sack,\" announced Nicholas; \"there\'m\nno better supping o\' a frosty winter\'s night, Sir Oliver.\"\n\nHe departed to return presently with a black jack that was steaming\nfragrantly. He found his master still in the same attitude, staring at\nthe fire, and frowning darkly. Sir Oliver\'s thoughts were still of his\nbrother and Malpas, and so insistent were they that his own concerns\nwere for the moment quite neglected; he was considering whether it was\nnot his duty, after all, to attempt a word of remonstrance. At length\nhe rose with a sigh and got to table. There he bethought him of his sick\ngroom, and asked Nicholas for news of him. Nicholas reported the fellow\nto be much as he had been, whereupon Sir Oliver took up a cup and\nbrimmed it with the steaming posset.\n\n\"Take him that,\" he said. \"There\'s no better medicine for such an\nailment.\"\n\nOutside fell a clatter of hooves.\n\n\"Here be Master Lionel at last,\" said the servant.\n\n\"No doubt,\" agreed Sir Oliver. \"No need to stay for him. Here is all he\nneeds. Carry that to Tom ere it cools.\"\n\nIt was his object to procure the servant\'s absence when Lionel should\narrive, resolved as he was to greet him with a sound rating for his\nfolly. Reflection had brought him the assurance that this was become\nhis duty in view of his projected absence from Penarrow; and in his\nbrother\'s interest he was determined not to spare him.\n\nHe took a deep draught of the posset, and as he set it down he heard\nLionel\'s step without. Then the door was flung open, and his brother\nstood on the threshold a moment at gaze.\n\nSir Oliver looked round with a scowl, the well-considered reproof\nalready on his lips.\n\n\"So....\" he began, and got no further. The sight that met his eyes drove\nthe ready words from his lips and mind; instead it was with a sharp gasp\nof dismay that he came immediately to his feet. \"Lionel!\"\n\nLionel lurched in, closed the door, and shot home one of its bolts. Then\nhe leaned against it, facing his brother again. He was deathly pale,\nwith great dark stains under his eyes; his ungloved right hand was\npressed to his side, and the fingers of it were all smeared with blood\nthat was still oozing and dripping from between them. Over his yellow\ndoublet on the right side there was a spreading dark stain whose nature\ndid not intrigue Sir Oliver a moment.\n\n\"My God!\" he cried, and ran to his brother. \"What\'s happened, Lal? Who\nhas done this?\"\n\n\"Peter Godolphin,\" came the answer from lips that writhed in a curious\nsmile.\n\nNever a word said Sir Oliver, but he set his teeth and clenched his\nhands until the nails cut into his palms. Then he put an arm about this\nlad he loved above all save one in the whole world, and with anguish in\nhis mind he supported him forward to the fire. There Lionel dropped to\nthe chair that Sir Oliver had lately occupied.\n\n\"What is your hurt, lad? Has it gone deep?\" he asked, in terror almost.\n\n\"\'Tis naught--a flesh wound; but I have lost a mort of blood. I thought\nI should have been drained or ever I got me home.\"\n\nWith fearful speed Sir Oliver drew his dagger and ripped away doublet,\nvest, and shirt, laying bare the lad\'s white flesh. A moment\'s\nexamination, and he breathed more freely.\n\n\"Art a very babe, Lal,\" he cried in his relief. \"To ride without thought\nto stanch so simple a wound, and so lose all this blood--bad Tressilian\nblood though it be.\" He laughed in the immensity of his reaction from\nthat momentary terror. \"Stay thou there whilst I call Nick to help us\ndress this scratch.\"\n\n\"No, no!\" There was note of sudden fear in the lad\'s voice, and his hand\nclutched at his brother\'s sleeve. \"Nick must not know. None must know,\nor I am undone else.\"\n\nSir Oliver stared, bewildered. Lionel smiled again that curious twisted,\nrather frightened smile.\n\n\"I gave better than I took, Noll,\" said he. \"Master Godolphin is as cold\nby now as the snow on which I left him.\"\n\nHis brother\'s sudden start and the fixed stare from out of his slowly\npaling face scared Lionel a little. He observed, almost subconsciously,\nthe dull red wheal that came into prominence as the colour faded out of\nSir Oliver\'s face, yet never thought to ask how it came there. His own\naffairs possessed him too completely.\n\n\"What\'s this?\" quoth Oliver at last, hoarsely.\n\nLionel dropped his eyes, unable longer to meet a glance that was\nbecoming terrible.\n\n\"He would have it,\" he growled almost sullenly, answering the reproach\nthat was written in every line of his brother\'s taut body. \"I had warned\nhim not to cross my path. But to-night I think some madness had seized\nupon him. He affronted me, Noll; he said things which it was beyond\nhuman power to endure, and....\" He shrugged to complete his sentence.\n\n\"Well, well,\" said Oliver in a small voice. \"First let us tend this\nwound of yours.\"\n\n\"Do not call Nick,\" was the other\'s swift admonition. \"Don\'t you see,\nNoll?\" he explained in answer to the inquiry of his brother\'s stare,\n\"don\'t you see that we fought there almost in the dark and without\nwitnesses. It....\" he swallowed, \"it will be called murder, fair\nfight though it was; and should it be discovered that it was I....\" He\nshivered and his glance grew wild; his lips twitched.\n\n\"I see,\" said Oliver, who understood at last, and he added bitterly:\n\"You fool!\"\n\n\"I had no choice,\" protested Lionel. \"He came at me with his drawn\nsword. Indeed, I think he was half-drunk. I warned him of what must\nhappen to the other did either of us fall, but he bade me not concern\nmyself with the fear of any such consequences to himself. He was full\nof foul words of me and you and all whoever bore our name. He struck me\nwith the flat of his blade and threatened to run me through as I stood\nunless I drew to defend myself. What choice had I? I did not mean to\nkill him--as God\'s my witness, I did not, Noll.\"\n\nWithout a word Oliver turned to a side-table, where stood a metal basin\nand ewer. He poured water, then came in the same silence to treat his\nbrother\'s wound. The tale that Lionel told made blame impossible, at\nleast from Oliver. He had but to recall the mood in which he himself\nhad ridden after Peter Godolphin; he had but to remember, that only\nthe consideration of Rosamund--only, indeed, the consideration of his\nfuture--had set a curb upon his own bloodthirsty humour.\n\nWhen he had washed the wound he fetched some table linen from a press\nand ripped it into strips with his dagger; he threaded out one of these\nand made a preliminary crisscross of the threads across the lips of the\nwound--for the blade had gone right through the muscles of the breast,\ngrazing the ribs; these threads would help the formation of a clot.\nThen with the infinite skill and cunning acquired in the course of his\nrovings he proceeded to the bandaging.\n\nThat done, he opened the window and flung out the blood-tinted water.\nThe cloths with which he had mopped the wound and all other similar\nevidences of the treatment he cast upon the fire. He must remove all\ntraces even from the eyes of Nicholas. He had the most implicit trust\nin the old servant\'s fidelity. But the matter was too grave to permit of\nthe slightest risk. He realized fully the justice of Lionel\'s fears that\nhowever fair the fight might have been, a thing done thus in secret must\nbe accounted murder by the law.\n\nBidding Lionel wrap himself in his cloak, Sir Oliver unbarred the door,\nand went upstairs in quest of a fresh shirt and doublet for his brother.\nOn the landing he met Nicholas descending. He held him a moment in\ntalk of the sick man above, and outwardly at least he was now entirely\ncomposed. He dispatched him upstairs again upon a trumped-up errand that\nmust keep him absent for some little time, whilst himself he went to get\nthe things he needed.\n\nHe returned below with them, and when he had assisted his brother into\nfresh garments with as little movement as possible so as not to disturb\nhis dressing of the wound or set it bleeding afresh, he took the\nblood-stained doublet, vest, and shirt which he had ripped and flung\nthem, too, into the great fire.\n\nWhen some moments later Nicholas entered the vast room he found the\nbrothers sitting composedly at table. Had he faced Lionel he would have\nobserved little amiss with him beyond the deep pallor of his face. But\nhe did not even do so much. Lionel sat with his back to the door and\nthe servant\'s advance into the room was checked by Sir Oliver with the\nassurance that they did not require him. Nicholas withdrew again, and\nthe brothers were once more alone.\n\nLionel ate very sparingly. He thirsted and would have emptied the\nmeasure of posset, but that Sir Oliver restrained him, and refused him\nanything but water lest he should contract a fever. Such a sparing meal\nas they made--for neither had much appetite--was made in silence. At\nlast Sir Oliver rose, and with slow, heavy steps, suggestive of his\nhumour, he crossed to the fire-place. He threw fresh logs on the blaze,\nand took from the tall mantelshelf his pipe and a leaden jar of tobacco.\nHe filled the pipe pensively, then with the short iron tongs seized a\nfragment of glowing wood and applied it to the herb.\n\nHe returned to the table, and standing over his brother, he broke at\nlast the silence that had now endured some time.\n\n\"What,\" he asked gruffly, \"was the cause of your quarrel?\"\n\nLionel started and shrank a little; between finger and thumb he kneaded\na fragment of bread, his eyes upon it. \"I scarce know,\" he replied.\n\n\"Lal, that is not the truth.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"\'Tis not the truth. I am not to be put off with such an answer.\nYourself you said that you had warned him not to cross your path. What\npath was in your mind?\"\n\nLionel leaned his elbows on the table and took his head in his hands.\nWeak from loss of blood, overwrought mentally as well, in a state of\nrevulsion and reaction also from the pursuit which had been the cause of\nto-night\'s tragic affair, he had not strength to withhold the confidence\nhis brother asked. On the contrary, it seemed to him that in making such\na confidence, he would find a haven and refuge in Sir Oliver.\n\n\"\'Twas that wanton at Malpas was the cause of all,\" he complained. And\nSir Oliver\'s eye flashed at the words. \"I deemed her quite other; I was\na fool, a fool! I\"--he choked, and a sob shook him--\"I thought she loved\nme. I would have married her, I would so, by God.\"\n\nSir Oliver swore softly under his breath.\n\n\"I believed her pure and good, and....\" He checked. \"After all, who am I\nto say even now that she was not? \'Twas no fault of hers. \'Twas he,\nthat foul dog Godolphin, who perverted her. Until he came all was well\nbetween us. And then....\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Sir Oliver quietly. \"I think you have something for which\nto thank him, if he revealed to you the truth of that strumpet\'s nature.\nI would have warned thee, lad. But... Perhaps I have been weak in that.\"\n\n\"It was not so; it was not she....\"\n\n\"I say it was, and if I say so I am to be believed, Lionel. I\'d smirch\nno woman\'s reputation without just cause. Be very sure of that.\"\n\nLionel stared up at him. \"O God!\" he cried presently, \"I know not what\nto believe. I am a shuttle-cock flung this way and that way.\"\n\n\"Believe me,\" said Sir Oliver grimly. \"And set all doubts to rest.\" Then\nhe smiled. \"So that was the virtuous Master Peter\'s secret pastime, eh?\nThe hypocrisy of man! There is no plumbing the endless depths of it!\"\n\nHe laughed outright, remembering all the things that Master Peter had\nsaid of Ralph Tressilian--delivering himself as though he were some\nchaste and self-denying anchorite. Then on that laugh he caught his\nbreath quite suddenly. \"Would she know?\" he asked fearfully. \"Would that\nharlot know, would she suspect that \'twas your hand did this?\"\n\n\"Aye--would she,\" replied the other. \"I told her to-night, when she\nflouted me and spoke of him, that I went straight to find him and pay\nthe score between us. I was on my way to Godolphin Court when I came\nupon him in the park.\"\n\n\"Then you lied to me again, Lionel. For you said \'twas he attacked you.\"\n\n\"And so he did.\" Lionel countered instantly. \"He never gave me time\nto speak, but flung down from his horse and came at me snarling like\na cross-grained mongrel. Oh, he was as ready for the fight as I--as\neager.\"\n\n\"But the woman at Malpas knows,\" said Sir Oliver gloomily. \"And if she\ntells....\"\n\n\"She\'ll not,\" cried Lionel. \"She dare not for her reputation\'s sake.\"\n\n\"Indeed, I think you are right,\" agreed his brother with relief. \"She\ndare not for other reasons, when I come to think of it. Her reputation\nis already such, and so well detested is she that were it known she had\nbeen the cause, however indirect, of this, the countryside would satisfy\ncertain longings that it entertains concerning her. You are sure none\nsaw you either going or returning?\"\n\n\"None.\"\n\nSir Oliver strode the length of the room and back, pulling at his pipe.\n\"All should be well, then, I think,\" said he at last. \"You were best\nabed. I\'ll carry you thither.\"\n\nHe took up his stripling brother in his powerful arms and bore him\nupstairs as though he were a babe.\n\nWhen he had seen him safely disposed for slumber, he returned below,\nshut the door in the hall, drew up the great oaken chair to the fire,\nand sat there far into the night smoking and thinking.\n\nHe had said to Lionel that all should be well. All should be well for\nLionel. But what of himself with the burden of this secret on his soul?\nWere the victim another than Rosamund\'s brother the matter would have\nplagued him but little. The fact that Godolphin was slain, it must be\nconfessed, was not in itself the source of his oppression. Godolphin had\nmore than deserved his end, and he would have come by it months ago at\nSir Oliver\'s own hand but for the fact that he was Rosamund\'s brother,\nas we know. There was the rub, the bitter, cruel rub. Her own brother\nhad fallen by the hand of his. She loved her brother more than any\nliving being next to himself, just as he loved Lionel above any other\nbut herself. The pain that must be hers he knew; he experienced some of\nit in anticipation, participating it because it was hers and because all\nthings that were hers he must account in some measure his own.\n\nHe rose up at last, cursing that wanton at Malpas who had come to fling\nthis fresh and terrible difficulty where already he had to face so many.\nHe stood leaning upon the overmantel, his foot upon one of the dogs\nof the fender, and considered what to do. He must bear his burden in\nsilence, that was all. He must keep this secret even from Rosamund. It\nsplit his heart to think that he must practise this deceit with her. But\nnaught else was possible short of relinquishing her, and that was far\nbeyond his strength.\n\nThe resolve adopted, he took up a taper and went off to bed.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V. THE BUCKLER\n\n\nIt was old Nicholas who brought the news next morning to the brothers as\nthey were breaking their fast.\n\nLionel should have kept his bed that day, but dared not, lest the fact\nshould arouse suspicion. He had a little fever, the natural result both\nof his wound and of his loss of blood; he was inclined to welcome rather\nthan deplore it, since it set a flush on cheeks that otherwise must have\nlooked too pale.\n\nSo leaning upon his brother\'s arm he came down to a breakfast of\nherrings and small ale before the tardy sun of that December morning was\nwell risen.\n\nNicholas burst in upon them with a white face and shaking limbs. He\ngasped out his tale of the event in a voice of terror, and both brothers\naffected to be shocked, dismayed and incredulous. But the worst part of\nthat old man\'s news, the true cause of his terrible agitation, was yet\nto be announced.\n\n\"And they do zay,\" he cried with anger quivering through his fear, \"they\ndo zay that it were you that killed he, Sir Oliver.\"\n\n\"I?\" quoth Sir Oliver, staring, and suddenly like a flood there burst\nupon his mind a hundred reasons overlooked until this moment, that\ninevitably must urge the countryside to this conclusion, and to this\nconclusion only. \"Where heard you that foul lie?\"\n\nIn the tumult of his mind he never heeded what answer was returned by\nNicholas. What could it matter where the fellow had heard the thing; by\nnow it would be the accusation on the lips of every man. There was one\ncourse to take and he must take it instantly--as he had taken it once\nbefore in like case. He must straight to Rosamund to forestall the\ntale that others would carry to her. God send he did not come too late\nalready.\n\nHe stayed for no more than to get his boots and hat, then to the stables\nfor a horse, and he was away over the short mile that divided Penarrow\nfrom Godolphin Court, going by bridle and track meadow straight to his\ngoal. He met none until he fetched up in the courtyard at Godolphin\nCourt. Thence a babble of excited voices had reached him as he\napproached. But at sight of him there fell a general silence, ominous\nand staring. A dozen men or more were assembled there, and their eyes\nconsidered him first with amazement and curiosity, then with sullen\nanger.\n\nHe leapt down from his saddle, and stood a moment waiting for one of\nthe three Godolphin grooms he had perceived in that assembly to take his\nreins. Seeing that none stirred--\n\n\"How now?\" he cried. \"Does no one wait here? Hither, sirrah, and hold my\nhorse.\"\n\nThe groom addressed hesitated a moment, then, under the stare of Sir\nOliver\'s hard, commanding eye, he shuffled sullenly forward to do as\nhe was bid. A murmur ran through the group. Sir Oliver flashed a glance\nupon it, and every tongue trembled into silence.\n\nIn that silence he strode up the steps, and entered the rush-strewn\nhall. As he vanished he heard the hubbub behind him break out anew,\nfiercer than it had been before. But he nothing heeded it.\n\nHe found himself face to face with a servant, who shrank before him,\nstaring as those in the courtyard had stared. His heart sank. It was\nplain that he came a little late already; that the tale had got there\nahead of him.\n\n\"Where is your mistress?\" said he.\n\n\"I...I will tell her you are here, Sir Oliver,\" the man replied in a\nvoice that faltered; and he passed through a doorway on the right. Sir\nOliver stood a moment tapping his boots with his whip, his face pale, a\ndeep line between his brows. Then the man reappeared, closing the door\nafter him.\n\n\"Mistress Rosamund bids you depart, sir. She will not see you.\"\n\nA moment Sir Oliver scanned the servant\'s face--or appeared to scan it,\nfor it is doubtful if he saw the fellow at all. Then for only answer\nhe strode forward towards the door from which the man had issued. The\nservant set his back to it, his face resolute.\n\n\"Sir Oliver, my mistress will not see you.\"\n\n\"Out of my way!\" he muttered in his angry, contemptuous fashion, and as\nthe man persistent in his duty stood his ground, Sir Oliver took him by\nthe breast of his jacket, heaved him aside and went in.\n\nShe was standing in mid-apartment, dressed by an odd irony all in bridal\nwhite, that yet was not as white as was her face. Her eyes looked\nlike two black stains, solemn and haunting as they fastened up on this\nintruder who would not be refused. Her lips parted, but she had no word\nfor him. She just stared in a horror that routed all his audacity and\nchecked the masterfulness of his advance. At last he spoke.\n\n\"I see that you have heard,\" said he, \"the lie that runs the\ncountryside. That is evil enough. But I see that you have lent an ear to\nit; and that is worse.\"\n\nShe continued to regard him with a cold look of loathing, this child\nthat but two days ago had lain against his heart gazing up at him in\ntrust and adoration.\n\n\"Rosamund!\" he cried, and approached her by another step. \"Rosamund! I\nam here to tell you that it is a lie.\"\n\n\"You had best go,\" she said, and her voice had in it a quality that made\nhim tremble.\n\n\"Go?\" he echoed stupidly. \"You bid me go? You will not hear me?\"\n\n\"I consented to hear you more than once; refused to hear others who knew\nbetter than I, and was heedless of their warnings. There is no more to\nbe said between us. I pray God that they may take and hang you.\"\n\nHe was white to the lips, and for the first time in his life he knew\nfear and felt his great limbs trembling under him.\n\n\"They may hang me and welcome since you believe this thing. They could\nnot hurt me more than you are doing, nor by hanging me could they\ndeprive me of aught I value, since your faith in me is a thing to be\nblown upon by the first rumour of the countryside.\"\n\nHe saw the pale lips twist themselves into a dreadful smile. \"There is\nmore than rumour, I think,\" said she. \"There is more than all your lies\nwill ever serve to cloak.\"\n\n\"My lies?\" he cried. \"Rosamund, I swear to you by my honour that I have\nhad no hand in the slaying of Peter. May God rot me where I stand if\nthis be not true!\"\n\n\"It seems,\" said a harsh voice behind him, \"that you fear God as little\nas aught else.\"\n\nHe wheeled sharply to confront Sir John Killigrew, who had entered after\nhim.\n\n\"So,\" he said slowly, and his eyes grew hard and bright as agates, \"this\nis your work.\" And he waved a hand towards Rosamund. It was plain to\nwhat he alluded.\n\n\"My work?\" quoth Sir John. He closed the door, and advanced into the\nroom. \"Sir, it seems your audacity, your shamelessness, transcends all\nbounds. Your....\"\n\n\"Have done with that,\" Sir Oliver interrupted him and smote his great\nfist upon the table. He was suddenly swept by a gust of passion. \"Leave\nwords to fools, Sir John, and criticisms to those that can defend them\nbetter.\"\n\n\"Aye, you talk like a man of blood. You come hectoring it here in the\nvery house of the dead--in the very house upon which you have cast this\nblight of sorrow and murder....\"\n\n\"Have done, I say, or murder there will be!\"\n\nHis voice was a roar, his mien terrific. And bold man though Sir John\nwas, he recoiled. Instantly Sir Oliver had conquered himself again. He\nswung to Rosamund. \"Ah, forgive me!\" he pleaded. \"I am mad--stark mad\nwith anguish at the thing imputed. I have not loved your brother, it\nis true. But as I swore to you, so have I done. I have taken blows from\nhim, and smiled; but yesterday in a public place he affronted me, lashed\nme across the face with his riding-whip, as I still bear the mark. The\nman who says I were not justified in having killed him for it is a liar\nand a hypocrite. Yet the thought of you, Rosamund, the thought that he\nwas your brother sufficed to quench the rage in which he left me. And\nnow that by some grim mischance he has met his death, my recompense for\nall my patience, for all my thought for you is that I am charged with\nslaying him, and that you believe this charge.\"\n\n\"She has no choice,\" rasped Killigrew.\n\n\"Sir John,\" he cried, \"I pray you do not meddle with her choice. That\nyou believe it, marks you for a fool, and a fool\'s counsel is a rotten\nstaff to lean upon at any time. Why God o\' mercy! assume that I desired\nto take satisfaction for the affront he had put upon me; do you know so\nlittle of men, and of me of all men, that you suppose I should go about\nmy vengeance in this hole-and-corner fashion to set a hangman\'s noose\nabout my neck. A fine vengeance that, as God lives! Was it so I dealt\nwith you, Sir John, when you permitted your tongue to wag too freely,\nas you have yourself confessed? Heaven\'s light, man; take a proper\nview; consider was this matter likely. I take it you are a more fearsome\nantagonist than was ever poor Peter Godolphin, yet when I sought\nsatisfaction of you I sought it boldly and openly, as is my way. When we\nmeasured swords in your park at Arwenack we did so before witnesses in\nproper form, that the survivor might not be troubled with the Justices.\nYou know me well, and what manner of man I am with my weapons. Should I\nnot have done the like by Peter if I had sought his life? Should I\nnot have sought it in the same open fashion, and so killed him at my\npleasure and leisure, and without risk or reproach from any?\"\n\nSir John was stricken thoughtful. Here was logic hard and clear as ice;\nand the knight of Arwenack was no fool. But whilst he stood frowning and\nperplexed at the end of that long tirade, it was Rosamund who gave Sir\nOliver his answer.\n\n\"You ran no risk of reproach from any, do you say?\"\n\nHe turned, and was abashed. He knew the thought that was running in her\nmind.\n\n\"You mean,\" he said slowly, gently, his accents charged with reproachful\nincredulity, \"that I am so base and false that I could in this fashion\ndo what I dared not for your sake do openly? \'Tis what you mean.\nRosamund! I burn with shame for you that you can think such thoughts of\none whom... whom you professed to love.\"\n\nHer coldness fell from her. Under the lash of his bitter, half-scornful\naccents, her anger mounted, whelming for a moment even her anguish in\nher brother\'s death.\n\n\"You false deceiver!\" she cried. \"There are those who heard you vow his\ndeath. Your very words have been reported to me. And from where he lay\nthey found a trail of blood upon the snow that ran to your own door.\nWill you still lie?\"\n\nThey saw the colour leave his face. They saw his arms drop limply to his\nsides, and his eyes dilate with obvious sudden fear.\n\n\"A... a trail of blood?\" he faltered stupidly.\n\n\"Aye, answer that!\" cut in Sir John, fetched suddenly from out his\ndoubts by that reminder.\n\nSir Oliver turned upon Killigrew again. The knight\'s words restored to\nhim the courage of which Rosamund\'s had bereft him. With a man he could\nfight; with a man there was no need to mince his words.\n\n\"I cannot answer it,\" he said, but very firmly, in a tone that brushed\naside all implications. \"If you say it was so, so it must have been. Yet\nwhen all is said, what does it prove? Does it set it beyond doubt that\nit was I who killed him? Does it justify the woman who loved me to\nbelieve me a murderer and something worse?\" He paused, and looked at her\nagain, a world of reproach in his glance. She had sunk to a chair, and\nrocked there, her fingers locking and interlocking, her face a mask of\npain unutterable.\n\n\"Can you suggest what else it proves, sir?\" quoth Sir John, and there\nwas doubt in his voice.\n\nSir Oliver caught the note of it, and a sob broke from him.\n\n\"O God of pity!\" he cried out. \"There is doubt in your voice, and\nthere is none in hers. You were my enemy once, and have since been in a\nmistrustful truce with me, yet you can doubt that I did this thing. But\nshe... she who loved me has no room for any doubt!\"\n\n\"Sir Oliver,\" she answered him, \"the thing you have done has broken\nquite my heart. Yet knowing all the taunts by which you were brought to\nsuch a deed I could have forgiven it, I think, even though I could\nno longer be your wife; I could have forgiven it, I say, but for the\nbaseness of your present denial.\"\n\nHe looked at her, white-faced an instant, then turned on his heel and\nmade for the door. There he paused.\n\n\"Your meaning is quite plain,\" said he. \"It is your wish that I shall\ntake my trial for this deed.\" He laughed. \"Who will accuse me to the\nJustices? Will you, Sir John?\"\n\n\"If Mistress Rosamund so desires me,\" replied the knight.\n\n\"Ha! Be it so. But do not think I am the man to suffer myself to be sent\nto the gallows upon such paltry evidence as satisfies that lady. If any\naccuser comes to bleat of a trail of blood reaching to my door, and of\ncertain words I spoke yesterday in anger, I will take my trial--but it\nshall be trial by battle upon the body of my accuser. That is my right,\nand I will have every ounce of it. Do you doubt how God will pronounce?\nI call upon him solemnly to pronounce between me and such an one. If I\nam guilty of this thing may He wither my arm when I enter the lists.\"\n\n\"Myself I will accuse you,\" came Rosamund\'s dull voice. \"And if you\nwill, you may claim your rights against me and butcher me as you\nbutchered him.\"\n\n\"God forgive you, Rosamund!\" said Sir Oliver, and went out.\n\nHe returned home with hell in his heart. He knew not what the future\nmight hold in store for him; but such was his resentment against\nRosamund that there was no room in his bosom for despair. They should\nnot hang him. He would fight them tooth and claw, and yet Lionel should\nnot suffer. He would take care of that. And then the thought of Lionel\nchanged his mood a little. How easily could he have shattered their\naccusation, how easily have brought her to her proud knees imploring\npardon of him! By a word he could have done it, yet he feared lest that\nword must jeopardize his brother.\n\nIn the calm, still watches of that night, as he lay sleepless upon his\nbed and saw things without heat, there crept a change into his\nmental attitude. He reviewed all the evidence that had led her to her\nconclusions, and he was forced to confess that she was in some measure\njustified of them. If she had wronged him, he had wronged her yet more.\nFor years she had listened to all the poisonous things that were said\nof him by his enemies--and his arrogance had made him not a few. She had\ndisregarded all because she loved him; her relations with her brother\nhad become strained on that account, yet now, all this returned to crush\nher; repentance played its part in her cruel belief that it was by his\nhand Peter Godolphin had fallen. It must almost seem to her that in a\nsense she had been a party to his murder by the headstrong course to\nwhich she had kept in loving the man her brother hated.\n\nHe saw it now, and was more merciful in judging her. She had been more\nthan human if she had not felt as he now saw that she must feel, and\nsince reactions are to be measured by the mental exaltations from which\nthey spring, so was it but natural that now she must hate him fiercely\nwhom she had loved wellnigh as fiercely.\n\nIt was a heavy cross to bear. Yet for Lionel\'s sake he must bear it with\nwhat fortitude he could. Lionel must not be sacrificed to his egoism for\na deed that in Lionel he could not account other than justified. He were\nbase indeed did he so much as contemplate such a way of escape as that.\n\nBut if he did not contemplate it, Lionel did, and went in terror during\nthose days, a terror that kept him from sleep and so fostered the fever\nin him that on the second day after that grim affair he had the look of\na ghost, hollow-eyed and gaunt. Sir Oliver remonstrated with him and in\nsuch terms as to put heart into him anew. Moreover, there was other news\nthat day to allay his terrors: the Justices, at Truro had been informed\nof the event and the accusation that was made; but they had refused\npoint-blank to take action in the matter. The reason of it was that one\nof them was that same Master Anthony Baine who had witnessed the affront\noffered Sir Oliver. He declared that whatever had happened to Master\nGodolphin as a consequence was no more than he deserved, no more than\nhe had brought upon himself, and he gave it as his decision that his\nconscience as a man of honour would not permit him to issue any warrant\nto the constable.\n\nSir Oliver received this news from that other witness, the parson, who\nhimself had suffered such rudeness at Godolphin\'s hands, and who, man of\nthe Gospel and of peace though he was, entirely supported the Justice\'s\ndecision--or so he declared.\n\nSir Oliver thanked him, protesting that it was kind in him and in Master\nBaine to take such a view, but for the rest avowing that he had had no\nhand in the affair, however much appearances might point to him.\n\nWhen, however, it came to his knowledge two days later that the whole\ncountryside was in a ferment against Master Baine as a consequence\nof the attitude he had taken up, Sir Oliver summoned the parson and\nstraightway rode with him to the Justice\'s house at Truro, there to\nafford certain evidence which he had withheld from Rosamund and Sir John\nKilligrew.\n\n\"Master Baine,\" he said, when the three of them were closeted in that\ngentleman\'s library, \"I have heard of the just and gallant pronouncement\nyou have made, and I am come to thank you and to express my admiration\nof your courage.\"\n\nMaster Baine bowed gravely. He was a man whom Nature had made grave.\n\n\"But since I would not that any evil consequences might attend your\naction, I am come to lay proof before you that you have acted more\nrightly even than you think, and that I am not the slayer.\"\n\n\"You are not?\" ejaculated Master Baine in amazement.\n\n\"Oh, I assure you I use no subterfuge with you, as you shall judge. I\nhave proof to show you, as I say; and I am come to do so now before time\nmight render it impossible. I do not desire it to be made public just\nyet, Master Baine; but I wish you to draw up some such document as\nwould satisfy the courts at any future time should this matter be taken\nfurther, as well it may.\"\n\nIt was a shrewd plea. The proof that was not upon himself was upon\nLionel; but time would efface it, and if anon publication were made\nof what he was now about to show, it would then be too late to look\nelsewhere.\n\n\"I assure you, Sir Oliver, that had you killed him after what happened I\ncould not hold you guilty of having done more than punish a boorish and\narrogant offender.\"\n\n\"I know sir. But it was not so. One of the pieces of evidence against\nme--indeed the chief item--is that from Godolphin\'s body to my door\nthere was a trail of blood.\"\n\nThe other two grew tensely interested. The parson watched him with\nunblinking eyes.\n\n\"Now it follows logically, I think, inevitably indeed, that the murderer\nmust have been wounded in the encounter. The blood could not possibly\nhave been the victim\'s, therefore it must have been the slayer\'s.\nThat the slayer was wounded indeed we know, since there was blood upon\nGodolphin\'s sword. Now, Master Baine, and you, Sir Andrew, shall be\nwitnesses that there is upon my body not so much as a scratch of recent\ndate. I will strip me here as naked as when first I had the mischance\nto stray into this world, and you shall satisfy yourselves of that.\nThereafter I shall beg you, Master Baine, to indite the document I have\nmentioned.\" And he removed his doublet as he spoke. \"But since I will\nnot give these louts who accuse me so much satisfaction, lest I seem\nto go in fear of them, I must beg, sirs, that you will keep this matter\nentirely private until such time as its publication may be rendered\nnecessary by events.\"\n\nThey saw the reasonableness of his proposal, and they consented, still\nentirely sceptical. But when they had made their examination they were\nutterly dumbfounded to find all their notions entirely overset. Master\nBaine, of course, drew up the required document, and signed and sealed\nit, whilst Sir Andrew added his own signature and seal as witness\nthereunto.\n\nWith this parchment that should be his buckler against any future need,\nSir Oliver rode home, uplifted. For once it were safe to do so, that\nparchment should be spread before the eyes of Sir John Killigrew and\nRosamund, and all might yet be well.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI. JASPER LEIGH\n\n\nIf that Christmas was one of sorrow at Godolphin Court, it was nothing\nless at Penarrow.\n\nSir Oliver was moody and silent in those days, given to sit for long\nhours staring into the heart of the fire and repeating to himself again\nand again every word of his interview with Rosamund, now in a mood of\nbitter resentment against her for having so readily believed his guilt,\nnow in a gentler sorrowing humour which made full allowance for the\nstrength of the appearances against him.\n\nHis half-brother moved softly about the house now in a sort of\nself-effacement, never daring to intrude upon Sir Oliver\'s abstractions.\nHe was well acquainted with their cause. He knew what had happened at\nGodolphin Court, knew that Rosamund had dismissed Sir Oliver for all\ntime, and his heart smote him to think that he should leave his brother\nto bear this burden that rightly belonged to his own shoulders.\n\nThe thing preyed so much upon his mind that in an expansive moment one\nevening he gave it tongue.\n\n\"Noll,\" he said, standing beside his brother\'s chair in the firelit\ngloom, and resting a hand upon his brother\'s shoulder, \"were it not best\nto tell the truth?\"\n\nSir Oliver looked up quickly, frowning. \"Art mad?\" quoth he. \"The truth\nwould hang thee, Lal.\"\n\n\"It might not. And in any case you are suffering something worse than\nhanging. Oh, I have watched you every hour this past week, and I know\nthe pain that abides in you. It is not just.\" And he insisted--\"We had\nbest tell the truth.\"\n\nSir Oliver smiled wistfully. He put out a hand and took his brother\'s.\n\n\"\'Tis noble in you to propose it, Lal.\"\n\n\"Not half so noble as it is in you to bear all the suffering for a deed\nthat was my own.\"\n\n\"Bah!\" Sir Oliver shrugged impatiently; his glance fell away from\nLionel\'s face and returned to the consideration of the fire. \"After\nall, I can throw off the burden when I will. Such knowledge as that will\nenhearten a man through any trial.\"\n\nHe had spoken in a harsh, cynical tone, and Lionel had turned cold at\nhis words. He stood a long while in silence there, turning them over in\nhis mind and considering the riddle which they presented him. He thought\nof asking his brother bluntly for the key to it, for the precise meaning\nof his disconcerting statement, but courage failed him. He feared lest\nSir Oliver should confirm his own dread interpretation of it.\n\nHe drew away after a time, and soon after went to bed. For days\nthereafter the phrase rankled in his mind--\"I can throw off the burden\nwhen I will.\" Conviction grew upon him that Sir Oliver meant that he\nwas enheartened by the knowledge that by speaking if he choose he\ncould clear himself. That Sir Oliver would so speak he could not think.\nIndeed, he was entirely assured that Sir Oliver was very far from\nintending to throw off his burden. Yet he might come to change his\nmind. The burden might grow too heavy, his longings for Rosamund too\nclamorous, his grief at being in her eyes her brother\'s murderer too\noverwhelming.\n\nLionel\'s soul shuddered to contemplate the consequences to himself. His\nfears were self-revelatory. He realized how far from sincere had been\nhis proposal that they should tell the truth; he perceived that it had\nbeen no more than the emotional outburst of the moment, a proposal\nwhich if accepted he must most bitterly have repented. And then came the\nreflection that if he were guilty of emotional outbursts that could\nso outrageously play the traitor to his real desires, were not all men\nsubject to the same? Might not his brother, too, come to fall a prey\nto one of those moments of mental storm when in a climax of despair he\nwould find his burden altogether too overwhelming and in rebellion cast\nit from him?\n\nLionel sought to assure himself that his brother was a man of stern\nfibres, a man who never lost control of himself. But against this he\nwould argue that what had happened in the past was no guarantee of what\nmight happen in the future; that a limit was set to the endurance of\nevery man be he never so strong, and that it was far from impossible\nthat the limit of Sir Oliver\'s endurance might be reached in this\naffair. If that happened in what case should he find himself? The answer\nto this was a picture beyond his fortitude to contemplate. The danger\nof his being sent to trial and made to suffer the extreme penalty of the\nlaw would be far greater now than if he had spoken at once. The tale\nhe could then have told must have compelled some attention, for he\nwas accounted a man of unsmirched honour and his word must carry some\nweight. But now none would believe him. They would argue from his\nsilence and from his having suffered his brother to be unjustly accused\nthat he was craven-hearted and dishonourable, and that if he had acted\nthus it was because he had no good defence to offer for his deed.\nNot only would he be irrevocably doomed, but he would be doomed with\nignominy, he would be scorned by all upright men and become a thing of\ncontempt over whose end not a tear would be shed.\n\nThus he came to the dread conclusion that in his endeavours to screen\nhimself he had but enmeshed himself the more inextricably. If Oliver but\nspoke he was lost. And back he came to the question: What assurance had\nhe that Oliver would not speak?\n\nThe fear of this from occurring to him occasionally began to haunt him\nday and night, and for all that the fever had left him and his wound was\nentirely healed, he remained pale and thin and hollow-eyed. Indeed\nthe secret terror that was in his soul glared out of his eyes at every\nmoment. He grew nervous and would start up at the least sound, and he\nwent now in a perpetual mistrust of Oliver, which became manifest in a\ncurious petulance of which there were outbursts at odd times.\n\nComing one afternoon into the dining-room, which was ever Sir\nOliver\'s favourite haunt in the mansion of Penarrow, Lionel found his\nhalf-brother in that brooding attitude, elbow on knee and chin on palm,\nstaring into the fire. This was so habitual now in Sir Oliver that it\nhad begun to irritate Lionel\'s tense nerves; it had come to seem to him\nthat in this listlessness was a studied tacit reproach aimed at himself.\n\n\"Why do you sit ever thus over the fire like some old crone?\" he\ngrowled, voicing at last the irritability that so long had been growing\nin him.\n\nSir Oliver looked round with mild surprise in his glance. Then from\nLionel his eyes travelled to the long windows.\n\n\"It rains,\" he said.\n\n\"It was not your wont to be driven to the fireside by rain. But rain or\nshine \'tis ever the same. You never go abroad.\"\n\n\"To what end?\" quoth Sir Oliver, with the same mildness, but a wrinkle\nof bewilderment coming gradually between his dark brows. \"Do you suppose\nI love to meet lowering glances, to see heads approach one another so\nthat confidential curses of me may be muttered?\"\n\n\"Ha!\" cried Lionel, short and sharp, his sunken eyes blazing suddenly.\n\"It has come to this, then, that having voluntarily done this thing to\nshield me you now reproach me with it.\"\n\n\"I?\" cried Sir Oliver, aghast.\n\n\"Your very words are a reproach. D\'ye think I do not read the meaning\nthat lies under them?\"\n\nSir Oliver rose slowly, staring at his brother. He shook his head and\nsmiled.\n\n\"Lal, Lal!\" he said. \"Your wound has left you disordered, boy. With what\nhave I reproached you? What was this hidden meaning of my words? If you\nwill read aright you will see it to be that to go abroad is to involve\nmyself in fresh quarrels, for my mood is become short, and I will not\nbrook sour looks and mutterings. That is all.\"\n\nHe advanced and set his hands upon his brother\'s shoulders. Holding him\nso at arm\'s length he considered him, what time Lionel drooped his head\nand a slow flush overspread his cheeks. \"Dear fool!\" he said, and shook\nhim. \"What ails you? You are pale and gaunt, and not yourself at all. I\nhave a notion. I\'ll furnish me a ship and you shall sail with me to my\nold hunting-grounds. There is life out yonder--life that will restore\nyour vigour and your zest, and perhaps mine as well. How say you, now?\"\n\nLionel looked up, his eye brightening. Then a thought occurred to him;\na thought so mean that again the colour flooded into his cheeks, for he\nwas shamed by it. Yet it clung. If he sailed with Oliver, men would\nsay that he was a partner in the guilt attributed to his brother. He\nknew--from more than one remark addressed him here or there, and left by\nhim uncontradicted--that the belief was abroad on the countryside that a\ncertain hostility was springing up between himself and Sir Oliver on\nthe score of that happening in Godolphin Park. His pale looks and hollow\neyes had contributed to the opinion that his brother\'s sin was weighing\nheavily upon him. He had ever been known for a gentle, kindly lad, in\nall things the very opposite of the turbulent Sir Oliver, and it was\nassumed that Sir Oliver in his present increasing harshness used his\nbrother ill because the lad would not condone his crime. A deal of\nsympathy was consequently arising for Lionel and was being testified to\nhim on every hand. Were he to accede to such a proposal as Oliver now\nmade him, assuredly he must jeopardize all that.\n\nHe realized to the full the contemptible quality of his thought\nand hated himself for conceiving it. But he could not shake off its\ndominion. It was stronger than his will.\n\nHis brother observing this hesitation, and misreading it drew him to the\nfireside and made him sit.\n\n\"Listen,\" he said, as he dropped into the chair opposite. \"There is a\nfine ship standing in the road below, off Smithick. You\'ll have seen\nher. Her master is a desperate adventurer named Jasper Leigh, who is\nto be found any afternoon in the alehouse at Penycumwick. I know him of\nold, and he and his ship are to be acquired. He is ripe for any venture,\nfrom scuttling Spaniards to trading in slaves, and so that the price be\nhigh enough we may buy him body and soul. His is a stomach that refuses\nnothing, so there be money in the venture. So here is ship and master\nready found; the rest I will provide--the crew, the munitions, the\narmament, and by the end of March we shall see the Lizard dropping\nastern. What do you say, Lal? \'Tis surely better than to sit, moping\nhere in this place of gloom.\"\n\n\"I\'ll...I\'ll think of it,\" said Lionel, but so listlessly that all Sir\nOliver\'s quickening enthusiasm perished again at once and no more was\nsaid of the venture.\n\nBut Lionel did not altogether reject the notion. If on the one hand\nhe was repelled by it, on the other he was attracted almost despite\nhimself. He went so far as to acquire the habit of riding daily over\nto Penycumwick, and there he made the acquaintance of that hardy and\nscarred adventurer of whom Sir Oliver had spoken, and listened to\nthe marvels the fellow had to tell--many of them too marvellous to be\ntrue--of hazards upon distant seas.\n\nBut one day in early March Master Jasper Leigh had a tale of another\nkind for him, news that dispelled from Lionel\'s mind all interest in\nthe captain\'s ventures on the Spanish Main. The seaman had followed the\ndeparting Lionel to the door of the little inn and stood by his stirrup\nafter he had got to horse.\n\n\"A word in your ear, good Master Tressilian,\" said he. \"D\'ye know what\nis being concerted here against our brother?\"\n\n\"Against my brother?\"\n\n\"Ay--in the matter of the killing of Master Peter Godolphin last\nChristmas. Seeing that the Justices would not move of theirselves, some\nfolk ha\' petitioned the Lieutenant of Cornwall to command them to\ngrant a warrant for Sir Oliver\'s arrest on a charge o\' murder. But the\nJustices ha\' refused to be driven by his lordship, answering that they\nhold their office direct from the Queen and that in such a matter they\nare answerable to none but her grace. And now I hear that a petition be\ngone to London to the Queen herself, begging her to command her Justices\nto perform their duty or quit their office.\"\n\nLionel drew a sharp breath, and with dilating eyes regarded the mariner,\nbut made him no answer.\n\nJasper laid a long finger against his nose and his eyes grew cunning. \"I\nthought I\'d warn you, sir, so as you may bid Sir Oliver look to hisself.\n\'Tis a fine seaman and fine seamen be none so plentiful.\"\n\nLionel drew his purse from his pocket and without so much as looking\ninto its contents dropped it into the seaman\'s ready hand, with a\nmuttered word of thanks.\n\nHe rode home in terror almost. It was come. The blow was about to fall,\nand his brother would at last be forced to speak. At Penarrow a fresh\nshock awaited him. He learnt from old Nicholas that Sir Oliver was from\nhome, that he had ridden over to Godolphin Court.\n\nThe instant conclusion prompted by Lionel\'s terror was that already the\nnews had reached Sir Oliver and that he had instantly taken action; for\nhe could not conceive that his brother should go to Godolphin Court upon\nany other business.\n\nBut his fears on that score were very idle. Sir Oliver, unable longer\nto endure the present state of things, had ridden over to lay before\nRosamund that proof with which he had taken care to furnish himself.\nHe could do so at last without any fear of hurting Lionel. His journey,\nhowever, had been entirely fruitless. She had refused point-blank to\nreceive him, and for all that with a humility entirely foreign to him he\nhad induced a servant to return to her with a most urgent message, yet\nhe had been denied. He returned stricken to Penarrow, there to find his\nbrother awaiting him in a passion of impatience.\n\n\"Well?\" Lionel greeted him. \"What will you do now?\"\n\nSir Oliver looked at him from under brows that scowled darkly in\nreflection of his thoughts.\n\n\"Do now? Of what do you talk?\" quoth he.\n\n\"Have you not heard?\" And Lionel told him the news.\n\nSir Oliver stared long at him when he had done, then his lips tightened\nand he smote his brow.\n\n\"So!\" he cried. \"Would that be why she refused to see me? Did she\nconceive that I went perhaps to plead? Could she think that? Could she?\"\n\nHe crossed to the fireplace and stirred the logs with his boot angrily.\n\"Oh! \'Twere too unworthy. Yet of a certainty \'tis her doing, this.\"\n\n\"What shall you do?\" insisted Lionel, unable to repress the question\nthat was uppermost in his mind; and his voice shook.\n\n\"Do?\" Sir Oliver looked at him over his shoulder. \"Prick this bubble,\nby heaven! Make an end of it for them, confound them and cover them with\nshame.\"\n\nHe said it roughly, angrily, and Lionel recoiled, deeming that roughness\nand anger aimed at himself. He sank into a chair, his knees loosened by\nhis sudden fear. So it seemed that he had had more than cause for his\napprehensions. This brother of his who boasted such affection for him\nwas not equal to bearing this matter through. And yet the thing was so\nunlike Oliver that a doubt still lingered with him.\n\n\"You... you will tell them the truth?\" he said, in small, quavering\nvoice.\n\nSir Oliver turned and considered him more attentively.\n\n\"A God\'s name, Lal, what\'s in thy mind now?\" he asked, almost roughly.\n\"Tell them the truth? Why, of course--but only as it concerns myself.\nYou\'re not supposing that I shall tell them it was you? You\'ll not be\naccounting me capable of that?\"\n\n\"What other way is there?\"\n\nSir Oliver explained the matter. The explanation brought Lionel relief.\nBut this relief was ephemeral. Further reflection presented a new fear\nto him. It came to him that if Sir Oliver cleared himself, of necessity\nhis own implication must follow. His terrors very swiftly magnified a\nrisk that in itself was so slender as to be entirely negligible. In his\neyes it ceased to be a risk; it became a certain and inevitable danger.\nIf Sir Oliver put forward this proof that the trail of blood had not\nproceeded from himself, it must, thought Lionel, inevitably be concluded\nthat it was his own. As well might Sir Oliver tell them the whole truth,\nfor surely they could not fail to infer it. Thus he reasoned in his\nterror, accounting himself lost irrevocably.\n\nHad he but gone with those fears of his to his brother, or had he but\nbeen able to abate them sufficiently to allow reason to prevail, he must\nhave been brought to understand how much further they carried him than\nwas at all justified by probability. Oliver would have shown him this,\nwould have told him that with the collapsing of the charge against\nhimself no fresh charge could be levelled against any there, that no\nscrap of suspicion had ever attached to Lionel, or ever could. But\nLionel dared not seek his brother in this matter. In his heart he was\nashamed of his fears; in his heart he knew himself for a craven. He\nrealized to the full the hideousness of his selfishness, and yet, as\nbefore, he was not strong enough to conquer it. In short, his love of\nhimself was greater than his love of his brother, or of twenty brothers.\n\nThe morrow--a blustering day of late March found him again at that\nalehouse at Penycumwick in the company of Jasper Leigh. A course had\noccurred to him, as the only course now possible. Last night his brother\nhad muttered something of going to Killigrew with his proofs since\nRosamund refused to receive him. Through Killigrew he would reach her,\nhe had said; and he would yet see her on her knees craving his pardon\nfor the wrong she had done him, for the cruelty she had shown him.\n\nLionel knew that Killigrew was absent from home just then; but he\nwas expected to return by Easter, and to Easter there was but a week.\nTherefore he had little time in which to act, little time in which to\nexecute the project that had come into his mind. He cursed himself for\nconceiving it, but held to it with all the strength of a weak nature.\n\nYet when he came to sit face to face with Jasper Leigh in that little\ninn-parlour with the scrubbed table of plain deal between them, he\nlacked the courage to set his proposal forth. They drank sherry sack\nstiffly laced with brandy by Lionel\'s suggestion, instead of the more\ncustomary mulled ale. Yet not until he had consumed the best part of a\npint of it did Lionel feel himself heartened to broaching his loathsome\nbusiness. Through his head hummed the words his brother had said some\ntime ago when first the name of Jasper Leigh had passed between\nthem--\"a desperate adventurer ripe for anything. So the price be high\nenough you may buy him body and soul.\" Money enough to buy Jasper Leigh\nwas ready to Lionel\'s hand; but it was Sir Oliver\'s money--the money\nthat was placed at Lionel\'s disposal by his half-brother\'s open-handed\nbounty. And this money he was to employ for Oliver\'s utter ruin! He\ncursed himself for a filthy, contemptible hound; he cursed the foul\nfiend that whispered such suggestions into his mind; he knew himself,\ndespised himself and reviled himself until he came to swear to be strong\nand to go through with whatever might await him sooner than be guilty of\nsuch a baseness; the next moment that same resolve would set him\nshuddering again as he viewed the inevitable consequences that must\nattend it.\n\nSuddenly the captain set him a question, very softly, that fired the\ntrain and blew all his lingering self-resistance into shreds.\n\n\"You\'ll ha\' borne my warning to Sir Oliver?\" he asked, lowering his\nvoice so as not to be overheard by the vintner who was stirring beyond\nthe thin wooden partition.\n\nMaster Lionel nodded, nervously fingering the jewel in his ear, his eyes\nshifting from their consideration of the seaman\'s coarse, weather-tanned\nand hairy countenance.\n\n\"I did,\" he said. \"But Sir Oliver is headstrong. He will not stir.\"\n\n\"Will he not?\" The captain stroked his bushy red beard and cursed\nprofusely and horribly after the fashion of the sea. \"Od\'s wounds! He\'s\nvery like to swing if he bides him here.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said Lionel, \"if he bides.\" He felt his mouth turn dry as he\nspoke; his heart thudded, but its thuds were softened by a slight\ninsensibility which the liquor had produced in him.\n\nHe uttered the words in so curious a tone that the sailor\'s dark eyes\npeered at him from under his heavy sandy eyebrows. There was alert\ninquiry in that glance. Master Lionel got up suddenly.\n\n\"Let us take a turn outside, captain,\" said he.\n\nThe captain\'s eyes narrowed. He scented business. There was something\nplaguily odd about this young gentleman\'s manner. He tossed off the\nremains of his sack, slapped down the pot and rose.\n\n\"Your servant, Master Tressilian,\" said he.\n\nOutside our gentleman untethered his horse from the iron ring to which\nhe had attached the bridle; leading his horse he turned seaward and\nstrode down the road that wound along the estuary towards Smithick.\n\nA sharp breeze from the north was whipping the water into white peaks\nof foam; the sky was of a hard brightness and the sun shone brilliantly.\nThe tide was running out, and the rock in the very neck of the haven was\nthrusting its black crest above the water. A cable\'s length this side of\nit rode the black hull and naked spars of the Swallow--Captain Leigh\'s\nship.\n\nLionel stepped along in silence, very gloomy and pensive, hesitating\neven now. And the crafty mariner reading this hesitation, and anxious to\nconquer it for the sake of such profit as he conceived might lie in the\nproposal which he scented, paved the way for him at last.\n\n\"I think that ye\'ll have some matter to propose to me.\" said he slyly.\n\"Out with it, sir, for there never was a man more ready to serve you.\"\n\n\"The fact is,\" said Lionel, watching the other\'s face with a sidelong\nglance, \"I am in a difficult position, Master Leigh.\"\n\n\"I\'ve been in a many,\" laughed the captain, \"but never yet in one\nthrough which I could not win. Strip forth your own, and haply I can do\nas much for you as I am wont to do for myself.\"\n\n\"Why, it is this wise,\" said the other. \"My brother will assuredly hang\nas you have said if he bides him here. He is lost if they bring him to\ntrial. And in that case, faith, I am lost too. It dishonours a man\'s\nfamily to have a member of it hanged. \'Tis a horrible thing to have\nhappen.\"\n\n\"Indeed, indeed!\" the sailor agreed encouragingly.\n\n\"I would abstract him from this,\" pursued Lionel, and at the same time\ncursed the foul fiend that prompted him such specious words to cloak\nhis villainy. \"I would abstract him from it, and yet \'tis against my\nconscience that he should go unpunished for I swear to you, Master\nLeigh, that I abhor the deed--a cowardly, murderous deed!\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said the captain. And lest that grim ejaculation should check his\ngentleman he made haste to add--\"To be sure! To be sure!\"\n\nMaster Lionel stopped and faced the other squarely, his shoulders to\nhis horse. They were quite alone in as lonely a spot as any conspirator\ncould desire. Behind him stretched the empty beach, ahead of him the\nruddy cliffs that rise gently to the wooded heights of Arwenack.\n\n\"I\'ll be quite plain and open with you, Master Leigh. Peter Godolphin\nwas my friend. Sir Oliver is no more than my half-brother. I would give\na deal to the man who would abstract Sir Oliver secretly from the doom\nthat hangs over him, and yet do the thing in such a way that Sir Oliver\nshould not thereby escape the punishment he deserves.\"\n\nIt was strange, he thought, even as he said it, that he could bring his\nlips so glibly to utter words that his heart detested.\n\nThe captain looked grim. He laid a finger upon Master Lionel\'s velvet\ndoublet in line with that false heart of his.\n\n\"I am your man,\" said he. \"But the risk is great. Yet ye say that ye\'ld\ngive a deal....\"\n\n\"Yourself shall name the price,\" said Lionel quickly, his eyes burning\nfeverishly, his cheeks white.\n\n\"Oh I can contrive it, never fear,\" said the captain. \"I know to a\nnicety what you require. How say you now: if I was to carry him overseas\nto the plantations where they lack toilers of just such thews as his?\"\nHe lowered his voice and spoke with some slight hesitation, fearing\nthat he proposed perhaps more than his prospective employer might\ndesire.\n\n\"He might return,\" was the answer that dispelled all doubts on that\nscore.\n\n\"Ah!\" said the skipper. \"What o\' the Barbary rovers, then! They lack\nslaves and are ever ready to trade, though they be niggardly payers. I\nnever heard of none that returned once they had him safe aboard their\ngalleys. I ha\' done some trading with them, bartering human freights for\nspices and eastern carpets and the like.\"\n\nMaster Lionel breathed hard. \"\'Tis a horrible fate, is\'t not?\"\n\nThe captain stroked his beard. \"Yet \'tis the only really safe bestowal,\nand when all is said \'tis not so horrible as hanging, and certainly less\ndishonouring to a man\'s kin. Ye\'ld be serving Sir Oliver and yourself.\"\n\n\"\'Tis so, tis so,\" cried Master Lionel almost fiercely. \"And the price?\"\n\nThe seaman shifted on his short, sturdy legs, and his face grew pensive.\n\"A hundred pound?\" he suggested tentatively.\n\n\"Done with you for a hundred pounds,\" was the prompt answer--so prompt\nthat Captain Leigh realized he had driven a fool\'s bargain which it was\nincumbent upon him to amend.\n\n\"That is, a hundred pound for myself,\" he corrected slowly. \"Then there\nbe the crew to reckon for--to keep their counsel and lend a hand; \'twill\nmean another hundred at the least.\"\n\nMaster Lionel considered a moment. \"It is more than I can lay my hands\non at short notice. But, look you, you shall have a hundred and fifty\npounds in coin and the balance in jewels. You shall not be the loser in\nthat, I promise you. And when you come again, and bring me word that all\nis done as you now undertake there shall be the like again.\"\n\nUpon that the bargain was settled. And when Lionel came to talk of ways\nand means he found that he had allied himself to a man who understood\nhis business thoroughly. All the assistance that the skipper asked was\nthat Master Lionel should lure his gentleman to some concerted spot\nconveniently near the waterside. There Leigh would have a boat and his\nmen in readiness, and the rest might very safely be left to him.\n\nIn a flash Lionel bethought him of the proper place for this. He swung\nround, and pointed across the water to Trefusis Point and the grey pile\nof Godolphin Court all bathed in sunshine now.\n\n\"Yonder, at Trefusis Point in the shadow of Godolphin Court at eight\nto-morrow night, when there will be no moon. I\'ll see that he is there.\nBut on your life do not miss him.\"\n\n\"Trust me,\" said Master Leigh. \"And the money?\"\n\n\"When you have him safely aboard come to me at Penarrow,\" he replied,\nwhich showed that after all he did not trust Master Leigh any further\nthan he was compelled.\n\nThe captain was quite satisfied. For should his gentleman fail to\ndisburse he could always return Sir Oliver to shore.\n\nOn that they parted. Lionel mounted and rode away, whilst Master Leigh\nmade a trumpet of his hands and hallooed to the ship.\n\nAs he stood waiting for the boat that came off to fetch him, a smile\nslowly overspread the adventurer\'s rugged face. Had Master Lionel\nseen it he might have asked himself how far it was safe to drive\nsuch bargains with a rogue who kept faith only in so far as it was\nprofitable. And in this matter Master Leigh saw a way to break faith\nwith profit. He had no conscience, but he loved as all rogues love to\nturn the tables upon a superior rogue. He would play Master Lionel most\nfinely, most poetically false; and he found a deal to chuckle over in\nthe contemplation of it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII. TREPANNED\n\n\nMaster Lionel was absent most of the following day from Penarrow, upon\na pretext of making certain purchases in Truro. It would be half-past\nseven when he returned; and as he entered he met Sir Oliver in the hall.\n\n\"I have a message for you from Godolphin Court,\" he announced, and saw\nhis brother stiffen and his face change colour. \"A boy met me at the\ngates and bade me tell you that Mistress Rosamund desires a word with\nyou forthwith.\"\n\nSir Oliver\'s heart almost stopped, then went off at a gallop. She asked\nfor him! She had softened perhaps from her yesterday\'s relentlessness.\nShe would consent at last to see him!\n\n\"Be thou blessed for these good tidings!\" he answered on a note of high\nexcitement. \"I go at once.\" And on the instant he departed. Such was his\neagerness, indeed, that under the hot spur of it he did not even stay\nto fetch that parchment which was to be his unanswerable advocate. The\nomission was momentous.\n\nMaster Lionel said no word as his brother swept out. He shrank back a\nlittle into the shadows. He was white to the lips and felt as he would\nstifle. As the door closed he moved suddenly. He sprang to follow Sir\nOliver. Conscience cried out to him that he could not do this thing.\nBut Fear was swift to answer that outcry. Unless he permitted what was\nplanned to take its course, his life might pay the penalty.\n\nHe turned, and lurched into the dining-room upon legs that trembled.\n\nHe found the table set for supper as on that other night when he had\nstaggered in with a wound in his side to be cared for and sheltered by\nSir Oliver. He did not approach the table; he crossed to the fire, and\nsat down there holding out his hands to the blaze. He was very cold and\ncould not still his trembling. His very teeth chattered.\n\nNicholas came in to know if he would sup. He answered unsteadily that\ndespite the lateness of the hour he would await Sir Oliver\'s return.\n\n\"Is Sir Oliver abroad?\" quoth the servant in surprise.\n\n\"He went out a moment since, I know not whither,\" replied Lionel. \"But\nsince he has not supped he is not like to be long absent.\"\n\nUpon that he dismissed the servant, and sat huddled there, a prey to\nmental tortures which were not to be repressed. His mind would turn upon\nnaught but the steadfast, unwavering affection of which Sir Oliver ever\nhad been prodigal towards him. In this very matter of Peter Godolphin\'s\ndeath, what sacrifices had not Sir Oliver made to shield him? From so\nmuch love and self-sacrifice in the past he inclined to argue now that\nnot even in extreme peril would his brother betray him. And then that\nbad streak of fear which made a villain of him reminded him that to\nargue thus was to argue upon supposition, that it would be perilous to\ntrust such an assumption; that if, after all, Sir Oliver should fail him\nin the crucial test, then was he lost indeed.\n\nWhen all is said, a man\'s final judgment of his fellows must be based\nupon his knowledge of himself; and Lionel, knowing himself incapable of\nany such sacrifice for Sir Oliver, could not believe Sir Oliver capable\nof persisting in such a sacrifice as future events might impose. He\nreverted to those words Sir Oliver had uttered in that very room two\nnights ago, and more firmly than ever he concluded that they could have\nbut one meaning.\n\nThen came doubt, and, finally, assurance of another sort, assurance that\nthis was not so and that he knew it; assurance that he lied to himself,\nseeking to condone the thing he did. He took his head in his hands and\ngroaned loud. He was a villain, a black-hearted, soulless villain! He\nreviled himself again. There came a moment when he rose shuddering,\nresolved even in this eleventh hour to go after his brother and save him\nfrom the doom that awaited him out yonder in the night.\n\nBut again that resolve was withered by the breath of selfish fear.\nLimply he resumed his seat, and his thoughts took a fresh turn. They\nconsidered now those matters which had engaged them on that day when\nSir Oliver had ridden to Arwenack to claim satisfaction of Sir John\nKilligrew. He realized again that Oliver being removed, what he now\nenjoyed by his brother\'s bounty he would enjoy henceforth in his own\nunquestioned right. The reflection brought him a certain consolation. If\nhe must suffer for his villainy, at least there would be compensations.\n\nThe clock over the stables chimed the hour of eight. Master Lionel\nshrank back in his chair at the sound. The thing would be doing even\nnow. In his mind he saw it all--saw his brother come running in his\neagerness to the gates of Godolphin Court, and then dark forms resolve\nthemselves from the surrounding darkness and fall silently upon him. He\nsaw him struggling a moment on the ground, then, bound hand and foot, a\ngag thrust into his mouth, he beheld him in fancy borne swiftly down the\nslope to the beach and so to the waiting boat.\n\nAnother half-hour sat he there. The thing was done by now, and this\nassurance seemed to quiet him a little.\n\nThen came Nicholas again to babble of some possible mischance having\novertaken his master.\n\n\"What mischance should have overtaken him?\" growled Lionel, as if in\nscorn of the idea.\n\n\"I pray none indeed,\" replied the servant. \"But Sir Oliver lacks not for\nenemies nowadays, and \'tis scarce zafe for he to be abroad after dark.\"\n\nMaster Lionel dismissed the notion contemptuously. For pretence\'s sake\nhe announced that he would wait no longer, whereupon Nicholas brought in\nhis supper, and left him again to go and linger about the door, looking\nout into the night and listening for his master\'s return. He paid a\nvisit to the stables, and knew that Sir Oliver had gone forth afoot.\n\nMeanwhile Master Lionel must make pretence of eating though actual\neating must have choked him. He smeared his platter, broke food, and\navidly drank a bumper of claret. Then he, too, feigned a growing anxiety\nand went to join Nicholas. Thus they spent the weary night, watching for\nthe return of one who Master Lionel knew would return no more.\n\nAt dawn they roused the servants and sent them to scour the countryside\nand put the news of Sir Oliver\'s disappearance abroad. Lionel himself\nrode out to Arwenack to ask Sir John Killigrew bluntly if he knew aught\nof this matter.\n\nSir John showed a startled face, but swore readily enough that he had\nnot so much as seen Sir Oliver for days. He was gentle with Lionel, whom\nhe liked, as everybody liked him. The lad was so mild and kindly in his\nways, so vastly different from his arrogant overbearing brother, that\nhis virtues shone the more brightly by that contrast.\n\n\"I confess it is natural you should come to me,\" said Sir John. \"But,\nmy word on it, I have no knowledge of him. It is not my way to beset my\nenemies in the dark.\"\n\n\"Indeed, indeed, Sir John, I had not supposed it in my heart,\" replied\nthe afflicted Lionel. \"Forgive me that I should have come to ask a\nquestion so unworthy. Set it down to my distracted state. I have\nnot been the same man these months, I think, since that happening in\nGodolphin Park. The thing has preyed upon my mind. It is a fearsome\nburden to know your own brother--though I thank God he is no more than\nmy half-brother--guilty of so foul a deed.\"\n\n\"How?\" cried Killigrew, amazed. \"You say that? You believed it\nyourself?\"\n\nMaster Lionel looked confused, a look which Sir John entirely\nmisunderstood and interpreted entirely in the young man\'s favour. And\nit was thus and in that moment that was sown the generous seed of\nthe friendship that was to spring up between these two men, its roots\nfertilized by Sir John\'s pity that one so gentle-natured, so honest, and\nso upright should be cursed with so villainous a brother.\n\n\"I see, I see,\" he said. And he sighed. \"You know that we are daily\nexpecting an order from the Queen to her Justices to take the action\nwhich hitherto they have refused against your... against Sir Oliver.\" He\nfrowned thoughtfully. \"D\'ye think Sir Oliver had news of this?\"\n\nAt once Master Lionel saw the drift of what was in the other\'s mind.\n\n\"I know it,\" he replied. \"Myself I bore it him. But why do you ask?\"\n\n\"Does it not help us perhaps to understand and explain Sir Oliver\'s\ndisappearance? God lack! Surely, knowing that, he were a fool to have\ntarried here, for he would hang beyond all doubt did he stay for the\ncoming of her grace\'s messenger.\"\n\n\"My God!\" said Lionel, staring. \"You... you think he is fled, then?\"\n\nSir John shrugged. \"What else is to be thought?\"\n\nLionel hung his head. \"What else, indeed?\" said he, and took his leave\nlike a man overwrought, as indeed he was. He had never considered that\nso obvious a conclusion must follow upon his work so fully to explain\nthe happening and to set at rest any doubt concerning it.\n\nHe returned to Penarrow, and bluntly told Nicholas what Sir John\nsuspected and what he feared himself must be the true reason of Sir\nOliver\'s disappearance. The servant, however, was none so easy to\nconvince.\n\n\"But do ee believe that he done it?\" cried Nicholas. \"Do ee believe it,\nMaster Lionel?\" There was reproach amounting to horror in the servant\'s\nvoice.\n\n\"God help me, what else can I believe now that he is fled.\"\n\nNicholas sidled up to him with tightened lips. He set two gnarled\nfingers on the young man\'s arm.\n\n\"He\'m not fled, Master Lionel,\" he announced with grim impressiveness.\n\"He\'m never a turntail. Sir Oliver he don\'t fear neither man nor devil,\nand if so be him had killed Master Godolphin, he\'d never ha\' denied it.\nDon\'t ee believe Sir John Killigrew. Sir John ever hated he.\"\n\nBut in all that countryside the servant was the only one to hold this\nview. If a doubt had lingered anywhere of Sir Oliver\'s guilt, that\ndoubt was now dispelled by this flight of his before the approach of the\nexpected orders from the Queen.\n\nLater that day came Captain Leigh to Penarrow inquiring for Sir Oliver.\n\nNicholas brought word of his presence and his inquiry to Master Lionel,\nwho bade him be admitted.\n\nThe thick-set little seaman rolled in on his bowed legs, and leered at\nhis employer when they were alone.\n\n\"He\'s snug and safe aboard,\" he announced. \"The thing were done as clean\nas peeling an apple, and as quiet.\"\n\n\"Why did you ask for him?\" quoth Master Lionel.\n\n\"Why?\" Jasper leered again. \"My business was with him. There was some\ntalk between us of him going a voyage with me. I\'ve heard the gossip\nover at Smithick. This will fit in with it.\" He laid that finger of\nhis to his nose. \"Trust me to help a sound tale along. \'T were a clumsy\nbusiness to come here asking for you, sir. Ye\'ll know now how to account\nfor my visit.\"\n\nLionel paid him the price agreed and dismissed him upon receiving the\nassurance that the Swallow would put to sea upon the next tide.\n\nWhen it became known that Sir Oliver had been in treaty with Master\nLeigh for a passage overseas, and that it was but on that account that\nMaster Leigh had tarried in that haven, even Nicholas began to doubt.\n\nGradually Lionel recovered his tranquillity as the days flowed on. What\nwas done was done, and, in any case, being now beyond recall, there was\nno profit in repining. He never knew how fortune aided him, as fortune\nwill sometimes aid a villain. The royal pour-suivants arrived some six\ndays later, and Master Baine was the recipient of a curt summons to\nrender himself to London, there to account for his breach of trust\nin having refused to perform his sworn duty. Had Sir Andrew Flack but\nsurvived the chill that had carried him off a month ago, Master Justice\nBaine would have made short work of the accusation lodged against him.\nAs it was, when he urged the positive knowledge he possessed, and told\nthem how he had made the examination to which Sir Oliver had voluntarily\nsubmitted, his single word carried no slightest conviction. Not for a\nmoment was it supposed that this was aught but the subterfuge of one\nwho had been lax in his duty and who sought to save himself from\nthe consequences of that laxity. And the fact that he cited as his\nfellow-witness a gentleman now deceased but served to confirm his judges\nin this opinion. He was deposed from his office and subjected to a heavy\nfine, and there the matter ended, for the hue-and-cry that was afoot\nentirely failed to discover any trace of the missing Sir Oliver.\n\nFor Master Lionel a new existence set in from that day. Looked upon\nas one in danger of suffering for his brother\'s sins, the countryside\ndetermined to help him as far as possible to bear his burden. Great\nstress was laid upon the fact that after all he was no more than Sir\nOliver\'s half-brother; some there were who would have carried their\nkindness to the lengths of suggesting that perhaps he was not even that,\nand that it was but natural that Ralph Tressilian\'s second wife should\nhave repaid her husband in kind for his outrageous infidelities. This\nmovement of sympathy was led by Sir John Killigrew, and it spread in\nso rapid and marked a manner that very soon Master Lionel was almost\npersuaded that it was no more than he deserved, and he began to sun\nhimself in the favour of a countryside that hitherto had shown little\nbut hostility for men of the Tressilian blood.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII. THE SPANIARD\n\n\nThe Swallow, having passed through a gale in the Bay of Biscay--a\ngale which she weathered like the surprisingly steady old tub she\nwas--rounded Cape Finisterre and so emerged from tempest into peace,\nfrom leaden skies and mountainous seas into a sunny azure calm. It was\nlike a sudden transition from winter into spring, and she ran along now,\nclose hauled to the soft easterly breeze, with a gentle list to port.\n\nIt had never been Master Leigh\'s intent to have got so far as this\nwithout coming to an understanding with his prisoner. But the wind had\nbeen stronger than his intentions, and he had been compelled to run\nbefore it and to head to southward until its fury should abate. Thus\nit fell out--and all marvellously to Master Lionel\'s advantage, as you\nshall see--that the skipper was forced to wait until they stood along\nthe coast of Portugal--but well out to sea, for the coast of Portugal\nwas none too healthy just then to English seamen--before commanding Sir\nOliver to be haled into his presence.\n\nIn the cramped quarters of the cabin in the poop of the little vessel\nsat her captain at a greasy table, over which a lamp was swinging\nfaintly to the gentle heave of the ship. He was smoking a foul pipe,\nwhose fumes hung heavily upon the air of that little chamber, and there\nwas a bottle of Nantes at his elbow.\n\nTo him, sitting thus in state, was Sir Oliver introduced--his wrists\nstill pinioned behind him. He was haggard and hollow-eyed, and he\ncarried a week\'s growth of beard on his chin. Also his garments were\nstill in disorder from the struggle he had made when taken, and from the\nfact that he had been compelled to lie in them ever since.\n\nSince his height was such that it was impossible for him to stand\nupright in that low-ceilinged cabin, a stool was thrust forward for\nhim by one of the ruffians of Leigh\'s crew who had haled him from his\nconfinement beneath the hatchway.\n\nHe sat down quite listlessly, and stared vacantly at the skipper. Master\nLeigh was somewhat discomposed by this odd calm when he had looked for\nangry outbursts. He dismissed the two seamen who fetched Sir Oliver,\nand when they had departed and closed the cabin door he addressed his\ncaptive.\n\n\"Sir Oliver,\" said he, stroking his red beard, \"ye\'ve been most foully\nabused.\"\n\nThe sunshine filtered through one of the horn windows and beat full upon\nSir Oliver\'s expressionless face.\n\n\"It was not necessary, you knave, to bring me hither to tell me so\nmuch.\" he answered.\n\n\"Quite so,\" said Master Leigh. \"But I have something more to add. Ye\'ll\nbe thinking that I ha\' done you a disservice. There ye wrong me.\nThrough me you are brought to know true friends from secret enemies;\nhenceforward ye\'ll know which to trust and which to mistrust.\"\n\nSir Oliver seemed to rouse himself a little from his passivity,\nstimulated despite himself by the impudence of this rogue. He stretched\na leg and smiled sourly.\n\n\"You\'ll end by telling me that I am in your debt,\" said he.\n\n\"You\'ll end by saying so yourself,\" the captain assured him. \"D\'ye know\nwhat I was bidden do with you?\"\n\n\"Faith, I neither know nor care,\" was the surprising answer, wearily\ndelivered. \"If it is for my entertainment that you propose to tell me, I\nbeg you\'ll spare yourself the trouble.\"\n\nIt was not an answer that helped the captain. He pulled at his pipe a\nmoment.\n\n\"I was bidden,\" said he presently, \"to carry you to Barbary and sell\nyou there into the service of the Moors. That I might serve you, I made\nbelieve to accept this task.\"\n\n\"God\'s death!\" swore Sir Oliver. \"You carry make-believe to an odd\nlength.\"\n\n\"The weather has been against me. It were no intention o\' mine to ha\'\ncome so far south with you. But we\'ve been driven by the gale. That is\noverpast, and so that ye\'ll promise to bear no plaint against me, and\nto make good some of the loss I\'ll make by going out of my course, and\nmissing a cargo that I wot of, I\'ll put about and fetch you home again\nwithin a week.\"\n\nSir Oliver looked at him and smiled grimly. \"Now what a rogue are you\nthat can keep faith with none!\" he cried. \"First you take money to carry\nme off; and then you bid me pay you to carry me back again.\"\n\n\"Ye wrong me, sir, I vow ye do! I can keep faith when honest men employ\nme, and ye should know it, Sir Oliver. But who keeps faith with rogues\nis a fool--and that I am not, as ye should also know. I ha\' done this\nthing that a rogue might be revealed to you and thwarted, as well as\nthat I might make some little profit out of this ship o\' mine. I am\nfrank with ye, Sir Oliver. I ha\' had some two hundred pounds in money\nand trinkets from your brother. Give me the like and....\"\n\nBut now of a sudden Sir Oliver\'s listlessness was all dispelled. It fell\nfrom him like a cloak, and he sat forward, wide awake and with some show\nof anger even.\n\n\"How do you say?\" he cried, on a sharp, high note.\n\nThe captain stared at him, his pipe neglected. \"I say that if so be\nas ye\'ll pay me the same sum which your brother paid me to carry you\noff....\"\n\n\"My brother?\" roared the knight. \"Do you say my brother?\"\n\n\"I said your brother.\"\n\n\"Master Lionel?\" the other demanded still.\n\n\"What other brothers have you?\" quoth Master Leigh.\n\nThere fell a pause and Sir Oliver looked straight before him, his head\nsunken a little between his shoulders. \"Let me understand,\" he said at\nlength. \"Do you say that my brother Lionel paid you money to carry me\noff--in short, that my presence aboard this foul hulk of yours is due to\nhim?\"\n\n\"Whom else had ye suspected? Or did ye think that I did it for my own\npersonal diversion?\"\n\n\"Answer me,\" bellowed Sir Oliver, writhing in his bonds.\n\n\"I ha\' answered you more than once already. Still, I tell you once\nagain, since ye are slow to understand it, that I was paid a matter of\ntwo hundred pound by your brother, Master Lionel Tressilian, to carry\nyou off to Barbary and there sell you for a slave. Is that plain to\nyou?\"\n\n\"As plain as it is false. You lie, you dog!\"\n\n\"Softly, softly!\" quoth Master Leigh, good-humouredly.\n\n\"I say you lie!\"\n\nMaster Leigh considered him a moment. \"Sets the wind so!\" said he at\nlength, and without another word he rose and went to a sea-chest ranged\nagainst the wooden wall of the cabin. He opened it and took thence a\nleather bag. From this he produced a handful of jewels. He thrust them\nunder Sir Oliver\'s nose. \"Haply,\" said he, \"ye\'ll be acquainted with\nsome of them. They was given me to make up the sum since your brother\nhad not the whole two hundred pound in coin. Take a look at them.\"\n\nSir Oliver recognized a ring and a long pear-shaped pearl earring that\nhad been his brother\'s; he recognized a medallion that he himself had\ngiven Lionel two years ago; and so, one by one, he recognized every\ntrinket placed before him.\n\nHis head drooped to his breast, and he sat thus awhile like a man\nstunned. \"My God!\" he groaned miserably, at last. \"Who, then, is left to\nme! Lionel too! Lionel!\" A sob shook the great frame. Two tears slowly\ntrickled down that haggard face and were lost in the stubble of beard\nupon his chin. \"I am accursed!\" he said.\n\nNever without such evidence could he have believed this thing. From the\nmoment that he was beset outside the gates of Godolphin Court he had\nconceived it to be the work of Rosamund, and his listlessness was\nbegotten of the thought that she could have suffered conviction of his\nguilt and her hatred of him to urge her to such lengths as these. Never\nfor an instant had he doubted the message delivered him by Lionel that\nit was Mistress Rosamund who summoned him. And just as he believed\nhimself to be going to Godolphin Court in answer to her summons, so did\nhe conclude that the happening there was the real matter to which\nshe had bidden him, a thing done by her contriving, her answer to his\nattempt on the previous day to gain speech with her, her manner of\nensuring that such an impertinence should never be repeated.\n\nThis conviction had been gall and wormwood to him; it had drugged his\nvery senses, reducing him to a listless indifference to any fate that\nmight be reserved him. Yet it had not been so bitter a draught as this\npresent revelation. After all, in her case there were some grounds for\nthe hatred that had come to take the place of her erstwhile love. But in\nLionel\'s what grounds were possible? What motives could exist for\nsuch an action as this, other than a monstrous, a loathly egoism\nwhich desired perhaps to ensure that the blame for the death of Peter\nGodolphin should not be shifted from the shoulders that were unjustly\nbearing it, and the accursed desire to profit by the removal of the man\nwho had been brother, father and all else to him? He shuddered in sheer\nhorror. It was incredible, and yet beyond a doubt it was true. For all\nthe love which he had showered upon Lionel, for all the sacrifices of\nself which he had made to shield him, this was Lionel\'s return. Were all\nthe world against him he still must have believed Lionel true to him,\nand in that belief must have been enheartened a little. And now...His\nsense of loneliness, of utter destitution overwhelmed him. Then slowly\nof his sorrow resentment was begotten, and being begotten it grew\nrapidly until it filled his mind and whelmed in its turn all else. He\nthrew back his great head, and his bloodshot, gleaming eyes fastened\nupon Captain Leigh, who seated now upon the sea-chest was quietly\nobserving him and waiting patiently until he should recover the wits\nwhich this revelation had scattered.\n\n\"Master Leigh,\" said he, \"what is your price to carry me home again to\nEngland?\"\n\n\"Why, Sir Oliver,\" said he, \"I think the price I was paid to carry you\noff would be a fair one. The one would wipe out t\'other as it were.\"\n\n\"You shall have twice the sum when you land me on Trefusis Point again,\"\nwas the instant answer.\n\nThe captain\'s little eyes blinked and his shaggy red eyebrows came\ntogether in a frown. Here was too speedy an acquiescence. There must be\nguile behind it, or he knew naught of the ways of men.\n\n\"What mischief are ye brooding?\" he sneered.\n\n\"Mischief, man? To you?\" Sir Oliver laughed hoarsely. \"God\'s light,\nknave, d\'ye think I consider you in this matter, or d\'ye think I\'ve room\nin my mind for such petty resentments together with that other?\"\n\nIt was the truth. So absolute was the bitter sway of his anger against\nLionel that he could give no thought to this rascally seaman\'s share in\nthe adventure.\n\n\"Will ye give me your word for that?\"\n\n\"My word? Pshaw, man! I have given it already. I swear that you shall be\npaid the sum I\'ve named the moment you set me ashore again in England.\nIs that enough for you? Then cut me these bonds, and let us make an end\nof my present condition.\"\n\n\"Faith, I am glad to deal with so sensible a man! Ye take it in the\nproper spirit. Ye see that what I ha\' done I ha\' but done in the way of\nmy calling, that I am but a tool, and that what blame there be belongs\nto them which hired me to this deed.\"\n\n\"Aye, ye\'re but a tool--a dirty tool, whetted with gold; no more. \'Tis\nadmitted. Cut me these bonds, a God\'s name! I\'m weary o\' being trussed\nlike a capon.\"\n\nThe captain drew his knife, crossed to Sir Oliver\'s side and slashed his\nbonds away without further word. Sir Oliver stood up so suddenly that\nhe smote his head against the low ceiling of the cabin, and so sat down\nagain at once. And in that moment from without and above there came a\ncry which sent the skipper to the cabin door. He flung it open, and\nso let out the smoke and let in the sunshine. He passed out on to\nthe poop-deck, and Sir Oliver--conceiving himself at liberty to do\nso--followed him.\n\nIn the waist below a little knot of shaggy seamen were crowding to\nthe larboard bulwarks, looking out to sea; on the forecastle there was\nanother similar assembly, all staring intently ahead and towards the\nland. They were off Cape Roca at the time, and when Captain Leigh saw by\nhow much they had lessened their distance from shore since last he had\nconned the ship, he swore ferociously at his mate who had charge of the\nwheel. Ahead of them away on their larboard bow and in line with the\nmouth of the Tagus from which she had issued--and where not a doubt but\nshe had been lying in wait for such stray craft as this--came a great\ntall-masted ship, equipped with top-gallants, running wellnigh before\nthe wind with every foot of canvas spread.\n\nClose-hauled as was the Swallow and with her top-sails and mizzen reefed\nshe was not making more than one knot to the Spaniard\'s five--for that\nshe was a Spaniard was beyond all doubt judging by the haven whence she\nissued.\n\n\"Luff alee!\" bawled the skipper, and he sprang to the wheel, thrusting\nthe mate aside with a blow of his elbow that almost sent him sprawling.\n\n\"\'Twas yourself set the course,\" the fellow protested.\n\n\"Thou lubberly fool,\" roared the skipper. \"I bade thee keep the same\ndistance from shore. If the land comes jutting out to meet us, are we to\nkeep straight on until we pile her up?\" He spun the wheel round in his\nhands, and turned her down the wind. Then he relinquished the helm to\nthe mate again. \"Hold her thus,\" he commanded, and bellowing orders as\nhe went, he heaved himself down the companion to see them executed. Men\nsprang to the ratlines to obey him, and went swarming aloft to let\nout the reefs of the topsails; others ran astern to do the like by the\nmizzen and soon they had her leaping and plunging through the green\nwater with every sheet unfurled, racing straight out to sea.\n\nFrom the poop Sir Oliver watched the Spaniard. He saw her veer a point\nor so to starboard, heading straight to intercept them, and he observed\nthat although this manceuvre brought her fully a point nearer to the\nwind than the Swallow, yet, equipped as she was with half as much canvas\nagain as Captain Leigh\'s piratical craft, she was gaining steadily upon\nthem none the less.\n\nThe skipper came back to the poop, and stood there moodily watching that\nother ship\'s approach, cursing himself for having sailed into such a\ntrap, and cursing his mate more fervently still.\n\nSir Oliver meanwhile took stock of so much of the Swallow\'s armament as\nwas visible and wondered what like were those on the main-deck below.\nHe dropped a question on that score to the captain, dispassionately, as\nthough he were no more than an indifferently interested spectator, and\nwith never a thought to his position aboard.\n\n\"Should I be racing her afore the Wind if I as properly equipped?\"\ngrowled Leigh. \"Am I the man to run before a Spaniard? As it is I do no\nmore than lure her well away from land.\"\n\nSir Oliver understood, and was silent thereafter. He observed a bo\'sun\nand his mates staggering in the waist under loads of cutlasses and small\narms which they stacked in a rack about the mainmast. Then the gunner,\na swarthy, massive fellow, stark to the waist with a faded scarf\ntied turban-wise about his head, leapt up the companion to the brass\ncarronade on the larboard quarter, followed by a couple of his men.\n\nMaster Leigh called up the bo\'sun, bade him take the wheel, and\ndispatched the mate forward to the forecastle, where another gun was\nbeing prepared for action.\n\nThereafter followed a spell of racing, the Spaniard ever lessening the\ndistance between them, and the land dropping astern until it was no more\nthan a hazy line above the shimmering sea. Suddenly from the Spaniard\nappeared a little cloud of white smoke, and the boom of a gun followed,\nand after it came a splash a cable\'s length ahead of the Swallow\'s bows.\n\nLinstock in hand the brawny gunner on the poop stood ready to answer\nthem when the word should be given. From below came the gunner\'s mate\nto report himself ready for action on the main-deck and to receive his\norders.\n\nCame another shot from the Spaniard, again across the bows of the\nSwallow.\n\n\"\'Tis a clear invitation to heave to,\" said Sir Oliver.\n\nThe skipper snarled in his fiery beard. \"She has a longer range than\nmost Spaniards,\" said he. \"But I\'ll not waste powder yet for all that.\nWe\'ve none to spare.\"\n\nScarcely had he spoken when a third shot boomed. There was a splintering\ncrash overhead followed by a sough and a thud as the maintopmast came\nhurtling to the deck and in its fall stretched a couple of men in death.\nBattle was joined, it seemed. Yet Captain Leigh did nothing in a hurry.\n\n\"Hold there!\" he roared to the gunner who swung his linstock at that\nmoment in preparation.\n\nShe was losing way as a result of that curtailment of her mainmast, and\nthe Spaniard came on swiftly now. At last the skipper accounted her near\nenough, and gave the word with an oath. The Swallow fired her first\nand last shot in that encounter. After the deafening thunder of it\nand through the cloud of suffocating smoke, Sir Oliver saw the high\nforecastle of the Spaniard rent open.\n\nMaster Leigh was cursing his gunner for having aimed too high. Then he\nsignalled to the mate to fire the culverin of which he had charge.\nThat second shot was to be the signal for the whole broadside from the\nmain-deck below. But the Spaniard anticipated them. Even as the skipper\nof the Swallow signalled the whole side of the Spaniard burst into flame\nand smoke.\n\nThe Swallow staggered under the blow, recovered an instant, then listed\nominously to larboard.\n\n\"Hell!\" roared Leigh. \"She\'s bilging!\" and Sir Oliver saw the Spaniard\nstanding off again, as if satisfied with what she had done. The mate\'s\ngun was never fired, nor was the broadside from below. Indeed that\nsudden list had set the muzzles pointing to the sea; within three\nminutes of it they were on a level with the water. The Swallow had\nreceived her death-blow, and she was settling down.\n\nSatisfied that she could do no further harm, the Spaniard luffed and\nhove to, awaiting the obvious result and intent upon picking up what\nslaves she could to man the galleys of his Catholic Majesty on the\nMediterranean.\n\nThus the fate intended Sir Oliver by Lionel was to be fulfilled; and it\nwas to be shared by Master Leigh himself, which had not been at all in\nthat venal fellow\'s reckoning.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPART II. SAKR-EL-BAHR\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I. THE CAPTIVE\n\n\nSakr-el-Bahr, the hawk of the sea, the scourge of the Mediterranean and\nthe terror of Christian Spain, lay prone on the heights of Cape Spartel.\n\nAbove him on the crest of the cliff ran the dark green line of the\norange groves of Araish--the reputed Garden of the Hesperides of the\nancients, where the golden apples grew. A mile or so to eastward were\ndotted the huts and tents of a Bedouin encampment on the fertile emerald\npasture-land that spread away, as far as eye could range, towards Ceuta.\nNearer, astride of a grey rock an almost naked goatherd, a lithe\nbrown stripling with a cord of camel-hair about his shaven head,\nintermittently made melancholy and unmelodious sounds upon a reed pipe.\nFrom somewhere in the blue vault of heaven overhead came the joyous\ntrilling of a lark, from below the silken rustling of the tideless sea.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr lay prone upon a cloak of woven camel-hair amid luxuriating\nfern and samphire, on the very edge of the shelf of cliff to which he\nhad climbed. On either side of him squatted a negro from the Sus both\nnaked of all save white loin-cloths, their muscular bodies glistening\nlike ebony in the dazzling sunshine of mid-May. They wielded crude fans\nfashioned from the yellowing leaves of date palms, and their duty was\nto wave these gently to and fro above their lord\'s head, to give him air\nand to drive off the flies.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr was in the very prime of life, a man of a great length\nof body, with a deep Herculean torso and limbs that advertised a giant\nstrength. His hawk-nosed face ending in a black forked beard was of a\nswarthiness accentuated to exaggeration by the snowy white turban wound\nabout his brow. His eyes, by contrast, were singularly light. He wore\nover his white shirt a long green tunic of very light silk, woven along\nits edges with arabesques in gold; a pair of loose calico breeches\nreached to his knees; his brown muscular calves were naked, and his feet\nwere shod in a pair of Moorish shoes of crimson leather, with up-curling\nand very pointed toes. He had no weapons other than the heavy-bladed\nknife with a jewelled hilt that was thrust into his girdle of plaited\nleather.\n\nA yard or two away on his left lay another supine figure, elbows on the\nground, and hands arched above his brow to shade his eyes, gazing out to\nsea. He, too, was a tall and powerful man, and when he moved there was\na glint of armour from the chain mail in which his body was cased,\nand from the steel casque about which he had swathed his green turban.\nBeside him lay an enormous curved scimitar in a sheath of brown leather\nthat was heavy with steel ornaments. His face was handsome, and bearded,\nbut swarthier far than his companion\'s, and the backs of his long fine\nhands were almost black.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr paid little heed to him. Lying there he looked down the\nslope, clad with stunted cork-trees and evergreen oaks; here and there\nwas the golden gleam of broom; yonder over a spur of whitish rock\nsprawled the green and living scarlet of a cactus. Below him about the\ncaves of Hercules was a space of sea whose clear depths shifted with its\nslow movement from the deep green of emerald to all the colours of\nthe opal. A little farther off behind a projecting screen of rock that\nformed a little haven two enormous masted galleys, each of fifty oars,\nand a smaller galliot of thirty rode gently on the slight heave of the\nwater, the vast yellow oars standing out almost horizontally from the\nsides of each vessel like the pinions of some gigantic bird. That they\nlurked there either in concealment or in ambush was very plain. Above\nthem circled a flock of seagulls noisy and insolent.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr looked out to sea across the straits towards Tarifa and the\nfaint distant European coastline just visible through the limpid summer\nair. But his glance was not concerned with that hazy horizon; it went no\nfurther than a fine white-sailed ship that, close-hauled, was beating\nup the straits some four miles off. A gentle breeze was blowing from\nthe east, and with every foot of canvas spread to catch it she stood as\nclose to it as was possible. Nearer she came on her larboard tack,\nand not a doubt but her master would be scanning the hostile African\nlittoral for a sight of those desperate rovers who haunted it and who\ntook toll of every Christian ship that ventured over-near. Sakr-el-Bahr\nsmiled to think how little the presence of his galleys could be\nsuspected, how innocent must look the sun-bathed shore of Africa to the\nChristian skipper\'s diligently searching spy-glass. And there from his\nheight, like the hawk they had dubbed him, poised in the cobalt heavens\nto plumb down upon his prey, he watched the great white ship and waited\nuntil she should come within striking distance.\n\nA promontory to eastward made something of a lee that reached out almost\na mile from shore. From the watcher\'s eyrie the line of demarcation was\nsharply drawn; they could see the point at which the white crests of the\nwind-whipped wavelets ceased and the water became smoother. Did she but\nventure as far southward on her present tack, she would be slow to go\nabout again, and that should be their opportunity. And all unconscious\nof the lurking peril she held steadily to her course, until not half a\nmile remained between her and that inauspicious lee.\n\nExcitement stirred the mail-clad corsair; he kicked his heels in the\nair, then swung round to the impassive and watchful Sakr-el-Bahr.\n\n\"She will come! She will come!\" he cried in the Frankish jargon--the\nlingua franca of the African littoral.\n\n\"Insh\' Allah!\" was the laconic answer--\"If God will.\"\n\nA tense silence fell between them again as the ship drew nearer so that\nnow with each forward heave of her they caught a glint of the\nwhite belly under her black hull. Sakr-el-Bahr shaded his eyes,\nand concentrated his vision upon the square ensign flying from, her\nmainmast. He could make out not only the red and yellow quarterings, but\nthe devices of the castle and the lion.\n\n\"A Spanish ship, Biskaine,\" he growled to his companion. \"It is very\nwell. The praise to the One!\"\n\n\"Will she venture in?\" wondered the other.\n\n\"Be sure she will venture,\" was the confident answer. \"She suspects\nno danger, and it is not often that our galleys are to be found so far\nwestward. Aye, there she comes in all her Spanish pride.\"\n\nEven as he spoke she reached that line of demarcation. She crossed it,\nfor there was still a moderate breeze on the leeward side of it, intent\nno doubt upon making the utmost of that southward run.\n\n\"Now!\" cried Biskaine--Biskaine-el-Borak was he called from the\nlightning-like impetuousness in which he was wont to strike. He quivered\nwith impatience, like a leashed hound.\n\n\"Not yet,\" was the calm, restraining answer. \"Every inch nearer shore\nshe creeps the more certain is her doom. Time enough to sound the charge\nwhen she goes about. Give me to drink, Abiad,\" he said to one of his\nnegroes, whom in irony he had dubbed \"the White.\"\n\nThe slave turned aside, swept away a litter of ferns and produced an\namphora of porous red clay; he removed the palm-leaves from the mouth\nof it and poured water into a cup. Sakr-el-Bahr drank slowly, his eyes\nnever leaving the vessel, whose every ratline was clearly defined by\nnow in the pellucid air. They could see men moving on her decks, and the\nwatchman stationed in the foremast fighting-top. She was not more than\nhalf a mile away when suddenly came the manceuvre to go about.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr leapt instantly to his great height and waved a long green\nscarf. From one of the galleys behind the screen of rocks a trumpet rang\nout in immediate answer to that signal; it was followed by the shrill\nwhistles of the bo\'suns, and that again by the splash and creak of oars,\nas the two larger galleys swept out from their ambush. The long armoured\npoops were a-swarm with turbaned corsairs, their weapons gleaming in\nthe sunshine; a dozen at least were astride of the crosstree of each\nmainmast, all armed with bows and arrows, and the ratlines on each side\nof the galleys were black with men who swarmed there like locusts ready\nto envelop and smother their prey.\n\nThe suddenness of the attack flung the Spaniard into confusion. There\nwas a frantic stir aboard her, trumpet blasts and shootings and wild\nscurryings of men hither and thither to the posts to which they were\nordered by their too reckless captain. In that confusion her manceuvre\nto go about went all awry, and precious moments were lost during which\nshe stood floundering, with idly flapping sails. In his desperate haste\nthe captain headed her straight to leeward, thinking that by running\nthus before the wind he stood the best chance of avoiding the trap. But\nthere was not wind enough in that sheltered spot to make the attempt\nsuccessful. The galleys sped straight on at an angle to the direction\nin which the Spaniard was moving, their yellow dripping oars flashing\nfuriously, as the bo\'suns plied their whips to urge every ounce of sinew\nin the slaves.\n\nOf all this Sakr-el-Bahr gathered an impression as, followed by Biskaine\nand the negroes, he swiftly made his way down from that eyrie that\nhad served him so well. He sprang from red oak to cork-tree and from\ncork-tree to red oak; he leapt from rock to rock, or lowered himself\nfrom ledge to ledge, gripping a handful of heath or a projecting stone,\nbut all with the speed and nimbleness of an ape. He dropped at last to\nthe beach, then sped across it at a run, and went bounding along a black\nreef until he stood alongside of the galliot which had been left behind\nby the other Corsair vessels. She awaited him in deep water, the length\nof her oars from the rock, and as he came alongside, these oars were\nbrought to the horizontal, and held there firmly. He leapt down upon\nthem, his companions following him, and using them as a gangway, reached\nthe bulwarks. He threw a leg over the side, and alighted on a decked\nspace between two oars and the two rows of six slaves that were manning\neach of them.\n\nBiskaine followed him and the negroes came last. They were still astride\nof the bulwarks when Sakr-el-Bahr gave the word. Up the middle\ngangway ran a bo\'sun and two of his mates cracking their long whips of\nbullock-hide. Down went the oars, there was a heave, and they shot out\nin the wake of the other two to join the fight.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr, scimitar in hand, stood on the prow, a little in advance\nof the mob of eager babbling corsairs who surrounded him, quivering in\ntheir impatience to be let loose upon the Christian foe. Above, along\nthe yardarm and up the ratlines swarmed his bowmen. From the mast-head\nfloated out his standard, of crimson charged with a green crescent.\n\nThe naked Christian slaves groaned, strained and sweated under the\nMoslem lash that drove them to the destruction of their Christian\nbrethren.\n\nAhead the battle was already joined. The Spaniard had fired one\nsingle hasty shot which had gone wide, and now one of the corsair\'s\ngrappling-irons had seized her on the larboard quarter, a withering hail\nof arrows was pouring down upon her decks from the Muslim crosstrees;\nup her sides crowded the eager Moors, ever most eager when it was a\nquestion of tackling the Spanish dogs who had driven them from their\nAndalusian Caliphate. Under her quarter sped the other galley to take\nher on the starboard side, and even as she went her archers and stingers\nhurled death aboard the galleon.\n\nIt was a short, sharp fight. The Spaniards in confusion from the\nbeginning, having been taken utterly by surprise, had never been able\nto order themselves in a proper manner to receive the onslaught. Still,\nwhat could be done they did. They made a gallant stand against this\npitiless assailant. But the corsairs charged home as gallantly, utterly\nreckless of life, eager to slay in the name of Allah and His Prophet\nand scarcely less eager to die if it should please the All-pitiful that\ntheir destinies should be here fulfilled. Up they went, and back fell\nthe Castilians, outnumbered by at least ten to one.\n\nWhen Sakr-el-Bahr\'s galliot came alongside, that brief encounter was at\nan end, and one of his corsairs was aloft, hacking from the mainmast the\nstandard of Spain and the wooden crucifix that was nailed below it.\nA moment later and to a thundering roar of \"Al-hamdolliah!\" the green\ncrescent floated out upon the breeze.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr thrust his way through the press in the galleon\'s waist;\nhis corsairs fell back before him, making way, and as he advanced they\nroared his name deliriously and waved their scimitars to acclaim him\nthis hawk of the sea, as he was named, this most valiant of all the\nservants of Islam. True he had taken no actual part in the engagement.\nIt had been too brief and he had arrived too late for that. But his had\nbeen the daring to conceive an ambush at so remote a western point, and\nhis the brain that had guided them to this swift sweet victory in the\nname of Allah the One.\n\nThe decks were slippery with blood, and strewn with wounded and dying\nmen, whom already the Muslimeen were heaving overboard--dead and wounded\nalike when they were Christians, for to what end should they be troubled\nwith maimed slaves?\n\nAbout the mainmast were huddled the surviving Spaniards, weaponless and\nbroken in courage, a herd of timid, bewildered sheep.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr stood forward, his light eyes considering them grimly. They\nmust number close upon a hundred, adventurers in the main who had set\nout from Cadiz in high hope of finding fortune in the Indies. Their\nvoyage had been a very brief one; their fate they knew--to toil at the\noars of the Muslim galleys, or at best, to be taken to Algiers or Tunis\nand sold there into the slavery of some wealthy Moor.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr\'s glance scanned them appraisingly, and rested finally on\nthe captain, who stood slightly in advance, his face livid with rage\nand grief. He was richly dressed in the Castilian black, and his velvet\nthimble-shaped hat was heavily plumed and decked by a gold cross.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr salaamed ceremoniously to him. \"Fortuna de guerra, senor\ncapitan,\" said he in fluent Spanish. \"What is your name?\"\n\n\"I am Don Paulo de Guzman,\" the man answered, drawing himself erect, and\nspeaking with conscious pride in himself and manifest contempt of his\ninterlocutor.\n\n\"So! A gentleman of family! And well-nourished and sturdy, I should\njudge. In the sôk at Algiers you might fetch two hundred philips. You\nshall ransom yourself for five hundred.\"\n\n\"Por las Entranas de Dios!\" swore Don Paulo who, like all pious Spanish\nCatholics, favoured the oath anatomical. What else he would have added\nin his fury is not known, for Sakr-el-Bahr waved him contemptuously\naway.\n\n\"For your profanity and want of courtesy we will make the ransom a\nthousand philips, then,\" said he. And to his followers--\"Away with him!\nLet him have courteous entertainment against the coming of his ransom.\"\n\nHe was borne away cursing.\n\nOf the others Sakr-el-Bahr made short work. He offered the privilege\nof ransoming himself to any who might claim it, and the privilege was\nclaimed by three. The rest he consigned to the care of Biskaine, who\nacted as his Kayla, or lieutenant. But before doing so he bade the\nship\'s bo\'sun stand forward, and demanded to know what slaves there\nmight be on board. There were, he learnt, but a dozen, employed\nupon menial duties on the ship--three Jews, seven Muslimeen and two\nheretics--and they had been driven under the hatches when the peril\nthreatened.\n\nBy Sakr-el-Bahr\'s orders these were dragged forth from the blackness\ninto which they had been flung. The Muslimeen upon discovering that they\nhad fallen into the hands of their own people and that their slavery was\nat an end, broke into cries of delight, and fervent praise of Allah than\nwhom they swore there was no other God. The three Jews, lithe, stalwart\nyoung men in black tunics that fell to their knees and black skull-caps\nupon their curly black locks, smiled ingratiatingly, hoping for the best\nsince they were fallen into the hands of people who were nearer akin to\nthem than Christians and allied to them, at least, by the bond of common\nenmity to Spain and common suffering at the hands of Spaniards. The two\nheretics stood in stolid apathy, realizing that with them it was but a\ncase of passing from Charybdis to Scylla, and that they had as little\nto hope for from heathen as from Christian. One of these was a sturdy\nbowlegged fellow, whose garments were little better than rags; his\nweather-beaten face was of the colour of mahogany and his eyes of a dark\nblue under tufted eyebrows that once had been red--like his hair and\nbeard--but were now thickly intermingled with grey. He was spotted like\na leopard on the hands by enormous dark brown freckles.\n\nOf the entire dozen he was the only one that drew the attention of\nSakr-el-Bahr. He stood despondently before the corsair, with bowed head\nand his eyes upon the deck, a weary, dejected, spiritless slave who\nwould as soon die as live. Thus some few moments during which the\nstalwart Muslim stood regarding him; then as if drawn by that persistent\nscrutiny he raised his dull, weary eyes. At once they quickened, the\ndulness passed out of them; they were bright and keen as of old. He\nthrust his head forward, staring in his turn; then, in a bewildered way\nhe looked about him at the ocean of swarthy faces under turbans of all\ncolours, and back again at Sakr-el-Bahr.\n\n\"God\'s light!\" he said at last, in English, to vent his infinite\namazement. Then reverting to the cynical manner that he had ever\naffected, and effacing all surprise--\n\n\"Good day to you, Sir Oliver,\" said he. \"I suppose ye\'ll give yourself\nthe pleasure of hanging me.\"\n\n\"Allah is great!\" said Sakr-el-Bahr impassively.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II. THE RENEGADE\n\n\nHow it came to happen that Sakr-el-Bahr, the Hawk of the Sea, the Muslim\nrover, the scourge of the Mediterranean, the terror of Christians, and\nthe beloved of Asad-ed-Din, Basha of Algiers, would be one and the same\nas Sir Oliver Tressilian, the Cornish gentleman of Penarrow, is at long\nlength set forth in the chronicles of Lord Henry Goade. His lordship\nconveys to us some notion of how utterly overwhelming he found that\nfact by the tedious minuteness with which he follows step by step this\nextraordinary metamorphosis. He devotes to it two entire volumes of\nthose eighteen which he has left us. The whole, however, may with\nadvantage be summarized into one short chapter.\n\nSir Oliver was one of a score of men who were rescued from the sea by\nthe crew of the Spanish vessel that had sunk the Swallow; another was\nJasper Leigh, the skipper. All of them were carried to Lisbon, and there\nhanded over to the Court of the Holy Office. Since they were heretics\nall--or nearly all--it was fit and proper that the Brethren of St.\nDominic should undertake their conversion in the first place. Sir Oliver\ncame of a family that never had been famed for rigidity in religious\nmatters, and he was certainly not going to burn alive if the adoption of\nother men\'s opinions upon an extremely hypothetical future state would\nsuffice to save him from the stake. He accepted Catholic baptism with\nan almost contemptuous indifference. As for Jasper Leigh, it will be\nconceived that the elasticity of the skipper\'s conscience was no less\nthan Sir Oliver\'s, and he was certainly not the man to be roasted for a\ntrifle of faith.\n\nNo doubt there would be great rejoicings in the Holy House over the\nrescue of these two unfortunate souls from the certain perdition that\nhad awaited them. It followed that as converts to the Faith they were\nwarmly cherished, and tears of thanksgiving were profusely shed\nover them by the Hounds of God. So much for their heresy. They were\ncompletely purged of it, having done penance in proper form at an Auto\nheld on the Rocio at Lisbon, candle in hand and sanbenito on their\nshoulders. The Church dismissed them with her blessing and an injunction\nto persevere in the ways of salvation to which with such meek kindness\nshe had inducted them.\n\nNow this dismissal amounted to a rejection. They were, as a consequence,\nthrown back upon the secular authorities, and the secular authorities\nhad yet to punish them for their offence upon the seas. No offence could\nbe proved, it is true. But the courts were satisfied that this lack of\noffence was but the natural result of a lack of opportunity. Conversely,\nthey reasoned, it was not to be doubted that with the opportunity the\noffence would have been forthcoming. Their assurance of this was based\nupon the fact that when the Spaniard fired across the bows of the\nSwallow as an invitation to heave to, she had kept upon her course.\nThus, with unanswerable Castilian logic was the evil conscience of\nher skipper proven. Captain Leigh protested on the other hand that his\naction had been dictated by his lack of faith in Spaniards and his firm\nbelief that all Spaniards were pirates to be avoided by every honest\nseaman who was conscious of inferior strength of armaments. It was a\nplea that won him no favour with his narrow-minded judges.\n\nSir Oliver fervently urged that he was no member of the crew of the\nSwallow, that he was a gentleman who found himself aboard her very much\nagainst his will, being the victim of a villainous piece of trepanning\nexecuted by her venal captain. The court heard his plea with respect,\nand asked to know his name and rank. He was so very indiscreet as to\nanswer truthfully. The result was extremely educative to Sir Oliver; it\nshowed him how systematically conducted was the keeping of the Spanish\narchives. The court produced documents enabling his judges to recite to\nhim most of that portion of his life that had been spent upon the seas,\nand many an awkward little circumstance which had slipped his memory\nlong since, which he now recalled, and which certainly was not\ncalculated to make his sentence lighter.\n\nHad he not been in the Barbados in such a year, and had he not there\ncaptured the galleon Maria de las Dolores? What was that but an act of\nvillainous piracy? Had he not scuttled a Spanish carack four years ago\nin the bay of Funchal? Had he not been with that pirate Hawkins in the\naffair at San Juan de Ulloa? And so on. Questions poured upon him and\nengulfed him.\n\nHe almost regretted that he had given himself the trouble to accept\nconversion and all that it entailed at the hands of the Brethren of\nSt. Dominic. It began to appear to him that he had but wasted time and\nescaped the clerical fire to be dangled on a secular rope as an offering\nto the vengeful gods of outraged Spain.\n\nSo much, however, was not done. The galleys in the Mediterranean were\nin urgent need of men at the time, and to this circumstance Sir Oliver,\nCaptain Leigh, and some others of the luckless crew of the Swallow owed\ntheir lives, though it is to be doubted whether any of them found the\nmatter one for congratulation. Chained each man to a fellow, ankle to\nankle, with but a short length of links between, they formed part of a\nconsiderable herd of unfortunates, who were driven across Portugal\ninto Spain and then southward to Cadiz. The last that Sir Oliver saw of\nCaptain Leigh was on the morning on which he set out from the reeking\nLisbon gaol. Thereafter throughout that weary march each knew the other\nto be somewhere in that wretched regiment of galley-slaves; but they\nnever came face to face again.\n\nIn Cadiz Sir Oliver spent a month in a vast enclosed space that was open\nto the sky, but nevertheless of an indescribable foulness, a place of\nfilth, disease, and suffering beyond human conception, the details of\nwhich the curious may seek for himself in my Lord Henry\'s chronicles.\nThey are too revolting by far to be retailed here.\n\nAt the end of that month he was one of those picked out by an officer\nwho was manning a galley that was to convey the Infanta to Naples. He\nowed this to his vigorous constitution which had successfully withstood\nthe infections of that mephitic place of torments, and to the fine thews\nwhich the officer pummelled and felt as though he were acquiring a beast\nof burden--which, indeed, is precisely what he was doing.\n\nThe galley to which our gentleman was dispatched was a vessel of\nfifty oars, each manned by seven men. They were seated upon a sort of\nstaircase that followed the slope of the oar, running from the gangway\nin the vessel\'s middle down to the shallow bulwarks.\n\nThe place allotted to Sir Oliver was that next the gangway. Here, stark\nnaked as when he was born, he was chained to the bench, and in those\nchains, let us say at once, he remained, without a single moment\'s\nintermission, for six whole months.\n\nBetween himself and the hard timbers of his seat there was naught but a\nflimsy and dirty sheepskin. From end to end the bench was not more than\nten feet in length, whilst the distance separating it from the next one\nwas a bare four feet. In that cramped space of ten feet by four, Sir\nOliver and his six oar-mates had their miserable existence, waking and\nsleeping--for they slept in their chains at the oar without sufficient\nroom in which to lie at stretch.\n\nAnon Sir Oliver became hardened and inured to that unspeakable\nexistence, that living death of the galley-slave. But that first long\nvoyage to Naples was ever to remain the most terrible experience of his\nlife. For spells of six or eight endless hours at a time, and on one\noccasion for no less than ten hours, did he pull at his oar without a\nsingle moment\'s pause. With one foot on the stretcher, the other on\nthe bench in front of him, grasping his part of that appallingly heavy\nfifteen-foot oar, he would bend his back to thrust forward--and upwards\nso to clear the shoulders of the groaning, sweating slaves in front of\nhim--then he would lift the end so as to bring the blade down to the\nwater, and having gripped he would rise from his seat to throw his full\nweight into the pull, and so fall back with clank of chain upon the\ngroaning bench to swing forward once more, and so on until his senses\nreeled, his sight became blurred, his mouth parched and his whole body\na living, straining ache. Then would come the sharp fierce cut of the\nboatswain\'s whip to revive energies that flagged however little, and\nsometimes to leave a bleeding stripe upon his naked back.\n\nThus day in day out, now broiled and blistered by the pitiless southern\nsun, now chilled by the night dews whilst he took his cramped and\nunrefreshing rest, indescribably filthy and dishevelled, his hair and\nbeard matted with endless sweat, unwashed save by the rains which\nin that season were all too rare, choked almost by the stench of his\nmiserable comrades and infested by filthy crawling things begotten of\ndecaying sheepskins and Heaven alone knows what other foulnesses of\nthat floating hell. He was sparingly fed upon weevilled biscuit and vile\nmesses of tallowy rice, and to drink he was given luke-warm water that\nwas often stale, saving that sometimes when the spell of rowing was\nmore than usually protracted the boatswains would thrust lumps of bread\nsodden in wine into the mouths of the toiling slaves to sustain them.\n\nThe scurvy broke out on that voyage, and there were other diseases\namong the rowers, to say nothing of the festering sores begotten of\nthe friction of the bench which were common to all, and which each must\nendure as best he could. With the slave whose disease conquered him or\nwho, reaching the limit of his endurance, permitted himself to swoon,\nthe boat-swains had a short way. The diseased were flung overboard; the\nswooning were dragged out upon the gangway or bridge and flogged there\nto revive them; if they did not revive they were flogged on until they\nwere a horrid bleeding pulp, which was then heaved into the sea.\n\nOnce or twice when they stood to windward the smell of the slaves being\nwafted abaft and reaching the fine gilded poop where the Infanta and her\nattendants travelled, the helmsmen were ordered to put about, and for\nlong weary hours the slaves would hold the galley in position, backing\nher up gently against the wind so as not to lose way.\n\nThe number that died in the first week of that voyage amounted to close\nupon a quarter of the total. But there were reserves in the prow, and\nthese were drawn upon to fill the empty places. None but the fittest\ncould survive this terrible ordeal.\n\nOf these was Sir Oliver, and of these too was his immediate neighbour at\nthe oar, a stalwart, powerful, impassive, uncomplaining young Moor, who\naccepted his fate with a stoicism that aroused Sir Oliver\'s admiration.\nFor days they exchanged no single word together, their religions marking\nthem out, they thought, for enemies despite the fact that they were\nfellows in misfortune. But one evening when an aged Jew who had\ncollapsed in merciful unconsciousness was dragged out and flogged in\nthe usual manner, Sir Oliver, chancing to behold the scarlet prelate\nwho accompanied the Infanta looking on from the poop-rail with hard\nunmerciful eyes, was filled with such a passion at all this inhumanity\nand at the cold pitilessness of that professed servant of the Gentle and\nPitiful Saviour, that aloud he cursed all Christians in general and that\nscarlet Prince of the Church in particular.\n\nHe turned to the Moor beside him, and addressing him in Spanish--\n\n\"Hell,\" he said, \"was surely made for Christians, which may be why they\nseek to make earth like it.\"\n\nFortunately for him the creak and dip of the oars, the clank of chains,\nand the lashes beating sharply upon the wretched Jew were sufficient to\nmuffle his voice. But the Moor heard him, and his dark eyes gleamed.\n\n\"There is a furnace seven times heated awaiting them, ) my brother,\" he\nreplied, with a confidence which seemed to be the source of his present\nstoicism. \"But art thou, then, not a Christian?\"\n\nHe spoke in that queer language of the North African seaboard, that\nlingua franca, which sounded like some French dialect interspersed with\nArabic words. But Sir Oliver made out his meaning almost by intuition.\nHe answered him in Spanish again, since although the Moor did not appear\nto speak it yet it was plain he understood it.\n\n\"I renounce from this hour,\" he answered in his passion. \"I will\nacknowledge no religion in whose name such things are done. Look me at\nthat scarlet fruit of hell up yonder. See how daintily he sniffs at his\npomander lest his saintly nostrils be offended by the exhalations of\nour misery. Yet are we God\'s creatures made in God\'s image like himself.\nWhat does he know of God? Religion he knows as he knows good wine, rich\nfood, and soft women. He preaches self-denial as the way to heaven, and\nby his own tenets is he damned.\" He growled an obscene oath as he heaved\nthe great oar forward. \"A Christian I?\" he cried, and laughed for the\nfirst time since he had been chained to that bench of agony. \"I am done\nwith Christians and Christianity!\"\n\n\"Verily we are God\'s, and to Him shall we return,\" said the Moor.\n\nThat was the beginning of a friendship between Sir Oliver and this man,\nwhose name was Yusuf-ben-Moktar. The Muslim conceived that in Sir Oliver\nhe saw one upon whom the grace of Allah had descended, one who was\nripe to receive the Prophet\'s message. Yusuf was devout, and he applied\nhimself to the conversion of his fellow-slave. Sir Oliver listened to\nhim, however, with indifference. Having discarded one creed he would\nneed a deal of satisfying on the score of another before he adopted\nit, and it seemed to him that all the glorious things urged by Yusuf in\npraise of Islam he had heard before in praise of Christianity. But he\nkept his counsel on that score, and meanwhile his intercourse with the\nMuslim had the effect of teaching him the lingua franca, so that at the\nend of six months he found himself speaking it like a Mauretanian with\nall the Muslim\'s imagery and with more than the ordinary seasoning of\nArabic.\n\nIt was towards the end of that six months that the event took place\nwhich was to restore Sir Oliver to liberty. In the meanwhile those limbs\nof his which had ever been vigorous beyond the common wont had acquired\nan elephantine strength. It was ever thus at the oar. Either you died\nunder the strain, or your thews and sinews grew to be equal to their\nrelentless task. Sir Oliver in those six months was become a man\nof steel and iron, impervious to fatigue, superhuman almost in his\nendurance.\n\nThey were returning home from a trip to Genoa when one evening as they\nwere standing off Minorca in the Balearic Isles they were surprised by\na fleet of four Muslim galleys which came skimming round a promontory to\nsurround and engage them.\n\nAboard the Spanish vessel there broke a terrible cry of\n\"Asad-ed-Din\"--the name of the most redoubtable Muslim corsair since the\nItalian renegade Ochiali--the Ali Pasha who had been killed at Lepanto.\nTrumpets blared and drums beat on the poop, and the Spaniards in morion\nand corselet, armed with calivers and pikes, stood to defend their lives\nand liberty. The gunners sprang to the culverins. But fire had to\nbe kindled and linstocks ignited, and in the confusion much time\nwas lost--so much that not a single cannon shot was fired before\nthe grappling irons of the first galley clanked upon and gripped the\nSpaniard\'s bulwarks. The shock of the impact was terrific. The armoured\nprow of the Muslim galley--Asad-ed-Din\'s own--smote the Spaniard a\nslanting blow amidships that smashed fifteen of the oars as if they had\nbeen so many withered twigs.\n\nThere was a shriek from the slaves, followed by such piteous groans as\nthe damned in hell may emit. Fully two score of them had been struck by\nthe shafts of their oars as these were hurled back against them. Some\nhad been killed outright, others lay limp and crushed, some with broken\nbacks, others with shattered limbs and ribs.\n\nSir Oliver would assuredly have been of these but for the warning,\nadvice, and example of Yusuf, who was well versed in galley-fighting\nand who foresaw clearly what must happen. He thrust the oar upward and\nforward as far as it would go, compelling the others at his bench to\naccompany his movement. Then he slipped down upon his knees, released\nhis hold of the timber, and crouched down until his shoulders were on\na level with the bench. He had shouted to Sir Oliver to follow his\nexample, and Sir Oliver without even knowing what the manoeuvre should\nportend, but gathering its importance from the other\'s urgency of tone,\npromptly obeyed. The oar was struck an instant later and ere it snapped\noff it was flung back, braining one of the slaves at the bench and\nmortally injuring the others, but passing clean over the heads of Sir\nOliver and Yusuf. A moment later the bodies of the oarsmen of the bench\nimmediately in front were flung back atop of them with yells and curses.\n\nWhen Sir Oliver staggered to his feet he found the battle joined. The\nSpaniards had fired a volley from their calivers and a dense cloud of\nsmoke hung above the bulwarks; through this surged now the corsairs, led\nby a tall, lean, elderly man with a flowing white beard and a swarthy\neagle face. A crescent of emeralds flashed from his snowy turban; above\nit rose the peak of a steel cap, and his body was cased in chain mail.\nHe swung a great scimitar, before which Spaniards went down like wheat\nto the reaper\'s sickle. He fought like ten men, and to support him\npoured a never-ending stream of Muslimeen to the cry of \"Din! Din!\nAllah, Y\'Allah!\" Back and yet back went the Spaniards before that\nirresistible onslaught.\n\nSir Oliver found Yusuf struggling in vain to rid himself of his chain,\nand went to his assistance. He stooped, seized it in both hands, set his\nfeet against the bench, exerted all his strength, and tore the staple\nfrom the wood. Yusuf was free, save, of course, that a length of heavy\nchain was dangling from his steel anklet. In his turn he did the like\nservice by Sir Oliver, though not quite as speedily, for strong man\nthough he was, either his strength was not equal to the Cornishman\'s\nor else the latter\'s staple had been driven into sounder timber. In the\nend, however, it yielded, and Sir Oliver too was free. Then he set the\nfoot that was hampered by the chain upon the bench, and with the staple\nthat still hung from the end of it he prised open the link that attached\nit to his anklet.\n\nThat done he took his revenge. Crying \"Din!\" as loudly as any of the\nMuslimeen boarders, he flung himself upon the rear of the Spaniards\nbrandishing his chain. In his hands it became a terrific weapon. He used\nit as a scourge, lashing it to right and left of him, splitting here a\nhead and crushing there a face, until he had hacked a way clean through\nthe Spanish press, which bewildered by this sudden rear attack made but\nlittle attempt to retaliate upon the escaped galley-slave. After him,\nwhirling the remaining ten feet of the broken oar, came Yusuf.\n\nSir Oliver confessed afterwards to knowing very little of what happened\nin those moments. He came to a full possession of his senses to find\nthe fight at an end, a cloud of turbaned corsairs standing guard over a\nhuddle of Spaniards, others breaking open the cabin and dragging thence\nthe chests that it contained, others again armed with chisels and\nmallets passing along the benches liberating the surviving slaves, of\nwhom the great majority were children of Islam.\n\nSir Oliver found himself face to face with the white-bearded leader of\nthe corsairs, who was leaning upon his scimitar and regarding him with\neyes at once amused and amazed. Our gentleman\'s naked body was splashed\nfrom head to foot with blood, and in his right hand he still clutched\nthat yard of iron links with which he had wrought such ghastly\nexecution. Yusuf was standing at the corsair leader\'s elbow speaking\nrapidly.\n\n\"By Allah, was ever such a lusty fighter seen!\" cried the latter. \"The\nstrength of the Prophet is within him thus to smite the unbelieving\npigs.\"\n\nSir Oliver grinned savagely.\n\n\"I was returning them some of their whip-lashes--with interest,\" said\nhe.\n\nAnd those were the circumstances under which he came to meet the\nformidable Asad-ed-Din, Basha of Algiers, those the first words that\npassed between them.\n\nAnon, when aboard Asad\'s own galley he was being carried to Barbary, he\nwas washed and his head was shaved all but the forelock, by which the\nProphet should lift him up to heaven when his earthly destiny should\ncome to be fulfilled. He made no protest. They washed and fed him and\ngave him ease; and so that they did these things to him they might do\nwhat else they pleased. At last arrayed in flowing garments that were\nstrange to him, and with a turban wound about his head, he was conducted\nto the poop, where Asad sat with Yusuf under an awning, and he came to\nunderstand that it was in compliance with the orders of Yusuf that he\nhad been treated as if he were a True-Believer.\n\nYusuf-ben-Moktar was discovered as a person of great consequence, the\nnephew of Asad-ed-Din, and a favourite with that Exalted of Allah the\nSublime Portal himself, a man whose capture by Christians had been a\nthing profoundly deplored. Accordingly his delivery from that thraldom\nwas matter for rejoicing. Being delivered, he bethought him of his\noar-mate, concerning whom indeed Asad-ed-Din manifested the greatest\ncuriosity, for in all this world there was nothing the old corsair loved\nso much as a fighter, and in all his days, he vowed, never had he\nseen the equal of that stalwart galley-slave, never the like of his\nperformance with that murderous chain. Yusuf had informed him that the\nman was a fruit ripe for the Prophet\'s plucking, that the grace of Allah\nwas upon him, and in spirit already he must be accounted a good Muslim.\n\nWhen Sir Oliver, washed, perfumed, and arrayed in white caftan and\nturban, which gave him the air of being even taller than he was, came\ninto the presence of Asad-ed-Din, it was conveyed to him that if he\nwould enter the ranks of the Faithful of the Prophet\'s House and devote\nthe strength and courage with which Allah the One had endowed him to\nthe upholding of the true Faith and to the chastening of the enemies of\nIslam, great honour, wealth and dignity were in store for him.\n\nOf all that proposal, made at prodigious length and with great wealth\nof Eastern circumlocution, the only phrase that took root in his rather\nbewildered mind was that which concerned the chastening of the enemies\nof Islam. The enemies of Islam he conceived, were his own enemies; and\nhe further conceived that they stood in great need of chastening, and\nthat to take a hand in that chastening would be a singularly grateful\ntask. So he considered the proposals made him. He considered, too, that\nthe alternative--in the event of his refusing to make the protestations\nof Faith required of him--was that he must return to the oar of a\ngalley, of a Muslim galley now. Now that was an occupation of which he\nhad had more than his fill, and since he had been washed and restored\nto the normal sensations of a clean human being he found that whatever\nmight be within the scope of his courage he could not envisage returning\nto the oar. We have seen the ease with which he had abandoned the\nreligion in which he was reared for the Roman faith, and how utterly\ndeluded he had found himself. With the same degree of ease did he now\ngo over to Islam and with much greater profit. Moreover, he embraced the\nReligion of Mahomet with a measure of fierce conviction that had been\nentirely lacking from his earlier apostasy.\n\nHe had arrived at the conclusion whilst aboard the galley of Spain,\nas we have seen, that Christianity as practised in his day was a grim\nmockery of which the world were better rid. It is not to be supposed\nthat his convictions that Christianity was at fault went the length of\nmaking him suppose that Islam was right, or that his conversion to the\nFaith of Mahomet was anything more than superficial. But forced as he\nwas to choose between the rower\'s bench and the poop-deck, the oar and\nthe scimitar, he boldly and resolutely made the only choice that in his\ncase could lead to liberty and life.\n\nThus he was received into the ranks of the Faithful whose pavilions wait\nthem in Paradise, set in an orchard of never-failing fruit, among\nrivers of milk, of wine, and of clarified honey. He became the Kayia or\nlieutenant to Yusuf on the galley of that corsair\'s command and seconded\nhim in half a score of engagements with an ability and a conspicuity\nthat made him swiftly famous throughout the ranks of the Mediterranean\nrovers. Some six months later in a fight off the coast of Sicily with\none of the galleys of the Religion--as the vessels of the Knights of\nMalta were called--Yusuf was mortally wounded in the very moment of the\nvictory. He died an hour later in the arms of Sir Oliver, naming the\nlatter his successor in the command of the galley, and enjoining upon\nall implicit obedience to him until they should be returned to Algiers\nand the Basha should make known his further will in the matter.\n\nThe Basha\'s will was to confirm his nephew\'s dying appointment of a\nsuccessor, and Sir Oliver found himself in full command of a galley.\nFrom that hour he became Oliver-Reis, but very soon his valour and fury\nearned him the by-name of Sakr-el-Bahr, the Hawk of the Sea. His fame\ngrew rapidly, and it spread across the tideless sea to the very shores\nof Christendom. Soon he became Asad\'s lieutenant, the second in command\nof all the Algerine galleys, which meant in fact that he was the\ncommander-in-chief, for Asad was growing old and took the sea more and\nmore rarely now. Sakr-el-Bahr sallied forth in his name and his stead,\nand such was his courage, his address, and his good fortune that never\ndid he go forth to return empty-handed.\n\nIt was clear to all that the favour of Allah was upon him, that he had\nbeen singled out by Allah to be the very glory of Islam. Asad, who had\never esteemed him, grew to love him. An intensely devout man, could\nhe have done less in the case of one for whom the Pitying the Pitiful\nshowed so marked a predilection? It was freely accepted that when the\ndestiny of Asad-ed-Din should come to be fulfilled, Sakr-el-Bahr must\nsucceed him in the Bashalik of Algiers, and that thus Oliver-Reis would\nfollow in the footsteps of Barbarossa, Ochiali, and other Christian\nrenegades who had become corsair-princes of Islam.\n\nIn spite of certain hostilities which his rapid advancement begot, and\nof which we shall hear more presently, once only did his power stand in\ndanger of suffering a check. Coming one morning into the reeking bagnio\nat Algiers, some six months after he had been raised to his captaincy,\nhe found there a score of countrymen of his own, and he gave orders that\ntheir letters should instantly be struck off and their liberty restored\nthem.\n\nCalled to account by the Basha for this action he took a high-handed\nway, since no other was possible. He swore by the beard of the Prophet\nthat if he were to draw the sword of Mahomet and to serve Islam upon the\nseas, he would serve it in his own way, and one of his ways was that his\nown countrymen were to have immunity from the edge of that same sword.\nIslam, he swore, should not be the loser, since for every Englishman he\nrestored to liberty he would bring two Spaniards, Frenchmen, Greeks, or\nItalians into bondage.\n\nHe prevailed, but only upon condition that since captured slaves were\nthe property of the state, if he desired to abstract them from the state\nhe must first purchase them for himself. Since they would then be his\nown property he could dispose of them at his good pleasure. Thus did\nthe wise and just Asad resolve the difficulty which had arisen, and\nOliver-Reis bowed wisely to that decision.\n\nThereafter what English slaves were brought to Algiers he purchased,\nmanumitted, and found means to send home again. True, it cost him a\nfine price yearly, but he was fast amassing such wealth as could easily\nsupport this tax.\n\nAs you read Lord Henry Goade\'s chronicles you might come to the\nconclusion that in the whorl of that new life of his Sir Oliver had\nentirely forgotten the happenings in his Cornish home and the woman he\nhad loved, who so readily had believed him guilty of the slaying of her\nbrother. You might believe this until you come upon the relation of how\nhe found one day among some English seamen brought captive to Algiers\nby Biskaine-el-Borak--who was become his own second in command--a young\nCornish lad from Helston named Pitt, whose father he had known.\n\nHe took this lad home with him to the fine palace which he inhabited\nnear the Bab-el-Oueb, treated him as an honoured guest, and sat through\na whole summer night in talk with him, questioning him upon this person\nand that person, and thus gradually drawing from him all the little\nhistory of his native place during the two years that were sped since he\nhad left it. In this we gather an impression of the wistful longings the\nfierce nostalgia that must have overcome the renegade and his endeavours\nto allay it by his endless questions. The Cornish lad had brought him up\nsharply and agonizingly with that past of his upon which he had closed\nthe door when he became a Muslim and a corsair. The only possible\ninference is that in those hours of that summer\'s night repentance\nstirred in him, and a wild longing to return. Rosamund should reopen for\nhim that door which, hard-driven by misfortune, he had slammed. That she\nwould do so when once she knew the truth he had no faintest doubt. And\nthere was now no reason why he should conceal the truth, why he should\ncontinue to shield that dastardly half-brother of his, whom he had come\nto hate as fiercely as he had erstwhile loved him.\n\nIn secret he composed a long letter giving the history of all that had\nhappened to him since his kidnapping, and setting forth the entire truth\nof that and of the deed that had led to it. His chronicler opines that\nit was a letter that must have moved a stone to tears. And, moreover,\nit was not a mere matter of passionate protestations of innocence, or of\nunsupported accusation of his brother. It told her of the existence of\nproofs that must dispel all doubt. It told her of that parchment indited\nby Master Baine and witnessed by the parson, which document was to be\ndelivered to her together with the letter. Further, it bade her seek\nconfirmation of that document\'s genuineness, did she doubt it, at the\nhands of Master Baine himself. That done, it besought her to lay the\nwhole matter before the Queen, and thus secure him faculty to return to\nEngland and immunity from any consequences of his subsequent regenade\nact to which his sufferings had driven him. He loaded the young\nCornishman with gifts, gave him that letter to deliver in person, and\nadded instructions that should enable him to find the document he was\nto deliver with it. That precious parchment had been left between the\nleaves of an old book on falconry in the library at Penarrow, where it\nwould probably be found still undisturbed since his brother would not\nsuspect its presence and was himself no scholar. Pitt was to seek out\nNicholas at Penarrow and enlist his aid to obtain possession of that\ndocument, if it still existed.\n\nThen Sakr-el-Bahr found means to conduct Pitt to Genoa, and there put\nhim aboard an English vessel.\n\nThree months later he received an answer--a letter from Pitt, which\nreached him by way of Genoa--which was at peace with the Algerines, and\nserved then as a channel of communication with Christianity. In this\nletter Pitt informed him that he had done all that Sir Oliver had\ndesired him; that he had found the document by the help of Nicholas, and\nthat in person he had waited upon Mistress Rosamund Godolphin, who dwelt\nnow with Sir John Killigrew at Arwenack, delivering to her the letter\nand the parchment; but that upon learning on whose behalf he came she\nhad in his presence flung both unopened upon the fire and dismissed him\nwith his tale untold.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr spent the night under the skies in his fragrant orchard,\nand his slaves reported in terror that they had heard sobs and weeping.\nIf indeed his heart wept, it was for the last time; thereafter he was\nmore inscrutable, more ruthless, cruel and mocking than men had ever\nknown him, nor from that day did he ever again concern himself to\nmanumit a single English slave. His heart was become a stone.\n\nThus five years passed, counting from that spring night when he was\ntrepanned by Jasper Leigh, and his fame spread, his name became a terror\nupon the seas, and fleets put forth from Malta, from Naples, and from\nVenice to make an end of him and his ruthless piracy. But Allah kept\nwatch over him, and Sakr-el-Bahr never delivered battle but he wrested\nvictory to the scimitars of Islam.\n\nThen in the spring of that fifth year there came to him another letter\nfrom the Cornish Pitt, a letter which showed him that gratitude was\nnot as dead in the world as he supposed it, for it was purely out of\ngratitude that the lad whom he had delivered from thraldom wrote to\ninform him of certain matters that concerned him. This letter reopened\nthat old wound; it did more; it dealt him a fresh one. He learnt from it\nthat the writer had been constrained by Sir John Killigrew to give such\nevidence of Sir Oliver\'s conversion to Islam as had enabled the courts\nto pronounce Sir Oliver as one to be presumed dead at law, granting the\nsuccession to his half-brother, Master Lionel Tressilian. Pitt professed\nhimself deeply mortified at having been forced unwittingly to make Sir\nOliver so evil a return for the benefits received from him, and added\nthat sooner would he have suffered them to hang him than have spoken\ncould he have foreseen the consequences of his testimony.\n\nSo far Sir Oliver read unmoved by any feeling other than cold contempt.\nBut there was more to follow. The letter went on to tell him that\nMistress Rosamund was newly returned from a two years\' sojourn in France\nto become betrothed to his half-brother Lionel, and that they were to\nbe wed in June. He was further informed that the marriage had been\ncontrived by Sir John Killigrew in his desire to see Rosamund settled\nand under the protection of a husband, since he himself was proposing\nto take the seas and was fitting out a fine ship for a voyage to the\nIndies. The writer added that the marriage was widely approved, and it\nwas deemed to be an excellent measure for both houses, since it would\nweld into one the two contiguous estates of Penarrow and Godolphin\nCourt.\n\nOliver-Reis laughed when he had read thus far. The marriage was approved\nnot for itself, it would seem, but because by means of it two stretches\nof earth were united into one. It was a marriage of two parks, of two\nestates, of two tracts of arable and forest, and that two human\nbeings were concerned in it was apparently no more than an incidental\ncircumstance.\n\nThen the irony of it all entered his soul and spread it with bitterness.\nAfter dismissing him for the supposed murder of her brother, she was\nto take the actual murderer to her arms. And he, that cur, that false\nvillain!--out of what depths of hell did he derive the courage to go\nthrough with this mummery?--had he no heart, no conscience, no sense of\ndecency, no fear of God?\n\nHe tore the letter into fragments and set about effacing the matter from\nhis thoughts. Pitt had meant kindly by him, but had dealt cruelly. In\nhis efforts to seek distraction from the torturing images ever in his\nmind he took to the sea with three galleys, and thus some two weeks\nlater came face to face with Master Jasper Leigh aboard the Spanish\ncarack which he captured under Cape Spartel.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III. HOMEWARD BOUND\n\n\nIn the cabin of the captured Spaniard, Jasper Leigh found himself that\nevening face to face with Sakr-el-Bahr, haled thither by the corsair\'s\ngigantic Nubians.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr had not yet pronounced his intentions concerning the\npiratical little skipper, and Master Leigh, full conscious that he was\na villain, feared the worst, and had spent some miserable hours in the\nfore-castle awaiting a doom which he accounted foregone.\n\n\"Our positions have changed, Master Leigh, since last we talked in a\nship\'s cabin,\" was the renegade\'s inscrutable greeting.\n\n\"Indeed,\" Master Leigh agreed. \"But I hope ye\'ll remember that on that\noccasion I was your friend.\"\n\n\"At a price,\" Sakr-el-Bahr reminded him. \"And at a price you may find me\nyour friend to-day.\"\n\nThe rascally skipper\'s heart leapt with hope.\n\n\"Name it, Sir Oliver,\" he answered eagerly. \"And so that it ties within\nmy wretched power I swear I\'ll never boggle at it. I\'ve had enough of\nslavery,\" he ran on in a plaintive whine. \"Five years of it, and four\nof them spent aboard the galleys of Spain, and no day in all of them but\nthat I prayed for death. Did you but know what I ha\' suffered.\"\n\n\"Never was suffering more merited, never punishment more fitting,\nnever justice more poetic,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr in a voice that made the\nskipper\'s blood run cold. \"You would have sold me, a man who did you no\nhurt, indeed a man who once befriended you--you would have sold me into\nslavery for a matter of two hundred pounds....\"\n\n\"Nay, nay,\" cried the other fearfully, \"as God\'s my witness, \'twas never\npart of my intent. Ye\'ll never ha\' forgot the words I spoke to you, the\noffer that I made to carry you back home again.\"\n\n\"Ay, at a price, \'tis true,\" Sakr-el-Bahr repeated. \"And it is fortunate\nfor you that you are to-day in a position to pay a price that\nshould postpone your dirty neck\'s acquaintance with a rope. I need a\nnavigator,\" he added in explanation, \"and what five years ago you would\nhave done for two hundred pounds, you shall do to-day for your life. How\nsay you: will you navigate this ship for me?\"\n\n\"Sir,\" cried Jasper Leigh, who could scarce believe that this was all\nthat was required of him, \"I\'ll sail it to hell at your bidding.\"\n\n\"I am not for Spain this voyage,\" answered Sakr-el-Bahr. \"You shall sail\nme precisely as you would have done five years ago, back to the mouth of\nthe Fal, and set me ashore there. Is that agreed?\"\n\n\"Ay, and gladly,\" replied Master Leigh without a second\'s pause.\n\n\"The conditions are that you shall have your life and your liberty,\"\nSakr-el-Bahr explained. \"But do not suppose that arrived in England you\nare to be permitted to depart. You must sail us back again, though once\nyou have done that I shall find a way to send you home if you so desire\nit, and perhaps there will be some measure of reward for you if you\nserve me faithfully throughout. Follow the habits of a lifetime by\nplaying me false and there\'s an end to you. You shall have for constant\nbodyguard these two lilies of the desert,\" and he pointed to the\ncolossal Nubians who stood there invisible almost in the shadow but for\nthe flash of teeth and eyeballs. \"They shall watch over you, and see\nthat no harm befalls you so long as you are honest with me, and they\nshall strangle you at the first sign of treachery. You may go. You have\nthe freedom of the ship, but you are not to leave it here or elsewhere\nsave at my express command.\"\n\nJasper Leigh stumbled out counting himself fortunate beyond his\nexpectations or deserts, and the Nubians followed him and hung behind\nhim ever after like some vast twin shadow.\n\nTo Sakr-el-Bahr entered now Biskaine with a report of the prize\ncaptured. Beyond the prisoners, however, and the actual vessel, which\nhad suffered nothing in the fight, the cargo was of no account. Outward\nbound as she was it was not to be expected that any treasures would be\ndiscovered in her hold. They found great store of armaments and powder\nand a little money; but naught else that was worthy of the corsairs\'\nattention.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr briefly issued his surprising orders.\n\n\"Thou\'lt set the captives aboard one of the galleys, Biskaine, and\nthyself convey them to Algiers, there to be sold. All else thou\'lt leave\naboard here, and two hundred picked corsairs to go a voyage with me\noverseas, men that will act as mariners and fighters.\"\n\n\"Art thou, then, not returning to Algiers, O Sakr-el-Bahr?\"\n\n\"Not yet. I am for a longer voyage. Convey my service to Asad-ed-Din,\nwhom Allah guard and cherish, and tell him to look for me in some six\nweeks time.\"\n\nThis sudden resolve of Oliver-Reis created no little excitement aboard\nthe galleys. The corsairs knew nothing of navigation upon the open seas,\nnone of them had ever been beyond the Mediterranean, few of them indeed\nhad ever voyaged as far west as Cape Spartel, and it is doubtful if\nthey would have followed any other leader into the perils of the open\nAtlantic. But Sakr-el-Bahr, the child of Fortune, the protected of\nAllah, had never yet led them to aught but victory, and he had but to\ncall them to heel and they would troop after him whithersoever he should\nthink well to go. So now there was little trouble in finding the two\nhundred Muslimeen he desired for his fighting crew. Rather was the\ndifficulty to keep the number of those eager for the adventure within\nthe bounds he had indicated.\n\nYou are not to suppose that in all this Sir Oliver was acting upon any\npreconcerted plan. Whilst he had lain on the heights watching that fine\nship beating up against the wind it had come to him that with such a\nvessel under him it were a fond adventure to sail to England, to descend\nupon that Cornish coast abruptly as a thunderbolt, and present the\nreckoning to his craven dastard of a brother. He had toyed with the\nfancy, dreamily almost as men build their castles in Spain. Then in\nthe heat of conflict it had entirely escaped his mind, to return in the\nshape of a resolve when he came to find himself face to face with Jasper\nLeigh.\n\nThe skipper and the ship conjointly provided him with all the means to\nrealize that dream he had dreamt. There was none to oppose his will,\nno reason not to indulge his cruel fancy. Perhaps, too, he might see\nRosamund again, might compel her to hear the truth from him. And there\nwas Sir John Killigrew. He had never been able to determine whether Sir\nJohn had been his friend or his foe in the past; but since it was Sir\nJohn who had been instrumental in setting up Lionel in Sir Oliver\'s\nplace--by inducing the courts to presume Sir Oliver\'s death on the score\nthat being a renegade he must be accounted dead at law--and since it was\nSir John who was contriving this wedding between Lionel and Rosamund,\nwhy, Sir John, too, should be paid a visit and should be informed of the\nprecise nature of the thing he did.\n\nWith the forces at his disposal in those days of his absolute lordship\nof life and death along the African littoral, to conceive was with\nOliver-Reis no more than the prelude to execution. The habit of swift\nrealization of his every wish had grown with him, and that habit guided\nnow his course.\n\nHe made his preparations quickly, and on the morrow the Spanish\ncarack--lately labelled Nuestra Senora de las Llagas, but with that\nlabel carefully effaced from her quarter--trimmed her sails and stood\nout for the open Atlantic, navigated by Captain Jasper Leigh. The three\ngalleys under the command of Biskaine-el-Borak crept slowly eastward and\nhomeward to Algiers, hugging the coast, as was the corsair habit. The\nwind favoured Oliver so well that within ten days of rounding Cape St.\nVincent he had his first glimpse of the Lizard.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV. THE RAID\n\n\nIn the estuary of the River Fal a splendid ship, on the building of which\nthe most cunning engineers had been employed and no money spared, rode\nproudly at anchor just off Smithick under the very shadow of the heights\ncrowned by the fine house of Arwenack. She was fitting out for a distant\nvoyage and for days the work of bringing stores and munitions aboard had\nbeen in progress, so that there was an unwonted bustle about the little\nforge and the huddle of cottages that went to make up the fishing\nvillage, as if in earnest of the great traffic that in future days was\nto be seen about that spot. For Sir John Killigrew seemed at last to be\non the eve of prevailing and of laying there the foundations of the fine\nport of his dreams.\n\nTo this state of things his friendship with Master Lionel Tressilian\nhad contributed not a little. The opposition made to his project by Sir\nOliver--and supported, largely at Sir Oliver\'s suggestion, by Truro and\nHelston--had been entirely withdrawn by Lionel; more, indeed Lionel had\nactually gone so far in the opposite direction as to support Sir John in\nhis representations to Parliament and the Queen. It followed naturally\nenough that just as Sir Oliver\'s opposition of that cherished project\nhad been the seed of the hostility between Arwenack and Penarrow, so\nLionel\'s support of it became the root of the staunch friendship that\nsprang up between himself and Sir John.\n\nWhat Lionel lacked of his brother\'s keen intelligence he made up for in\ncunning. He realized that although at some future time it was possible\nthat Helston and Truro and the Tressilian property there might come\nto suffer as a consequence of the development of a port so much more\nadvantageously situated, yet that could not be in his own lifetime;\nand meanwhile he must earn in return Sir John\'s support for his suit of\nRosamund Godolphin and thus find the Godolphin estates merged with his\nown. This certain immediate gain was to Master Lionel well worth the\nother future possible loss.\n\nIt must not, however, be supposed that Lionel\'s courtship had\nthenceforward run a smooth and easy course. The mistress of Godolphin\nCourt showed him no favour and it was mainly that she might abstract\nherself from the importunities of his suit that she had sought and\nobtained Sir John Killigrew\'s permission to accompany the latter\'s\nsister to France when she went there with her husband, who was appointed\nEnglish ambassador to the Louvre. Sir John\'s authority as her guardian\nhad come into force with the decease of her brother.\n\nMaster Lionel moped awhile in her absence; but cheered by Sir John\'s\nassurance that in the end he should prevail, he quitted Cornwall in his\nturn and went forth to see the world. He spent some time in London about\nthe Court, where, however, he seems to have prospered little, and then\nhe crossed to France to pay his devoirs to the lady of his longings.\n\nHis constancy, the humility with which he made his suit, the obvious\nintensity of his devotion, began at last to wear away that gentlewoman\'s\nopposition, as dripping water wears away a stone. Yet she could not\nbring herself to forget that he was Sir Oliver\'s brother--the brother of\nthe man she had loved, and the brother of the man who had killed her\nown brother. Between them stood, then, two things; the ghost of that old\nlove of hers and the blood of Peter Godolphin.\n\nOf this she reminded Sir John on her return to Cornwall after an absence\nof some two years, urging these matters as reasons why an alliance\nbetween herself and Lionel Tressilian must be impossible.\n\nSir John did not at all agree with her.\n\n\"My dear,\" he said, \"there is your future to be thought of. You are now\nof full age and mistress of your own actions. Yet it is not well for a\nwoman and a gentlewoman to dwell alone. As long as I live, or as long\nas I remain in England, all will be well. You may continue indefinitely\nyour residence here at Arwenack, and you have been wise, I think, in\nquitting the loneliness of Godolphin Court. Yet consider that that\nloneliness may be yours again when I am not here.\"\n\n\"I should prefer that loneliness to the company you would thrust upon\nme,\" she answered him.\n\n\"Ungracious speech!\" he protested. \"Is this your gratitude for that\nlad\'s burning devotion, for his patience, his gentleness, and all the\nrest!\"\n\n\"He is Oliver Tressilian\'s brother,\" she replied.\n\n\"And has he not suffered enough for that already? Is there to be no end\nto the price that he must pay for his brother\'s sins? Besides,\nconsider that when all is said they are not even brothers. They are but\nhalf-brothers.\"\n\n\"Yet too closely kin,\" she said. \"If you must have me wed I beg you\'ll\nfind me another husband.\"\n\nTo this he would answer that expediently considered no husband could be\nbetter than the one he had chosen her. He pointed out the contiguity of\ntheir two estates, and how fine and advantageous a thing it would be to\nmerge these two into one.\n\nHe was persistent, and his persistence was increased when he came to\nconceive his notion to take the seas again. His conscience would not\npermit him to heave anchor until he had bestowed her safely in wedlock.\nLionel too was persistent, in a quiet, almost self-effacing way that\nnever set a strain upon her patience, and was therefore the more\ndifficult to combat.\n\nIn the end she gave way under the pressure of these men\'s wills, and\ndid so with the best grace she could summon, resolved to drive from her\nheart and mind the one real obstacle of which, for very shame, she had\nmade no mention to Sir John. The fact is that in spite of all, her love\nfor Sir Oliver was not dead. It was stricken down, it is true, until she\nherself failed to recognize it for what it really was. But she caught\nherself thinking of him frequently and wistfully; she found herself\ncomparing him with his brother; and for all that she had bidden Sir John\nfind her some other husband than Lionel, she knew full well that any\nsuitor brought before her must be submitted to that same comparison to\nhis inevitable undoing. All this she accounted evil in herself. It was\nin vain that she lashed her mind with the reminder that Sir Oliver was\nPeter\'s murderer. As time went on she found herself actually making\nexcuses for her sometime lover; she would admit that Peter had driven\nhim to the step, that for her sake Sir Oliver had suffered insult upon\ninsult from Peter, until, being but human, the cup of his endurance had\noverflowed in the end, and weary of submitting to the other\'s blows he\nhad risen up in his anger and smitten in his turn.\n\nShe would scorn herself for such thoughts as these, yet she could not\ndismiss them. In act she could be strong--as witness how she had dealt\nwith that letter which Oliver sent her out of Barbary by the hand of\nPitt--but her thoughts she could not govern, and her thoughts were full\noften traitors to her will. There were longings in her heart for Oliver\nwhich she could not stifle, and there was ever the hope that he would\none day return, although she realized that from such a return she might\nlook for nothing.\n\nWhen Sir John finally slew the hope of that return he did a wiser thing\nthan he conceived. Never since Oliver\'s disappearance had they heard any\nnews of him until Pitt came to Arwenack with that letter and his story.\nThey had heard, as had all the world, of the corsair Sakr-el-Bahr, but\nthey had been far indeed from connecting him with Oliver Tressilian. Now\nthat his identity was established by Pitt\'s testimony, it was an easy\nmatter to induce the courts to account him dead and to give Lionel the\ncoveted inheritance.\n\nThis to Rosamund was a small matter. But a great one was that Sir Oliver\nwas dead at law, and must be so in fact, should he ever again set foot\nin England. It extinguished finally that curiously hopeless and almost\nsubconscious hope of hers that one day he would return. Thus it helped\nher perhaps to face and accept the future which Sir John was resolved to\nthrust upon her.\n\nHer betrothal was made public, and she proved if not an ardently loving,\nat least a docile and gentle mistress to Lionel. He was content. He\ncould ask no more in reason at the moment, and he was buoyed up by every\nlover\'s confidence that given opportunity and time he could find the way\nto awaken a response. And it must be confessed that already during their\nbetrothal he gave some proof of his reason for his confidence. She had\nbeen lonely, and he dispelled her loneliness by his complete surrender\nof himself to her; his restraint and his cautious, almost insidious\ncreeping along a path which a more clumsy fellow would have taken at\na dash made companionship possible between them and very sweet to her.\nUpon this foundation her affection began gradually to rise, and seeing\nthem together and such excellent friends, Sir John congratulated himself\nupon his wisdom and went about the fitting out of that fine ship of\nhis--the Silver Heron--for the coming voyage.\n\nThus they came within a week of the wedding, and Sir John all impatience\nnow. The marriage bells were to be his signal for departure; as they\nfell silent the Silver Heron should spread her wings.\n\nIt was the evening of the first of June; the peal of the curfew had\nfaded on the air and lights were being set in the great dining-room at\nArwenack where the company was to sup. It was a small party. Just Sir\nJohn and Rosamund and Lionel, who had lingered on that day, and Lord\nHenry Goade--our chronicler--the Queen\'s Lieutenant of Cornwall,\ntogether with his lady. They were visiting Sir John and they were to\nremain yet a week his guests at Arwenack that they might grace the\ncoming nuptials.\n\nAbove in the house there was great stir of preparation for the departure\nof Sir John and his ward, the latter into wedlock, the former into\nunknown seas. In the turret chamber a dozen sempstresses were at work\nupon the bridal outfit under the directions of that Sally Pentreath who\nhad been no less assiduous in the preparation of swaddling clothes and\nthe like on the eve of Rosamund\'s appearance in this world.\n\nAt the very hour at which Sir John was leading his company to table Sir\nOliver Tressilian was setting foot ashore not a mile away.\n\nHe had deemed it wiser not to round Pendennis Point. So in the bay above\nSwanpool on the western side of that promontory he had dropped anchor\nas the evening shadows were deepening. He had launched the ship\'s two\nboats, and in these he had conveyed some thirty of his men ashore. Twice\nhad the boats returned, until a hundred of his corsairs stood ranged\nalong that foreign beach. The other hundred he left on guard aboard. He\ntook so great a force upon an expedition for which a quarter of the\nmen would have sufficed so as to ensure by overwhelming numbers the\navoidance of all unnecessary violence.\n\nAbsolutely unobserved he led them up the slope towards Arwenack through\nthe darkness that had now closed in. To tread his native soil once\nmore went near to drawing tears from him. How familiar was the path he\nfollowed with such confidence in the night; how well known each bush and\nstone by which he went with his silent multitude hard upon his heels.\nWho could have foretold him such a return as this.\n\nWho could have dreamt when he roamed amain in his youth here with dogs\nand fowling-piece that he would creep one night over these dunes a\nrenegade Muslim leading a horde of infidels to storm the house of Sir\nJohn Killigrew of Arwenack?\n\nSuch thoughts begot a weakness in him; but he made a quick recovery\nwhen his mind swung to all that he had so unjustly suffered, when he\nconsidered all that he came thus to avenge.\n\nFirst to Arwenack to Sir John and Rosamund to compel them to hear the\ntruth at least, and then away to Penarrow for Master Lionel and the\nreckoning. Such was the project that warmed him, conquered his weakness\nand spurred him, relentless, onward and upward to the heights and the\nfortified house that dominated them.\n\nHe found the massive iron-studded gates locked, as was to have been\nexpected at that hour. He knocked, and presently the postern gaped, and\na lantern was advanced. Instantly that lantern was dashed aside and Sir\nOliver had leapt over the sill into the courtyard. With a hand gripping\nthe porter\'s throat to choke all utterance, Sir Oliver heaved him out to\nhis men, who swiftly gagged him.\n\nThat done they poured silently through that black gap of the postern\ninto the spacious gateway. On he led them, at a run almost, towards the\ntall mullioned windows whence a flood of golden light seemed invitingly\nto beckon them.\n\nWith the servants who met them in the hall they dealt in the same swift\nsilent fashion as they had dealt with the gatekeeper, and such was the\nspeed and caution of their movements that Sir John and his company had\nno suspicion of their presence until the door of the dining-room crashed\nopen before their eyes.\n\nThe sight which they beheld was one that for some moments left them\nmazed and bewildered. Lord Henry tells us how at first he imagined that\nhere was some mummery, some surprise prepared for the bridal couple by\nSir John\'s tenants or the folk of Smithick and Penycumwick, and he adds\nthat he was encouraged in this belief by the circumstance that not a\nsingle weapon gleamed in all that horde of outlandish intruders.\n\nAlthough they came full armed against any eventualities, yet by their\nleader\'s orders not a blade was bared. What was to do was to be done\nwith their naked hands alone and without bloodshed. Such were the orders\nof Sakr-el-Bahr, and Sakr-el-Bahr\'s were not orders to be disregarded.\n\nHimself he stood forward at the head of that legion of brown-skinned\nmen arrayed in all the colours of the rainbow, their heads swathed in\nturbans of every hue. He considered the company in grim silence, and the\ncompany in amazement considered this turbaned giant with the masterful\nface that was tanned to the colour of mahogany, the black forked beard,\nand those singularly light eyes glittering like steel under his black\nbrows.\n\nThus a little while in silence, then with a sudden gasp Lionel\nTressilian sank back in his tall chair as if bereft of strength.\n\nThe agate eyes flashed upon him smiling, cruelly.\n\n\"I see that you, at least, I recognize me,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr in his\ndeep voice. \"I was assured I could depend upon the eyes of brotherly\nlove to pierce the change that time and stress have wrought in me.\"\n\nSir John was on his feet, his lean swarthy face flushing darkly, an oath\non his lips. Rosamund sat on as if frozen with horror, considering Sir\nOliver with dilating eyes, whilst her hands clawed the table before her.\nThey too recognized him now, and realized that here was no mummery. That\nsomething sinister was intended Sir John could not for a moment doubt.\nBut of what that something might be he could form no notion. It was the\nfirst time that Barbary rovers were seen in England. That famous raid\nof theirs upon Baltimore in Ireland did not take place until some thirty\nyears after this date.\n\n\"Sir Oliver Tressilian!\" Killigrew gasped, and \"Sir Oliver Tressilian!\"\nechoed Lord Henry Goade, to add \"By God!\"\n\n\"Not Sir Oliver Tressilian, came the answer, but Sakr-el-Bahr, the\nscourge of the sea, the terror of Christendom, the desperate corsair\nyour lies, cupidity, and false-heartedness have fashioned out of a\nsometime Cornish gentleman.\" He embraced them all in his denunciatory\ngesture. \"Behold me here with my sea-hawks to present a reckoning long\noverdue.\"\n\nWriting now of what his own eyes beheld, Lord Henry tells us how Sir\nJohn leapt to snatch a weapon from the armoured walls; how Sakr-el-Bahr\nbarked out a single word in Arabic, and how at that word a half-dozen\nof his supple blackamoors sprang upon the knight like greyhounds upon a\nhare and bore him writhing to the ground.\n\nLady Henry screamed; her husband does not appear to have done anything,\nor else modesty keeps him silent on the score of it. Rosamund, white\nto the lips, continued to look on, whilst Lionel, overcome, covered his\nface with his hands in sheer horror. One and all of them expected to see\nsome ghastly deed of blood performed there, coldly and callously as the\nwringing of a capon\'s neck. But no such thing took place. The corsairs\nmerely turned Sir John upon his face, dragged his wrists behind him to\nmake them fast, and having performed that duty with a speedy, silent\ndexterity they abandoned him.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr watched their performance with those grimly smiling eyes of\nhis. When it was done he spoke again and pointed to Lionel, who leapt up\nin sudden terror, with a cry that was entirely inarticulate. Lithe brown\narms encircled him like a legion of snakes. Powerless, he was lifted\nin the air and borne swiftly away. For an instant he found himself held\nface to face with his turbaned brother. Into that pallid terror-stricken\nhuman mask the renegade\'s eyes stabbed like two daggers. Then\ndeliberately and after the fashion of the Muslim he was become he spat\nupon it.\n\n\"Away!\" he growled, and through the press of corsairs that thronged the\nhall behind him a lane was swiftly opened and Lionel was swallowed up,\nlost to the view of those within the room.\n\n\"What murderous deed do you intend?\" cried Sir John indomitably. He had\nrisen and stood grimly dignified in his bonds.\n\n\"Will you murder your own brother as you murdered mine?\" demanded\nRosamund, speaking now for the first time, and rising as she spoke, a\nfaint flush coming to overspread her pallor. She saw him wince; she saw\nthe mocking lustful anger perish in his face, leaving it vacant for a\nmoment. Then it became grim again with a fresh resolve. Her words had\naltered all the current of his intentions. They fixed in him a dull,\nfierce rage. They silenced the explanations which he was come to offer,\nand which he scorned to offer here after that taunt.\n\n\"It seems you love that--whelp, that thing that was my brother,\" he\nsaid, sneering. \"I wonder will you love him still when you come to be\nbetter acquainted with him? Though, faith, naught would surprise me in\na woman and her love. Yet I am curious to see--curious to see.\" He\nlaughed. \"I have a mind to gratify myself. I will not separate you--not\njust yet.\"\n\nHe advanced upon her. \"Come thou with me, lady,\" he commanded, and held\nout his hand.\n\nAnd now Lord Henry seems to have been stirred to futile action.\n\n\"At that,\" he writes, \"I thrust myself between to shield her. \'Thou\ndog,\' I cried,\'thou shalt be made to suffer!\'\n\n\"\'Suffer?\' quoth he, and mocked me with his deep laugh. \'I have suffered\nalready. \'Tis for that reason I am here.\'\n\n\"\'And thou shalt suffer again, thou pirate out of hell!\' I warned him.\n\'Thou shalt suffer for this outrage as God\'s my life!\'\n\n\"\'Shall I so?\' quoth he, very calm and sinister. \'And at whose hands, I\npray you?\'\n\n\"\'At mine, sir, I roared, being by now stirred to a great fury.\n\n\"\'At thine?\' he sneered. \'Thou\'lt hunt the hawk of the sea? Thou? Thou\nplump partridge! Away! Hinder me not!\"\'\n\nAnd he adds that again Sir Oliver spoke that short Arabic command,\nwhereupon a dozen blackamoors whirled the Queen\'s Lieutenant aside and\nbound him to a chair.\n\nFace to face stood now Sir Oliver with Rosamund--face to face after\nfive long years, and he realized that in every moment of that time the\ncertainty had never departed from him of some such future meeting.\n\n\"Come, lady,\" he bade her sternly.\n\nA moment she looked at him with hate and loathing in the clear depths of\nher deep blue eyes. Then swiftly as lightning she snatched a knife from\nthe board and drove it at his heart. But his hand moved as swiftly\nto seize her wrist, and the knife clattered to the ground, its errand\nunfulfilled.\n\nA shuddering sob escaped her then to express at once her horror of her\nown attempt and of the man who held her. That horror mounting until it\noverpowered her, she sank suddenly against him in a swoon.\n\nInstinctively his arms went round her, and a moment he held her thus,\nrecalling the last occasion on which she had lain against his breast,\non an evening five years and more ago under the grey wall of Godolphin\nCourt above the river. What prophet could have told him that when next\nhe so held her the conditions would be these? It was all grotesque and\nincredible, like the fantastic dream of some sick mind. But it was all\ntrue, and she was in his arms again.\n\nHe shifted his grip to her waist, heaved her to his mighty shoulder,\nas though she were a sack of grain, and swung about, his business at\nArwenack accomplished--indeed, more of it accomplished than had been his\nintent, and also something less.\n\n\"Away, away!\" he cried to his rovers, and away they sped as fleetly\nand silently as they had come, no man raising now so much as a voice to\nhinder them.\n\nThrough the hall and across the courtyard flowed that human tide; out\ninto the open and along the crest of the hill it surged, then away down\nthe slope towards the beach where their boats awaited them. Sakr-el-Bahr\nran as lightly as though the swooning woman he bore were no more than a\ncloak he had flung across his shoulder. Ahead of him went a half-dozen\nof his fellows carrying his gagged and pinioned brother.\n\nOnce only before they dipped from the heights of Arwenack did Oliver\ncheck. He paused to look across the dark shimmering water to the woods\nthat screened the house of Penarrow from his view. It had been part\nof his purpose to visit it, as we know. But the necessity had now been\nremoved, and he was conscious of a pang of disappointment, of a hunger\nto look again upon his home. But to shift the current of his thoughts\njust then came two of his officers--Othmani and Ali, who had been\nmuttering one with the other. As they overtook him, Othmani set now\na hand upon his arm, and pointed down towards the twinkling lights of\nSmithick and Penycumwick.\n\n\"My lord,\" he cried, \"there will be lads and maidens there should fetch\nfat prices in the sôk-el-Abeed.\"\n\n\"No doubt,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr, scarce heeding him, heeding indeed little\nin this world but his longings to look upon Penarrow.\n\n\"Why, then, my lord, shall I take fifty True-Believers and make a raid\nupon them? It were an easy task, all unsuspicious as they must be of our\npresence.\"\n\nSakr-el-Bahr came out of his musings. \"Othmani,\" said he, \"art a fool,\nthe very father of fools, else wouldst thou have come to know by now\nthat those who once were of my own race, those of the land from which\nI am sprung, are sacred to me. Here we take no slave but these we have.\nOn, then, in the name of Allah!\"\n\nBut Othmani was not yet silenced. \"And is our perilous voyage across\nthese unknown seas into this far heathen land to be rewarded by no more\nthan just these two captives? Is that a raid worthy of Sakr-el-Bahr?\"\n\n\"Leave Sakr-el-Bahr to judge,\" was the curt answer.\n\n\"But reflect, my lord: there is another who will judge. How shall our\nBasha, the glorious Asad-ed-Din, welcome thy return with such poor\nspoils as these? What questions will he set thee, and what account\nshalt thou render him for having imperilled the lives of all these\nTrue-Believers upon the seas for so little profit?\"\n\n\"He shall ask me what he pleases, and I shall answer what I please and\nas Allah prompts me. On, I say!\"\n\nAnd on they went, Sakr-el-Bahr conscious now of little but the warmth\nof that body upon his shoulder, and knowing not, so tumultuous were his\nemotions, whether it fired him to love or hate.\n\nThey gained the beach; they reached the ship whose very presence had\ncontinued unsuspected. The breeze was fresh and they stood away at once.\nBy sunrise there was no more sign of them than there had been at sunset,\nthere was no more clue to the way they had taken than to the way they\nhad come. It was as if they had dropped from the skies in the night upon\nthat Cornish coast, and but for the mark of their swift, silent passage,\nbut for the absence of Rosamund and Lionel Tressilian, the thing must\nhave been accounted no more than a dream of those few who had witnessed\nit.\n\nAboard the carack, Sakr-el-Bahr bestowed Rosamund in the cabin over\nthe quarter, taking the precaution to lock the door that led to the\nstern-gallery. Lionel he ordered to be dropped into a dark hole under\nthe hatchway, there to lie and meditate upon the retribution that had\novertaken him until such time as his brother should have determined\nupon his fate--for this was a matter upon which the renegade was still\nundecided.\n\nHimself he lay under the stars that night and thought of many things.\nOne of these things, which plays some part in the story, though it is\nprobable that it played but a slight one in his thoughts, was begotten\nof the words Othmani had used. What, indeed, would be Asad\'s welcome of\nhim on his return if he sailed into Algiers with nothing more to show\nfor that long voyage and the imperilling of the lives of two hundred\nTrue-Believers than just those two captives whom he intended, moreover,\nto retain for himself? What capital would not be made out of that\ncircumstance by his enemies in Algiers and by Asad\'s Sicilian wife who\nhated him with all the bitterness of a hatred that had its roots in the\nfertile soil of jealousy?\n\nThis may have spurred him in the cool dawn to a very daring and\ndesperate enterprise which Destiny sent his way in the shape of a\ntall-masted Dutchman homeward bound. He gave chase, for all that he was\nfull conscious that the battle he invited was one of which his corsairs\nhad no experience, and one upon which they must have hesitated to\nventure with another leader than himself. But the star of Sakr-el-Bahr\nwas a star that never led to aught but victory, and their belief in\nhim, the very javelin of Allah, overcame any doubts that may have\nbeen begotten of finding themselves upon an unfamiliar craft and on a\nrolling, unfamiliar sea.\n\nThis fight is given in great detail by my Lord Henry from the\nparticulars afforded him by Jasper Leigh. But it differs in no great\nparticular from other sea-fights, and it is none of my purpose to\nsurfeit you with such recitals. Enough to say that it was stern and\nfierce, entailing great loss to both combatants; that cannon played\nlittle part in it, for knowing the quality of his men Sakr-el-Bahr made\nhaste to run in and grapple. He prevailed of course as he must ever\npre-vail by the very force of his personality and the might of his\nexample. He was the first to leap aboard the Dutchman, clad in mail and\nwhirling his great scimitar, and his men poured after him shouting his\nname and that of Allah in a breath.\n\nSuch was ever his fury in an engagement that it infected and inspired\nhis followers. It did so now, and the shrewd Dutchmen came to perceive\nthat this heathen horde was as a body to which he supplied the brain\nand soul. They attacked him fiercely in groups, intent at all costs upon\ncutting him down, convinced almost by instinct that were he felled the\nvictory would easily be theirs. And in the end they succeeded. A Dutch\npike broke some links of his mail and dealt him a flesh wound which went\nunheeded by him in his fury; a Dutch rapier found the breach thus made\nin his de-fences, and went through it to stretch him bleeding upon\nthe deck. Yet he staggered up, knowing as full as did they that if he\nsuccumbed then all was lost. Armed now with a short axe which he had\nfound under his hand when he went down, he hacked a way to the bulwarks,\nset his back against the timbers, and hoarse of voice, ghastly of face,\nspattered with the blood of his wound he urged on his men until the\nvictory was theirs--and this was fortunately soon. And then, as if he\nhad been sustained by no more than the very force of his will, he sank\ndown in a heap among the dead and wounded huddled against the vessel\'s\nbulwarks.\n\nGrief-stricken his corsairs bore him back aboard the carack. Were he to\ndie then was their victory a barren one indeed. They laid him on a couch\nprepared for him amidships on the main deck, where the vessel\'s\npitching was least discomfiting. A Moorish surgeon came to tend him, and\npronounced his hurt a grievous one, but not so grievous as to close the\ngates of hope.\n\nThis pronouncement gave the corsairs all the assurance they required. It\ncould not be that the Gardener could already pluck so fragrant a fruit\nfrom Allah\'s garden. The Pitiful must spare Sakr-el-Bahr to continue the\nglory of Islam.\n\nYet they were come to the straits of Gibraltar before his fever abated\nand he recovered complete consciousness, to learn of the final issue\nof that hazardous fight into which he had led those children of the\nProphet.\n\nThe Dutchman, Othmani informed him, was following in their wake, with\nAli and some others aboard her, steering ever in the wake of the carack\nwhich continued to be navigated by the Nasrani dog, Jasper Leigh. When\nSakr-el-Bahr learnt the value of the capture, when he was informed that\nin addition to a hundred able-bodied men under the hatches, to be sold\nas slaves in the sôk-el-Abeed, there was a cargo of gold and silver,\npearls, amber, spices, and ivory, and such lesser matters as gorgeous\nsilken fabrics, rich beyond anything that had ever been seen upon the\nseas at any one time, he felt that the blood he had shed had not been\nwasted.\n\nLet him sail safely into Algiers with these two ships both captured\nin the name of Allah and his Prophet, one of them an argosy so richly\nfraught, a floating treasure-house, and he need have little fear of\nwhat his enemies and the crafty evil Sicilian woman might have wrought\nagainst him in his absence.\n\nThen he made inquiry touching his two English captives, to be informed\nthat Othmani had taken charge of them, and that he had continued the\ntreatment meted out to them by Sakr-el-Bahr himself when first they were\nbrought aboard.\n\nHe was satisfied, and fell into a gentle healing sleep, whilst, on the\ndecks above, his followers rendered thanks to Allah the Pitying the\nPitiful, the Master of the Day of Judgment, who Alone is All-Wise,\nAll-Knowing.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V. THE LION OF THE FAITH\n\n\nAsad-ed-Din, the Lion of the Faith, Basha of Algiers, walked in the\nevening cool in the orchard of the Kasbah upon the heights above the\ncity, and at his side, stepping daintily, came Fenzileh, his wife, the\nfirst lady of his hareem, whom eighteen years ago he had carried off in\nhis mighty arms from that little whitewashed village above the Straits\nof Messina which his followers had raided.\n\nShe had been a lissom maid of sixteen in those far-off days, the child\nof humble peasant-folk, and she had gone uncomplaining to the arms of\nher swarthy ravisher. To-day, at thirty-four, she was still beautiful,\nmore beautiful indeed than when first she had fired the passion of\nAsad-Reis--as he then was, one of the captains of the famous Ali-Basha.\nThere were streaks of red in her heavy black tresses, her skin was of\na soft pearliness that seemed translucent, her eyes were large, of a\ngolden-brown, agleam with sombre fires, her lips were full and sensuous.\nShe was tall and of a shape that in Europe would have been accounted\nperfect, which is to say that she was a thought too slender for Oriental\ntaste; she moved along beside her lord with a sinuous, languorous grace,\ngently stirring her fan of ostrich plumes. She was unveiled; indeed it\nwas her immodest habit to go naked of face more often than was seemly,\nwhich is but the least of the many undesirable infidel ways which had\nsurvived her induction into the Faith of Islam--a necessary step before\nAsad, who was devout to the point of bigotry, would consent to make her\nhis wife. He had found her such a wife as it is certain he could never\nhave procured at home; a woman who, not content to be his toy, the\nplaything of his idle hour, insinuated herself into affairs, demanded\nand obtained his confidences, and exerted over him much the same\ninfluence as the wife of a European prince might exert over her consort.\nIn the years during which he had lain under the spell of her ripening\nbeauty he had accepted the situation willingly enough; later, when he\nwould have curtailed her interferences, it was too late; she had taken\na firm grip of the reins, and Asad was in no better case than many a\nEuropean husband--an anomalous and outrageous condition this for a Basha\nof the Prophet\'s House. It was also a dangerous one for Fenzileh; for\nshould the burden of her at any time become too heavy for her lord there\nwas a short and easy way by which he could be rid of it. Do not suppose\nher so foolish as not to have realized this--she realized it fully; but\nher Sicilian spirit was daring to the point of recklessness; her very\ndauntlessness which had enabled her to seize a control so unprecedented\nin a Muslim wife urged her to maintain it in the face of all risks.\n\nDauntless was she now, as she paced there in the cool of the orchard,\nunder the pink and white petals of the apricots, the flaming scarlet of\npomegranate blossoms, and through orange-groves where the golden fruit\nglowed and amid foliage of sombre green. She was at her eternal work of\npoisoning the mind of her lord against Sakr-el-Bahr, and in her maternal\njealousy she braved the dangers of such an undertaking, fully aware of\nhow dear to the heart of Asad-ed-Din was that absent renegade corsair.\nIt was this very affection of the Basha\'s for his lieutenant that was\nthe fomenter of her own hate of Sakr-el-Bahr, for it was an affection\nthat transcended Asad\'s love for his own son and hers, and it led to\nthe common rumour that for Sakr-el-Bahr was reserved the high destiny of\nsucceeding Asad in the Bashalik.\n\n\"I tell thee thou\'rt abused by him, O source of my life.\"\n\n\"I hear thee,\" answered Asad sourly. \"And were thine own hearing less\ninfirm, woman, thou wouldst have heard me answer thee that thy words\nweigh for naught with me against his deeds. Words may be but a mask upon\nour thoughts; deeds are ever the expression of them. Bear thou that in\nmind, O Fenzileh.\"\n\n\"Do I not bear in mind thine every word, O fount of wisdom?\" she\nprotested, and left him, as she often did, in doubt whether she fawned\nor sneered. \"And it is his deeds I would have speak for him, not indeed\nmy poor words and still less his own.\"\n\n\"Then, by the head of Allah, let those same deeds speak, and be thou\nsilent.\"\n\nThe harsh tone of his reproof and the scowl upon his haughty face, gave\nher pause for a moment. He turned about.\n\n\"Come!\" he said. \"Soon it will be the hour of prayer.\" And he paced back\ntowards the yellow huddle of walls of the Kasbah that overtopped the\ngreen of that fragrant place.\n\nHe was a tall, gaunt man, stooping slightly at the shoulders under\nthe burden of his years; but his eagle face was masterful, and\nsome lingering embers of his youth still glowed in his dark eyes.\nThoughtfully, with a jewelled hand, he stroked his long white beard;\nwith the other he leaned upon her soft plump arm, more from habit than\nfor support, for he was full vigorous still.\n\nHigh in the blue overhead a lark burst suddenly into song, and from\nthe depths of the orchard came a gentle murmur of doves as if returning\nthanks for the lessening of the great heat now that the sun was sinking\nrapidly towards the world\'s edge and the shadows were lengthening.\n\nCame Fenzileh\'s voice again, more musical than either, yet laden with\nwords of evil, poison wrapped in honey.\n\n\"O my dear lord, thou\'rt angered with me now. Woe me! that never may I\ncounsel thee for thine own glory as my heart prompts me, but I must earn\nthy coldness.\"\n\n\"Abuse not him I love,\" said the Basha shortly. \"I have told thee so full\noft already.\"\n\nShe nestled closer to him, and her voice grew softer, more akin to the\namorous cooing of the doves. \"And do I not love thee, O master of my\nsoul? Is there in all the world a heart more faithful to thee than\nmine? Is not thy life my life? Have not my days been all devoted to the\nperfecting of thine happiness? And wilt thou then frown upon me if I\nfear for thee at the hands of an intruder of yesterday?\"\n\n\"Fear for me?\" he echoed, and laughed jeeringly. \"What shouldst thou\nfear for me from Sakr-el-Bahr?\"\n\n\"What all believers must ever fear from one who is no true Muslim, from\none who makes a mock and travesty of the True Faith that he may gain\nadvancement.\"\n\nThe Basha checked in his stride, and turned upon her angrily.\n\n\"May thy tongue rot, thou mother of lies!\"\n\n\"I am as the dust beneath thy feet, O my sweet lord, yet am I not what\nthine heedless anger calls me.\"\n\n\"Heedless?\" quoth he. \"Not heedless but righteous to hear one whom the\nProphet guards, who is the very javelin of Islam against the breast of\nthe unbeliever, who carries the scourge of Allah against the infidel\nFrankish pigs, so maligned by thee! No more, I say! Lest I bid thee make\ngood thy words, and pay the liar\'s price if thou shouldst fail.\"\n\n\"And should I fear the test?\" she countered, nothing daunted. \"I tell\nthee, O father of Marzak, that I should hail it gladly. Why, hear me\nnow. Thou settest store by deeds, not words. Tell me, then, is it the\ndeed of a True-Believer to waste substance upon infidel slaves, to\npurchase them that he may set them free?\"\n\nAsad moved on in silence. That erstwhile habit of Sakr-el-Bahr\'s was one\nnot easy to condone. It had occasioned him his moments of uneasiness,\nand more than once had he taxed his lieutenant with the practice ever to\nreceive the same answer, the answer which he now made to Fenzileh. \"For\nevery slave that he so manumitted, he brought a dozen into bondage.\"\n\n\"Perforce, else would he be called to account. \'Twas so much dust\nhe flung into the face of true Muslimeen. Those manumissions prove a\nlingering fondness for the infidel country whence he springs. Is there\nroom for that in the heart of a true member of the Prophet\'s immortal\nHouse? Hast ever known me languish for the Sicilian shore from which in\nthy might thou wrested me, or have I ever besought of thee the life of\na single Sicilian infidel in all these years that I have lived to serve\nthee? Such longings are betrayed, I say, by such a practice, and such\nlongings could have no place in one who had uprooted infidelity from his\nheart. And now this voyage of his beyond the seas--risking a vessel that\nhe captured from the arch-enemy of Islam, which is not his to risk but\nthine in whose name he captured it; and together with it he imperils the\nlives of two hundred True-Believers. To what end? To bear him overseas,\nperchance that he may look again upon the unhallowed land that gave him\nbirth. So Biskaine reported. And what if he should founder on the way?\"\n\n\"Thou at least wouldst be content, thou fount of malice,\" growled Asad.\n\n\"Call me harsh names, O sun that warms me! Am I not thine to use and\nabuse at thy sweet pleasure? Pour salt upon the heart thou woundest;\nsince it is thy hand I\'ll never murmur a complaint. But heed me--heed my\nwords; or since words are of no account with thee, then heed his deeds\nwhich I am drawing to thy tardy notice. Heed them, I say, as my love\nbids me even though thou shouldst give me to be whipped or slain for my\ntemerity.\"\n\n\"Woman, thy tongue is like the clapper of a bell with the devil swinging\nfrom the rope. What else dost thou impute?\"\n\n\"Naught else, since thou dost but mock me, withdrawing thy love from thy\nfond slave.\"\n\n\"The praise to Allah, then,\" said he. \"Come, it is the hour of prayer!\"\n\nBut he praised Allah too soon. Woman-like, though she protested she had\ndone, she had scarce begun as yet.\n\n\"There is thy son, O father of Marzak.\"\n\n\"There is, O mother of Marzak.\"\n\n\"And a man\'s son should be the partner of his soul. Yet is Marzak passed\nover for this foreign upstart; yet does this Nasrani of yesterday hold\nthe place in thy heart and at thy side that should be Marzak\'s.\"\n\n\"Could Marzak fill that place,\" he asked. \"Could that beardless boy lead\nmen as Sakr-el-Bahr leads them, or wield the scimitar against the\nfoes of Islam and increase as Sakr-el-Bahr increases the glory of the\nProphet\'s Holy Law upon the earth?\"\n\n\"If Sakr-el-Bahr does this, he does it by thy favour, O my lord. And\nso might Marzak, young though he be. Sakr-el-Bahr is but what thou hast\nmade him--no more, no less.\"\n\n\"There art thou wrong, indeed, O mother of error. Sakr-el-Bahr is what\nAllah hath made him. He is what Allah wills. He shall become what Allah\nwills. Hast yet to learn that Allah has bound the fate of each man about\nhis neck?\"\n\nAnd then a golden glory suffused the deep sapphire of the sky heralding\nthe setting of the sun and made an end of that altercation, conducted\nby her with a daring as singular as the patience that had endured it. He\nquickened his steps in the direction of the courtyard. That golden glow\npaled as swiftly as it had spread, and night fell as suddenly as if a\ncurtain had been dropped.\n\nIn the purple gloom that followed the white cloisters of the courtyard\nglowed with a faintly luminous pearliness. Dark forms of slaves stirred\nas Asad entered from the garden followed by Fenzileh, her head now\nveiled in a thin blue silken gauze. She flashed across the quadrangle\nand vanished through one of the archways, even as the distant voice of\na Mueddin broke plaintively upon the brooding stillness reciting the\nShehad--\n\n\"La illaha, illa Allah! Wa Muhammad er Rasool Allah!\"\n\nA slave spread a carpet, a second held a great silver bowl, into which\na third poured water. The Basha, having washed, turned his face towards\nMecca, and testified to the unity of Allah, the Compassionate, the\nMerciful, King of the Day of judgment, whilst the cry of the Mueddin\nwent echoing over the city from minaret to minaret.\n\nAs he rose from his devotions, there came a quick sound of steps\nwithout, and a sharp summons. Turkish janissaries of the Basha\'s guard,\ninvisible almost in their flowing black garments, moved to answer that\nsummons and challenge those who came.\n\nFrom the dark vaulted entrance of the courtyard leapt a gleam of\nlanterns containing tiny clay lamps in which burned a wick that was\nnourished by mutton fat. Asad, waiting to learn who came, halted at the\nfoot of the white glistening steps, whilst from doors and lattices of\nthe palace flooded light to suffuse the courtyard and set the marbles\nshimmering.\n\nA dozen Nubian javelin-men advanced, then ranged themselves aside whilst\ninto the light stepped the imposing, gorgeously robed figure of Asad\'s\nwazeer, Tsamanni. After him came another figure in mail that clanked\nfaintly and glimmered as he moved.\n\n\"Peace and the Prophet\'s blessings upon thee, O mighty Asad!\" was the\nwazeer\'s greeting.\n\n\"And peace upon thee, Tsamanni,\" was the answer. \"Art the bearer of\nnews?\"\n\n\"Of great and glorious tidings, O exalted one! Sakr-el-Bahr is\nreturned.\"\n\n\"The praise to Him!\" exclaimed the Basha, with uplifted hands; and there\nwas no mistaking the thrill of his voice.\n\nThere fell a soft step behind him and a shadow from the doorway. He\nturned. A graceful stripling in turban and caftan of cloth of gold\nsalaamed to him from the topmast step. And as he came upright and the\nlight of the lanterns fell full upon his face the astonishingly white\nfairness of it was revealed--a woman\'s face it might have been, so\nsoftly rounded was it in its beardlessness.\n\nAsad smiled wrily in his white beard, guessing that the boy had been\nsent by his ever-watchful mother to learn who came and what the tidings\nthat they bore.\n\n\"Thou hast heard, Marzak?\" he said. \"Sakr-el-Bahr is returned.\"\n\n\"Victoriously, I hope,\" the lad lied glibly.\n\n\"Victorious beyond aught that was ever known,\" replied Tsamanni.\n\"He sailed at sunset into the harbour, his company aboard two mighty\nFrankish ships, which are but the lesser part of the great spoil he\nbrings.\"\n\n\"Allah is great,\" was the Basha\'s glad welcome of this answer to those\ninsidious promptings of his Sicilian wife. \"Why does he not come in\nperson with his news?\"\n\n\"His duty keeps him yet awhile aboard, my lord,\" replied the wazeer.\n\"But he hath sent his kayia Othmani here to tell the tale of it.\"\n\n\"Thrice welcome be thou, Othmani.\" He beat his hands together, whereat\nslaves placed cushions for him upon the ground. He sat, and beckoned\nMarzak to his side. \"And now thy tale!\"\n\nAnd Othmani standing forth related how they had voyaged to distant\nEngland in the ship that Sakr-el-Bahr had captured, through seas that no\ncorsair yet had ever crossed, and how on their return they had engaged\na Dutchman that was their superior in strength and numbers; how none\nthe less Sakr-el-Bahr had wrested victory by the help of Allah, his\nprotector, how he had been dealt a wound that must have slain any but\none miraculously preserved for the greater glory of Islam, and of the\nsurpassing wealth of the booty which at dawn tomorrow should be laid at\nAsad\'s feet for his division of it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI. THE CONVERT\n\n\nThat tale of Othmani\'s being borne anon to Fenzileh by her son was gall\nand wormwood to her jealous soul. Evil enough to know that Sakr-el-Bahr\nwas returned in spite of the fervent prayers for his foundering which\nshe had addressed both to the God of her forefathers and to the God of\nher adoption. But that he should have returned in triumph bringing with\nhim heavy spoils that must exalt him further in the affection of Asad\nand the esteem of the people was bitterness indeed. It left her mute and\nstricken, bereft even of the power to curse him.\n\nAnon, when her mind recovered from the shock she turned it to the\nconsideration of what at first had seemed a trivial detail in Othmani\'s\ntale as reported by Marzak.\n\n\"It is most singularly odd that he should have undertaken that long\nvoyage to England to wrest thence just those two captives; that being\nthere he should not have raided in true corsair fashion and packed his\nship with slaves. Most singularly odd!\"\n\nThey were alone behind the green lattices through which filtered the\nperfumes of the garden and the throbbing of a nightingale\'s voice laden\nwith the tale of its love for the rose. Fenzileh reclined upon a\ndivan that was spread with silken Turkey carpets, and one of her\ngold-embroidered slippers had dropped from her henna-stained toes. Her\nlovely arms were raised to support her head, and she stared up at the\nlamp of many colours that hung from the fretted ceiling.\n\nMarzak paced the length of the chamber back and forth, and there was\nsilence save for the soft swish of his slippers along the floor.\n\n\"Well?\" she asked him impatiently at last. \"Does it not seem odd to\nthee?\"\n\n\"Odd, indeed, O my mother,\" the youth replied, coming to a halt before\nher.\n\n\"And canst think of naught that was the cause of it?\"\n\n\"The cause of it?\" quoth he, his lovely young face, so closely modelled\nupon her own, looking blank and vacant.\n\n\"Ay, the cause of it,\" she cried impatiently. \"Canst do naught but\nstare? Am I the mother of a fool? Wilt thou simper and gape and trifle\naway thy days whilst that dog-descended Frank tramples thee underfoot,\nusing thee but as a stepping-stone to the power that should be thine\nown? And that be so, Marzak, I would thou hadst been strangled in my\nwomb.\"\n\nHe recoiled before the Italian fury of her, was dully resentful even,\nsuspecting that in such words from a woman were she twenty times his\nmother, there was something dishonouring to his manhood.\n\n\"What can I do?\" he cried.\n\n\"Dost ask me? Art thou not a man to think and act? I tell thee that\nmisbegotten son of a Christian and a Jew will trample thee in the dust.\nHe is greedy as the locust, wily as the serpent, and ferocious as the\npanther. By Allah! I would I had never borne a son. Rather might men\npoint at me the finger of scorn and call me mother of the wind than that\nI should have brought forth a man who knows not how to be a man.\"\n\n\"Show me the way,\" he cried. \"Set me a task; tell me what to do and\nthou shalt not find me lacking, O my mother. Until then spare me these\ninsults, or I come no more to thee.\"\n\nAt this threat that strange woman heaved herself up from her soft couch.\nShe ran to him and flung her arms about his neck, set her cheek against\nhis own. Not eighteen years in the Basha\'s hareem had stifled the\nEuropean mother in her, the passionate Sicilian woman, fierce as a tiger\nin her maternal love.\n\n\"O my child, my lovely boy,\" she almost sobbed. \"It is my fear for thee\nthat makes me harsh. If I am angry it is but my love that speaks, my\nrage for thee to see another come usurping the place beside thy father\nthat should be thine. Ah! but we will prevail, sweet son of mine. I\nshall find a way to return that foreign offal to the dung-heap whence it\nsprang. Trust me, O Marzak! Sh! Thy father comes. Away! Leave me alone\nwith him.\"\n\nShe was wise in that, for she knew that alone Asad was more easily\ncontrolled by her, since the pride was absent which must compel him to\nturn and rend her did she speak so before others. Marzak vanished behind\nthe screen of fretted sandalwood that masked one doorway even as Asad\nloomed in the other.\n\nHe came forward smiling, his slender brown fingers combing his long\nbeard, his white djellaba trailing behind him along the ground.\n\n\"Thou hast heard, not a doubt, O Fenzileh,\" said he. \"Art thou answered\nenough?\"\n\nShe sank down again upon her cushions and idly considered herself in a\nsteel mirror set in silver.\n\n\"Answered?\" she echoed lazily, with infinite scorn and a hint of\nrippling contemptuous laughter running through the word. \"Answered\nindeed. Sakr-el-Bahr risks the lives of two hundred children of Islam\nand a ship that being taken was become the property of the State upon\na voyage to England that has no object but the capturing of two\nslaves--two slaves, when had his purpose been sincere, it might have\nbeen two hundred.\"\n\n\"Ha! And is that all that thou hast heard?\" he asked her mocking in his\nturn.\n\n\"All that signifies,\" she replied, still mirroring herself. \"I heard\nas a matter of lesser import that on his return, meeting fortuitously\na Frankish ship that chanced to be richly laden, he seized it in thy\nname.\"\n\n\"Fortuitously, sayest thou?\"\n\n\"What else?\" She lowered the mirror, and her bold, insolent eyes met his\nown quite fearlessly. \"Thou\'lt not tell me that it was any part of his\ndesign when he went forth?\"\n\nHe frowned; his head sank slowly in thought. Observing the advantage\ngained she thrust it home. \"It was a lucky wind that blew that Dutchman\ninto his path, and luckier still her being so richly fraught that he may\ndazzle thine eyes with the sight of gold and gems, and so blind thee to\nthe real purpose of his voyage.\"\n\n\"Its real purpose?\" he asked dully. \"What was its real purpose?\" She\nsmiled a smile of infinite knowledge to hide her utter ignorance, her\ninability to supply even a reason that should wear an air of truth.\n\n\"Dost ask me, O perspicuous Asad? Are not thine eyes as sharp, thy wits\nas keen at least as mine, that what is clear to me should be hidden\nfrom thee? Or hath this Sakr-el-Bahr bewitched thee with enchantments of\nBabyl?\"\n\nHe strode to her and caught her wrist in a cruelly rough grip of his\nsinewy old hand.\n\n\"His purpose, thou jade! Pour out the foulness of thy mind. Speak!\"\n\nShe sat up, flushed and defiant.\n\n\"I will not speak,\" said she.\n\n\"Thou wilt not? Now, by the Head of Allah! dost dare to stand before\nmy face and defy me, thy Lord? I\'ll have thee whipped, Fenzileh. I\nhave been too tender of thee these many years--so tender that thou hast\nforgot the rods that await the disobedient wife. Speak then ere thy\nflesh is bruised or speak thereafter, at thy pleasure.\"\n\n\"I will not,\" she repeated. \"Though I be flung to the hooks, not another\nword will I say of Sakr-el-Bahr. Shall I unveil the truth to be spurned\nand scorned and dubbed a liar and the mother of lies?\" Then abruptly\nchanging she fell to weeping. \"O source of my life!\" she cried to him,\n\"how cruelly unjust to me thou art!\" She was grovelling now, a thing of\nsupplest grace, her lovely arms entwining his knees. \"When my love for\nthee drives me to utter what I see, I earn but thy anger, which is more\nthan I can endure. I swoon beneath the weight of it.\"\n\nHe flung her off impatiently. \"What a weariness is a woman\'s tongue!\" he\ncried, and stalked out again, convinced from past experiences that did\nhe linger he would be whelmed in a torrent of words.\n\nBut her poison was shrewdly administered, and slowly did its work. It\nabode in his mind to torture him with the doubts that were its very\nessence. No reason, however well founded, that she might have urged for\nSakr-el-Bahr\'s strange conduct could have been half so insidious as\nher suggestion that there was a reason. It gave him something vague and\nintangible to consider. Something that he could not repel since it had\nno substance he could grapple with. Impatiently he awaited the morning\nand the coming of Sakr-el-Bahr himself, but he no longer awaited it with\nthe ardent whole-hearted eagerness as of a father awaiting the coming of\na beloved son.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr himself paced the poop deck of the carack and watched\nthe lights perish one by one in the little town that straggled up the\nhillside before him. The moon came up and bathed it in a white hard\nlight, throwing sharp inky shadows of rustling date palm and spearlike\nminaret, and flinging shafts of silver athwart the peaceful bay.\n\nHis wound was healed and he was fully himself once more. Two days ago he\nhad come on deck for the first time since the fight with the Dutchman,\nand he had spent there the greater portion of the time since then. Once\nonly had he visited his captives. He had risen from his couch to repair\nstraight to the cabin in the poop where Rosamund was confined. He had\nfound her pale and very wistful, but with her courage entirely unbroken.\nThe Godolphins were a stiff-necked race, and Rosamund bore in her frail\nbody the spirit of a man. She looked up when he entered, started a\nlittle in surprise to see him at last, for it was the first time he\nstood before her since he had carried her off from Arwenack some four\nweeks ago. Then she had averted her eyes, and sat there, elbows on the\ntable, as if carved of wood, as if blind to his presence and deaf to his\nwords.\n\nTo the expressions of regret--and they were sincere, for already he\nrepented him his unpremeditated act so far as she was concerned--she\nreturned no slightest answer, gave no sign indeed that she heard a\nword of it. Baffled, he stood gnawing his lip a moment, and gradually,\nunreasonably perhaps, anger welled up from his heart. He turned and went\nout again. Next he had visited his brother, to consider in silence a\nmoment the haggard, wild-eyed, unshorn wretch who shrank and cowered\nbefore him in the consciousness of guilt. At last he returned to the\ndeck, and there, as I have said, he spent the greater portion of the\nlast three days of that strange voyage, reclining for the most part in\nthe sun and gathering strength from its ardour.\n\nTo-night as he paced under the moon a stealthy shadow crept up the\ncompanion to call him gently by his English name--\n\n\"Sir Oliver!\"\n\nHe started as if a ghost had suddenly leapt up to greet him. It was\nJasper Leigh who hailed him thus.\n\n\"Come up,\" he said. And when the fellow stood before him on the poop--\"I\nhave told you already that here is no Sir Oliver. I am Oliver-Reis or\nSakr-el-Bahr, as you please, one of the Faithful of the Prophet\'s House.\nAnd now what is your will?\"\n\n\"Have I not served you faithfully and well?\" quoth Captain Leigh.\n\n\"Who has denied it?\"\n\n\"None. But neither has any acknowledged it. When you lay wounded below\nit had been an easy thing for me to ha\' played the traitor. I might ha\'\nsailed these ships into the mouth of Tagus. I might so by God!\"\n\n\"You\'ld have been carved in pieces on the spot,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr.\n\n\"I might have hugged the land and run the risk of capture and then\nclaimed my liberation from captivity.\"\n\n\"And found yourself back on the galleys of his Catholic Majesty. But\nthere! I grant that you have dealt loyally by me. You have kept your\npart of the bond. I shall keep mine, never doubt it.\"\n\n\"I do not. But your part of the bond was to send me home again.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"The hell of it is that I know not where to find a home, I know not\nwhere home may be after all these years. If ye send me forth, I shall\nbecome a wanderer of no account.\"\n\n\"What else am I to do with you?\"\n\n\"Faith now I am as full weary of Christians and Christendom as you was\nyourself when the Muslims took the galley on which you toiled. I am a\nman of parts, Sir Ol-Sakr-el-Bahr. No better navigator ever sailed a\nship from an English port, and I ha\' seen a mort o\' fighting and know\nthe art of it upon the sea. Can ye make naught of me here?\"\n\n\"You would become a renegade like me?\" His tone was bitter.\n\n\"I ha\' been thinking that \'renegade\' is a word that depends upon which\nside you\'re on. I\'d prefer to say that I\'ve a wish to be converted to\nthe faith of Mahound.\"\n\n\"Converted to the faith of piracy and plunder and robbery upon the seas\nis what you mean,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr.\n\n\"Nay, now. To that I should need no converting, for all that I were\nafore,\" Captain Leigh admitted frankly. \"I ask but to sail under another\nflag than the Jolly Roger.\"\n\n\"You\'ll need to abjure strong drink,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr.\n\n\"There be compensations,\" said Master Leigh.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr considered. The rogue\'s appeal smote a responsive chord in\nhis heart. It would be good to have a man of his own race beside him,\neven though it were but such a rascal as this.\n\n\"Be it as you will,\" he said at last. \"You deserve to be hanged in spite\nof what promises I made you. But no matter for that. So that you become\na Muslim I will take you to serve beside me, one of my own lieutenants\nto begin with, and so long as you are loyal to me, Jasper, all will be\nwell. But at the first sign of faithlessness, a rope and the yard-arm,\nmy friend, and an airy dance into hell for you.\"\n\nThe rascally skipper stooped in his emotion, caught up Sakr-el-Bahr\'s\nhand and bore it to his lips. \"It is agreed,\" he said. \"Ye have shown me\nmercy who have little deserved it from you. Never fear for my loyalty.\nMy life belongs to you, and worthless thing though it may be, ye may do\nwith it as ye please.\"\n\nDespite himself Sakr-el-Bahr tightened his grip upon the rogue\'s hand,\nand Jasper shuffled off and down the companion again, touched to the\nheart for once in his rough villainous life by a clemency that he knew\nto be undeserved, but which he swore should be deserved ere all was\ndone.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII. MARZAK-BEN-ASAD\n\n\nIt took no less than forty camels to convey the cargo of that Dutch\nargosy from the mole to the Kasbah, and the procession--carefully\nmarshalled by Sakr-el-Bahr, who knew the value of such pageants to\nimpress the mob--was such as never yet had been seen in the narrow\nstreets of Algiers upon the return of any corsair. It was full worthy\nof the greatest Muslim conqueror that sailed the seas, of one who, not\ncontent to keep to the tideless Mediterranean as had hitherto been the\nrule of his kind, had ventured forth upon the wider ocean.\n\nAhead marched a hundred of his rovers in their short caftans of every\nconceivable colour, their waists swathed in gaudy scarves, some of which\nsupported a very arsenal of assorted cutlery; many wore body armour of\nmail and the gleaming spike of a casque thrust up above their turbans.\nAfter them, dejected and in chains, came the five score prisoners\ntaken aboard the Dutchman, urged along by the whips of the corsairs who\nflanked them. Then marched another regiment of corsairs, and after these\nthe long line of stately, sneering camels, shuffling cumbrously along\nand led by shouting Saharowis. After them followed yet more corsairs,\nand then mounted, on a white Arab jennet, his head swathed in a turban\nof cloth of gold, came Sakr-el-Bahr. In the narrower streets, with their\nwhite and yellow washed houses, which presented blank windowless walls\nbroken here and there by no more than a slit to admit light and air,\nthe spectators huddled themselves fearfully into doorways to avoid being\ncrushed to death by the camels, whose burdens bulging on either side\nentirely filled those narrow ways. But the more open spaces, such as the\nstrand on either side of the mole, the square before the sôk, and the\napproaches of Asad\'s fortress, were thronged with a motley roaring\ncrowd. There were stately Moors in flowing robes cheek by jowl with\nhalf-naked blacks from the Sus and the Draa; lean, enduring Arabs in\ntheir spotless white djellabas rubbed shoulders with Berbers from the\nhighlands in black camel-hair cloaks; there were Levantine Turks, and\nJewish refugees from Spain ostentatiously dressed in European garments,\ntolerated there because bound to the Moor by ties of common suffering\nand common exile from that land that once had been their own.\n\nUnder the glaring African sun this amazing crowd stood assembled to\nwelcome Sakr-el-Bahr; and welcome him it did, with such vocal thunder\nthat an echo of it from the mole reached the very Kasbah on the hilltop\nto herald his approach.\n\nBy the time, however, that he reached the fortress his procession had\ndwindled by more than half. At the sôk his forces had divided, and\nhis corsairs, headed by Othmani, had marched the captives away to the\nbagnio--or banyard, as my Lord Henry calls it--whilst the camels had\ncontinued up the hill. Under the great gateway of the Kasbah they padded\ninto the vast courtyard to be ranged along two sides of it by their\nSaharowi drivers, and there brought clumsily to their knees. After\nthem followed but some two score corsairs as a guard of honour to their\nleader. They took their stand upon either side of the gateway after\nprofoundly salaaming to Asad-ed-Din. The Basha sat in the shade of an\nawning enthroned upon a divan, attended by his wazeer Tsamanni and by\nMarzak, and guarded by a half-dozen janissaries, whose sable garments\nmade an effective background to the green and gold of his jewelled\nrobes. In his white turban glowed an emerald crescent.\n\nThe Basha\'s countenance was dark and brooding as he watched the advent\nof that line of burdened camels. His thoughts were still labouring with\nthe doubt of Sakr-el-Bahr which Fenzileh\'s crafty speech and craftier\nreticence had planted in them. But at sight of the corsair leader\nhimself his countenance cleared suddenly, his eyes sparkled, and he rose\nto his feet to welcome him as a father might welcome a son who had been\nthrough perils on a service dear to both.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr entered the courtyard on foot, having dismounted at\nthe gate. Tall and imposing, with his head high and his forked beard\nthrusting forward, he stalked with great dignity to the foot of\nthe divan followed by Ali and a mahogany-faced fellow, turbaned and\nred-bearded, in whom it needed more than a glance to recognize the\nrascally Jasper Leigh, now in all the panoply of your complete renegado.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr went down upon his knees and prostrated himself solemnly\nbefore his prince.\n\n\"The blessing of Allah and His peace upon thee, my lord,\" was his\ngreeting.\n\nAnd Asad, stooping to lift that splendid figure in his arms, gave him a\nwelcome that caused the spying Fenzileh to clench her teeth behind the\nfretted lattice that concealed her.\n\n\"The praise to Allah and to our Lord Mahomet that thou art returned and\nin health, my son. Already hath my old heart been gladdened by the news\nof thy victories in the service of the Faith.\"\n\nThen followed the display of all those riches wrested from the Dutch,\nand greatly though Asad\'s expectations had been fed already by\nOthmani, the sight now spread before his eyes by far exceeded all those\nexpectations.\n\nIn the end all was dismissed to the treasury, and Tsamanni was bidden to\ngo cast up the account of it and mark the share that fell to the portion\nof those concerned--for in these ventures all were partners, from the\nBasha himself, who represented the State down to the meanest corsair who\nhad manned the victorious vessels of the Faith, and each had his share\nof the booty, greater or less according to his rank, one twentieth of\nthe total falling to Sakr-el-Bahr himself.\n\nIn the courtyard were left none but Asad, Marzak and the janissaries,\nand Sakr-el-Bahr with Ali and Jasper. It was then that Sakr-el-Bahr\npresented his new officer to the Bashal as one upon whom the grace\nof Allah had descended, a great fighter and a skilled seaman, who had\noffered up his talents and his life to the service of Islam, who had\nbeen accepted by Sakr-el-Bahr, and stood now before Asad to be confirmed\nin his office.\n\nMarzak interposed petulantly, to exclaim that already were there too\nmany erstwhile Nasrani dogs in the ranks of the soldiers of the Faith,\nand that it was unwise to increase their number and presumptuous in\nSakr-el-Bahr to take so much upon himself.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr measured him with an eye in which scorn and surprise were\nnicely blended.\n\n\"Dost say that it is presumptuous to win a convert to the banner of Our\nLord Mahomet?\" quoth he. \"Go read the Most Perspicuous Book and see what\nis there enjoined as a duty upon every True-Believer. And bethink thee,\nO son of Asad, that when thou dost in thy little wisdom cast scorn upon\nthose whom Allah has blessed and led from the night wherein they dwelt\ninto the bright noontide of Faith, thou dost cast scorn upon me and upon\nthine own mother, which is but a little matter, and thou dost blaspheme\nthe Blessed name of Allah, which is to tread the ways that lead unto the\nPit.\"\n\nAngry but defeated and silenced, Marzak fell back a step and stood\nbiting his lip and glowering upon the corsair, what time Asad nodded his\nhead and smiled approval.\n\n\"Verily art thou full learned in the True Belief, Sakr-el-Bahr,\" he\nsaid. \"Thou art the very father of wisdom as of valour.\" And thereupon\nhe gave welcome to Master Leigh, whom he hailed to the ranks of the\nFaithful under the designation of Jasper-Reis.\n\nThat done, the renegade and Ali were both dismissed, as were also the\njanissaries, who, quitting their position behind Asad, went to take\ntheir stand on guard at the gateway. Then the Basha beat his hands\ntogether, and to the slaves who came in answer to his summons he gave\norders to set food, and he bade Sakr-el-Bahr to come sit beside him on\nthe divan.\n\nWater was brought that they might wash. That done, the slaves placed\nbefore them a savoury stew of meat and eggs with olives, limes, and\nspices.\n\nAsad broke bread with a reverently pronounced \"Bismillah!\" and dipped\nhis fingers into the earthenware bowl, leading the way for Sakr-el-Bahr\nand Marzak, and as they ate he invited the corsair himself to recite the\ntale of his adventure.\n\nWhen he had done so, and again Asad had praised him in high and loving\nterms, Marzak set him a question.\n\n\"Was it to obtain just these two English slaves that thou didst\nundertake this perilous voyage to that distant land?\"\n\n\"That was but a part of my design,\" was the calm reply. \"I went to rove\nthe seas in the Prophet\'s service, as the result of my voyage gives\nproof.\"\n\n\"Thou didst not know that this Dutch argosy would cross thy path,\" said\nMarzak, in the very words his mother had prompted him.\n\n\"Did I not?\" quoth Sakr-el-Bahr, and he smiled confidently, so\nconfidently that Asad scarce needed to hear the words that so cunningly\ngave the lie to the innuendo. \"Had I no trust in Allah the All-wise, the\nAll-knowing?\n\n\"Well answered, by the Koran!\" Asad approved him heartily, the more\nheartily since it rebutted insinuations which he desired above all to\nhear rebutted.\n\nBut Marzak did not yet own himself defeated. He had been soundly\nschooled by his guileful Sicilian mother.\n\n\"Yet there is something in all this I do not understand,\" he murmured,\nwith false gentleness.\n\n\"All things are possible to Allah!\" said Sakr-el-Bahr, in tones of\nincredulity, as if he suggested--not without a suspicion of irony--that\nit was incredible there should be anything in all the world that could\nelude the penetration of Marzak.\n\nThe youth bowed to him in acknowledgment. \"Tell me, O mighty\nSakr-el-Bahr,\" he begged, \"how it came to pass that having reached those\ndistant shores thou wert content to take thence but two poor slaves,\nsince with thy followers and the favour of the All-seeing thou might\neasily have taken fifty times that number.\" And he looked ingenuously\ninto the corsair\'s swarthy, rugged face, whilst Asad frowned\nthoughtfully, for the thought was one that had occurred to him already.\n\nIt became necessary that Sakr-el-Bahr should lie to clear himself.\nHere no high-sounding phrase of Faith would answer. And explanation was\nunavoidable, and he was conscious that he could not afford one that did\nnot go a little lame.\n\n\"Why, as to that,\" said he, \"these prisoners were wrested from the\nfirst house upon which we came, and their capture occasioned some alarm.\nMoreover, it was night-time when we landed, and I dared not adventure\nthe lives of my followers by taking them further from the ship and\nattacking a village which might have risen to cut off our good retreat.\"\n\nThe frown remained stamped upon the brow of Asad, as Marzak slyly\nobserved.\n\n\"Yet Othmani,\" said he, \"urged thee to fall upon a slumbering village\nall unconscious of thy presence, and thou didst refuse.\"\n\nAsad looked up sharply at that, and Sakr-el-Bahr realized with a\ntightening about the heart something of the undercurrents at work\nagainst him and all the pains that had been taken to glean information\nthat might be used to his undoing.\n\n\"Is it so?\" demanded Asad, looking from his son to his lieutenant with\nthat lowering look that rendered his face evil and cruel.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr took a high tone. He met Asad\'s glance with an eye of\nchallenge.\n\n\"And if it were so my lord?\" he demanded.\n\n\"I asked thee is it so?\"\n\n\"Ay, but knowing thy wisdom I disbelieved my ears,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr.\n\"Shall it signify what Othmani may have said? Do I take my orders or am\nI to be guided by Othmani? If so, best set Othmani in my place, give\nhim the command and the responsibility for the lives of the Faithful who\nfight beside him.\" He ended with an indignant snort.\n\n\"Thou art over-quick to anger,\" Asad reproved him, scowling still\n\n\"And by the Head of Allah, who will deny my right to it? Am I to conduct\nsuch an enterprise as this from which I am returned laden with spoils\nthat might well be the fruits of a year\'s raiding, to be questioned by a\nbeardless stripling as to why I was not guided by Othmani?\"\n\nHe heaved himself up and stood towering there in the intensity of a\npassion that was entirely simulated. He must bluster here, and crush\ndown suspicion with whorling periods and broad, fierce gesture.\n\n\"To what should Othmani have guided me?\" he demanded scornfully. \"Could\nhe have guided me to more than I have this day laid at thy feet? What I\nhave done speaks eloquently with its own voice. What he would have had\nme do might well have ended in disaster. Had it so ended, would the\nblame of it have fallen upon Othmani? Nay, by Allah! but upon me. And\nupon me rests then the credit, and let none dare question it without\nbetter cause.\"\n\nNow these were daring words to address to the tyrant Asad, and still\nmore daring was the tone, the light hard eyes aflash and the sweeping\ngestures of contempt with which they were delivered. But of his\nascendancy over the Basha there was no doubt. And here now was proof of\nit.\n\nAsad almost cowered before his fury. The scowl faded from his face to be\nreplaced by an expression of dismay.\n\n\"Nay, nay, Sakr-el-Bahr, this tone!\" he cried.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr, having slammed the door of conciliation in the face of the\nBasha, now opened it again. He became instantly submissive.\n\n\"Forgive it,\" he said. \"Blame the devotion of thy servant to thee and\nto the Faith he serves with little reck to life. In this very expedition\nwas I wounded nigh unto death. The livid scar of it is a dumb witness to\nmy zeal. Where are thy scars, Marzak?\"\n\nMarzak quailed before the sudden blaze of that question, and\nSakr-el-Bahr laughed softly in contempt.\n\n\"Sit,\" Asad bade him. \"I have been less than just.\"\n\n\"Thou art the very fount and spring of justice, O my lord, as this thine\nadmission proves,\" protested the corsair. He sat down again, folding\nhis legs under him. \"I will confess to you that being come so near to\nEngland in that cruise of mine I determined to land and seize one who\nsome years ago did injure me, and between whom and me there was a score\nto settle. I exceeded my intentions in that I carried off two prisoners\ninstead of one. These prisoners,\" he ran on, judging that the moment of\nreaction in Asad\'s mind was entirely favourable to the preferment of the\nrequest he had to make, \"are not in the bagnio with the others. They are\nstill confined aboard the carack I seized.\"\n\n\"And why is this?\" quoth Asad, but without suspicion now.\n\n\"Because, my lord, I have a boon to ask in some reward for the service I\nhave rendered.\"\n\n\"Ask it, my son.\"\n\n\"Give me leave to keep these captives for myself.\"\n\nAsad considered him, frowning again slightly. Despite himself, despite\nhis affection for Sakr-el-Bahr, and his desire to soothe him now that\nrankling poison of Fenzileh\'s infusing was at work again in his mind.\n\n\"My leave thou hast,\" said he. \"But not the law\'s, and the law runs\nthat no corsair shall subtract so much as the value of an asper from his\nbooty until the division has been made and his own share allotted him,\"\nwas the grave answer.\n\n\"The law?\" quoth Sakr-el-Bahr. \"But thou art the law, exalted lord.\"\n\n\"Not so, my son. The law is above the Basha, who must himself conform to\nit so that he be just and worthy of his high office. And the law I\nhave recited thee applies even should the corsair raider be the Basha\nhimself. These slaves of thine must forthwith be sent to the bagnio to\njoin the others that tomorrow all may be sold in the sôk. See it done,\nSakr-el-Bahr.\"\n\nThe corsair would have renewed his pleadings, but that his eye caught\nthe eager white face of Marzak and the gleaming expectant eyes, looking\nso hopefully for his ruin. He checked, and bowed his head with an\nassumption of indifference.\n\n\"Name thou their price then, and forthwith will I pay it into thy\ntreasury.\"\n\nBut Asad shook his head. \"It is not for me to name their price, but for\nthe buyers,\" he replied. \"I might set the price too high, and that were\nunjust to thee, or too low, and that were unjust to others who would\nacquire them. Deliver them over to the bagnio.\"\n\n\"It shall be done,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr, daring to insist no further and\ndissembling his chagrin.\n\nVery soon thereafter he departed upon that errand, giving orders,\nhowever, that Rosamund and Lionel should be kept apart from the other\nprisoners until the hour of the sale on the morrow when perforce they\nmust take their place with the rest.\n\nMarzak lingered with his father after Oliver had taken his leave, and\npresently they were joined there in the courtyard by Fenzileh--this\nwoman who had brought, said many, the Frankish ways of Shaitan into\nAlgiers.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII. MOTHER AND SON\n\n\nEarly on the morrow--so early that scarce had the Shehad been\nrecited--came Biskaine-el-Borak to the Basha. He had just landed from a\ngalley which had come upon a Spanish fishing boat, aboard of which there\nwas a young Morisco who was being conducted over seas to Algiers. The\nnews of which the fellow was the bearer was of such urgency that for\ntwenty hours without intermission the slaves had toiled at the oars of\nBiskaine\'s vessel--the capitana of his fleet--to bring her swiftly home.\n\nThe Morisco had a cousin--a New-Christian like himself, and like\nhimself, it would appear, still a Muslim at heart--who was employed in\nthe Spanish treasury at Malaga. This man had knowledge that a galley was\nfitting out for sea to convey to Naples the gold destined for the pay\nof the Spanish troops in garrison there. Through parsimony this\ntreasure-galley was to be afforded no escort, but was under orders to\nhug the coast of Europe, where she should be safe from all piratical\nsurprise. It was judged that she would be ready to put to sea in a week,\nand the Morisco had set out at once to bring word of it to his Algerine\nbrethren that they might intercept and capture her.\n\nAsad thanked the young Morisco for his news, bade him be housed and\ncared for, and promised him a handsome share of the plunder should the\ntreasure-galley be captured. That done he sent for Sakr-el-Bahr, whilst\nMarzak, who had been present at the interview, went with the tale of it\nto his mother, and beheld her fling into a passion when he added that it\nwas Sakr-el-Bahr had been summoned that he might be entrusted with\nthis fresh expedition, thus proving that all her crafty innuendoes and\ninsistent warnings had been so much wasted labour.\n\nWith Marzak following at her heels, she swept like a fury into the\ndarkened room where Asad took his ease.\n\n\"What is this I hear, O my lord?\" she cried, in tone and manner more the\nEuropean shrew than the submissive Eastern slave. \"Is Sakr-el-Bahr to go\nupon this expedition against the treasure-galley of Spain?\"\n\nReclining on his divan he looked her up and down with a languid eye.\n\"Dost know of any better fitted to succeed?\" quoth he.\n\n\"I know of one whom it is my lord\'s duty to prefer to that foreign\nadventurer. One who is entirely faithful and entirely to be trusted.\nOne who does not attempt to retain for himself a portion of the booty\ngarnered in the name of Islam.\"\n\n\"Bah!\" said Asad. \"Wilt thou talk forever of those two slaves? And who\nmay be this paragon of thine?\"\n\n\"Marzak,\" she answered fiercely, flinging out an arm to drag forward\nher son. \"Is he to waste his youth here in softness and idleness? But\nyesternight that ribald mocked him with his lack of scars. Shall he take\nscars in the orchard of the Kasbah here? Is he to be content with those\nthat come from the scratch of a bramble, or is he to learn to be a\nfighter and leader of the Children of the Faith that himself he may\nfollow in the path his father trod?\"\n\n\"Whether he so follows,\" said Asad, \"is as the Sultan of Istambul, the\nSublime Portal, shall decree. We are but his vicegerents here.\"\n\n\"But shall the Grand Sultan appoint him to succeed thee if thou hast\nnot equipped him so to do? I cry shame on thee, O father of Marzakl, for\nthat thou art lacking in due pride in thine own son.\"\n\n\"May Allah give me patience with thee! Have I not said that he is still\nover young.\"\n\n\"At his age thyself thou wert upon the seas, serving with the great\nOchiali.\"\n\n\"At his age I was, by the favour of Allah, taller and stronger than is\nhe. I cherish him too dearly to let him go forth and perchance be lost\nto me before his strength is full grown.\"\n\n\"Look at him,\" she commanded. \"He is a man, Asad, and such a son as\nanother might take pride in. Is it not time he girt a scimitar about his\nwaist and trod the poop of one of thy galleys?\"\n\n\"Indeed, indeed, O my father!\" begged Marzak himself.\n\n\"What?\" barked the old Moor. \"And is it so? And wouldst thou go forth\nthen against the Spaniard? What knowledge hast thou that shall equip\nthee for such a task?\"\n\n\"What can his knowledge be since his father has never been concerned to\nschool him?\" returned Fenzileh. \"Dost thou sneer at shortcomings that\nare the natural fruits of thine own omissions?\"\n\n\"I will be patient with thee,\" said Asad, showing every sign of losing\npatience. \"I will ask thee only if in thy judgment he is in case to win\na victory for Islam? Answer me straightly now.\"\n\n\"Straightly I answer thee that he is not. And, as straightly, I tell\nthee that it is full time he were. Thy duty is to let him go upon this\nexpedition that he may learn the trade that lies before him.\"\n\nAsad considered a moment. Then: \"Be it so,\" he answered slowly. \"Shalt\nset forth, then, with Sakr-el-Bahr, my son.\"\n\n\"With Sakr-el-Bahr?\" cried Fenzilch aghast.\n\n\"I could find him no better preceptor.\"\n\n\"Shall thy son go forth as the servant of another?\"\n\n\"As the pupil,\" Asad amended. \"What else?\"\n\n\"Were I a man, O fountain of my soul,\" said she, \"and had I a son, none\nbut myself should be his preceptor. I should so mould and fashion him\nthat he should be another me. That, O my dear lord, is thy duty to\nMarzak. Entrust not his training to another and to one whom despite thy\nlove for him I cannot trust. Go forth thyself upon this expedition with\nMarzak here for thy kayia.\"\n\nAsad frowned. \"I grow too old,\" he said. \"I have not been upon the seas\nthese two years past. Who can say that I may not have lost the art of\nvictory. No, no.\" He shook his head, and his face grew overcast and\nsoftened by wistfulness. \"Sakr-el-Bahr commands this time, and if Marzak\ngoes, he goes with him.\"\n\n\"My lord....\" she began, then checked. A Nubian had entered to announce\nthat Sakr-el-Bahr was come and was awaiting the orders of his lord in\nthe courtyard. Asad rose instantly and for all that Fenzileh, greatly\ndaring as ever, would still have detained him, he shook her off\nimpatiently, and went out.\n\nShe watched his departure with anger in those dark lovely eyes of hers,\nan anger that went near to filming them in tears, and after he had\npassed out into the glaring sunshine beyond the door, a silence dwelt in\nthe cool darkened chamber--a silence disturbed only by distant trills of\nsilvery laughter from the lesser women of the Basha\'s house. The sound\njarred her taut nerves. She moved with an oath and beat her hands\ntogether. To answer her came a negress, lithe and muscular as a wrestler\nand naked to the waist; the slave ring in her ear was of massive gold.\n\n\"Bid them make an end of that screeching,\" she snapped to vent some of\nher fierce petulance. \"Tell them I will have the rods to them if they\nagain disturb me.\"\n\nThe negress went out, and silence followed, for those other lesser\nladies of the Basha\'s hareem were more obedient to the commands of\nFenzileh than to those of the Basha himself.\n\nThen she drew her son to the fretted lattice commanding the courtyard,\na screen from behind which they could see and hear all that passed out\nyonder. Asad was speaking, informing Sakr-el-Bahr of what he had learnt,\nand what there was to do.\n\n\"How soon canst thou put to sea again?\" he ended\n\n\"As soon as the service of Allah and thyself require,\" was the prompt\nanswer.\n\n\"It is well, my son.\" Asad laid a hand, affectionately upon the\ncorsair\'s shoulder, entirely conquered by this readiness. \"Best set out\nat sunrise to-morrow. Thou\'lt need so long to make thee ready for the\nsea.\"\n\n\"Then by thy leave I go forthwith to give orders to prepare,\" replied\nSakr-el-Bahr, for all that he was a little troubled in his mind by this\nneed to depart again so soon.\n\n\"What galleys shalt thou take?\"\n\n\"To capture one galley of Spain? My own galeasse, no more; she will be\nfull equal to such an enterprise, and I shall be the better able, then,\nto lurk and take cover--a thing which might well prove impossible with a\nfleet.\"\n\n\"Ay--thou art wise in thy daring,\" Asad approved him. \"May Allah prosper\nthee upon the voyage.\"\n\n\"Have I thy leave to go?\"\n\n\"A moment yet. There is my son Marzak. He is approaching manhood, and it\nis time he entered the service of Allah and the State. It is my desire\nthat he sail as thy lieutenant on this voyage, and that thou be his\npreceptor even as I was thine of old.\"\n\nNow here was something that pleased Sakr-el-Bahr as little as it pleased\nMarzak. Knowing the bitter enmity borne him by the son of Fenzileh he\nhad every cause to fear trouble if this project of Asad\'s were realized.\n\n\"As I was thine of old!\" he answered with crafty wistfulness. \"Wilt thou\nnot put to sea with us to-morrow, O Asad? There is none like thee in all\nIslam, and what a joy were it not to stand beside thee on the prow as\nof old when we grapple with the Spaniard.\"\n\nAsad considered him. \"Dost thou, too, urge this?\" quoth he.\n\n\"Have others urged it?\" The man\'s sharp wits, rendered still sharper by\nhis sufferings, were cutting deeply and swiftly into this matter. \"They\ndid well, but none could have urged it more fervently than I, for none\nknows so well as I the joy of battle against the infidel under thy\ncommand and the glory of prevailing in thy sight. Come, then, my lord,\nupon this enterprise, and be thyself thine own son\'s preceptor since\n\'tis the highest honour thou canst bestow upon him.\"\n\nThoughtfully Asad stroked his long white beard, his eagle eyes growing\nnarrow. \"Thou temptest me, by Allah!\"\n\n\"Let me do more....\"\n\n\"Nay, more thou canst not. I am old and worn, and I am needed here.\nShall an old lion hunt a young gazelle? Peace, peace! The sun has set\nupon my fighting day. Let the brood of fighters I have raised up keep\nthat which my arm conquered and maintain my name and the glory of the\nFaith upon the seas.\" He leaned upon Sakr-el-Bahr\'s shoulder and sighed,\nhis eyes wistfully dreamy. \"It were a fond adventure in good truth. But\nno...I am resolved. Go thou and take Marzak with thee, and bring him\nsafely home again.\"\n\n\"I should not return myself else,\" was the answer. \"But my trust is in\nthe All-knowing.\"\n\nUpon that he departed, dissembling his profound vexation both at the\nvoyage and the company, and went to bid Othmani make ready his great\ngaleasse, equipping it with carronades, three hundred slaves to row it,\nand three hundred fighting men.\n\nAsad-el-Din returned to that darkened room in the Kasbah overlooking\nthe courtyard, where Fenzileh and Marzak still lingered. He went to tell\nthem that in compliance with the desires of both Marzak should go forth\nto prove himself upon this expedition.\n\nBut where he had left impatience he found thinly veiled wrath\n\n\"O sun that warms me,\" Fenzileh greeted him, and from long experience he\nknew that the more endearing were her epithets the more vicious was her\nmood, \"do then my counsels weigh as naught with thee, are they but as\nthe dust upon thy shoes?\"\n\n\"Less,\" said Asad, provoked out of his habitual indulgence of her\nlicences of speech.\n\n\"That is the truth, indeed!\" she cried, bowing her head, whilst behind\nher the handsome face of her son was overcast.\n\n\"It is,\" Asad agreed. \"At dawn, Marzak, thou settest forth upon the\ngaleasse of Sakr-el-Bahr to take the seas under his tutelage and to\nemulate the skill and valour that have rendered him the stoutest bulwark\nof Islam, the very javelin of Allah.\"\n\nBut Marzak felt that in this matter his mother was to be supported,\nwhilst his detestation of this adventurer who threatened to usurp the\nplace that should rightly be his own spurred him to mad lengths of\ndaring.\n\n\"When I take the seas with that dog-descended Nasrani,\" he answered\nhoarsely, \"he shall be where rightly he belongs--at the rowers\' bench.\"\n\n\"How?\" It was a bellow of rage. Upon the word Asad swung to confront\nhis son, and his face, suddenly inflamed, was so cruel and evil in its\nexpression that it terrified that intriguing pair. \"By the beard of\nthe Prophet! what words are these to me?\" He advanced upon Marzak until\nFenzileh in sudden terror stepped between and faced him, like a lioness\nspringing to defend her cub. But the Basha, enraged now by this want of\nsubmission in his son, enraged both against that son and the mother who\nhe knew had prompted him, caught her in his sinewy old hands, and flung\nher furiously aside, so that she stumbled and fell in a panting heap\namid the cushions of her divan.\n\n\"The curse of Allah upon thee!\" he screamed, and Marzak recoiled before\nhim. \"Has this presumptuous hellcat who bore thee taught thee to stand\nbefore my face, to tell me what thou wilt and wilt not do? By the Koran!\ntoo long have I endured her evil foreign ways, and now it seems she\nhas taught thee how to tread them after her and how to beard thy very\nfather! To-morrow thou\'lt take the sea with Sakr-el-Bahr, I have said\nit. Another word and thou\'lt go aboard his galeasse even as thou saidst\nshould be the case with him--at the rowers\' bench, to learn submission\nunder the slave master\'s whip.\"\n\nTerrified, Marzak stood numb and silent, scarcely daring to draw breath.\nNever in all his life had he seen his father in a rage so royal. Yet\nit seemed to inspire no fear in Fenzileh, that congenital shrew whose\ntongue not even the threat of rods or hooks could silence.\n\n\"I shall pray Allah to restore sight to thy soul, O father of Marzak,\"\nshe panted, \"to teach thee to discriminate between those that love thee\nand the self-seekers that abuse thy trust.\"\n\n\"How!\" he roared at her. \"Art not yet done?\"\n\n\"Nor ever shall be until I am lain dumb in death for having counselled\nthee out of my great love, O light of these poor eyes of mine.\"\n\n\"Maintain this tone,\" he said, with concentrated anger, \"and that will\nsoon befall.\"\n\n\"I care not so that the sleek mask be plucked from the face of that\ndog-descended Sakr-el-Bahr. May Allah break his bones! What of those\nslaves of his--those two from England, O Asad? I am told that one is a\nwoman, tall and of that white beauty which is the gift of Eblis to these\nNortherners. What is his purpose with her--that he would not show her in\nthe suk as the law prescribes, but comes slinking here to beg thee set\naside the law for him? Ha! I talk in vain. I have shown thee graver\nthings to prove his vile disloyalty, and yet thou\'lt fawn upon him\nwhilst thy fangs are bared to thine own son.\"\n\nHe advanced upon her, stooped, caught her by the wrist, and heaved her\nup.\n\nHis face showed grey under its deep tan. His aspect terrified her at\nlast and made an end of her reckless forward courage.\n\nHe raised his voice to call.\n\n\"Ya anta! Ayoub!\"\n\nShe gasped, livid in her turn with sudden terror. \"My lord, my lord!\"\nshe whimpered. \"Stream of my life, be not angry! What wilt thou do?\"\n\nHe smiled evilly. \"Do?\" he growled. \"What I should have done ten years\nago and more. We\'ll have the rods to thee.\" And again he called, more\ninsistently--\"Ayoub!\"\n\n\"My lord, my lord!\" she gasped in shuddering horror now that at last she\nfound him set upon the thing to which so often she had dared him. \"Pity!\nPity!\" She grovelled and embraced his knees. \"In the name of the Pitying\nthe Pitiful be merciful upon the excesses to which my love for thee\nmay have driven this poor tongue of mine. O my sweet lord! O father of\nMarzak!\"\n\nHer distress, her beauty, and perhaps, more than either, her unusual\nhumility and submission may have moved him. For even as at that\nmoment Ayoub--the sleek and portly eunuch, who was her wazeer and\nchamberlain--loomed in the inner doorway, salaaming, he vanished again\nupon the instant, dismissed by a peremptory wave of the Basha\'s hand.\n\nAsad looked down upon her, sneering. \"That attitude becomes thee best,\"\nhe said. \"Continue it in future.\" Contemptuously he shook himself free\nof her grasp, turned and stalked majestically out, wearing his anger\nlike a royal mantle, and leaving behind him two terror-shaken beings,\nwho felt as if they had looked over the very edge of death.\n\nThere was a long silence between them. Then at long length Fenzileh rose\nand crossed to the meshra-biyah--the latticed window-box. She opened it\nand took from one of its shelves an earthenware jar, placed there so as\nto receive the slightest breeze. From it she poured water into a little\ncup and drank greedily. That she could perform this menial service\nfor herself when a mere clapping of hands would have brought slaves to\nminister to her need betrayed something of her disordered state of mind.\n\nShe slammed the inner lattice and turned to Marzak. \"And now?\" quoth\nshe.\n\n\"Now?\" said the lad.\n\n\"Ay, what now? What are we to do? Are we to lie crushed under his rage\nuntil we are ruined indeed? He is bewitched. That jackal has enchanted\nhim, so that he must deem well done all that is done by him. Allah guide\nus here, Marzak, or thou\'lt be trampled into dust by Sakr-el-Bahr.\"\n\nMarzak hung his head; slowly he moved to the divan and flung himself\ndown upon its pillows; there he lay prone, his hands cupping his chin,\nhis heels in the air.\n\n\"What can I do?\" he asked at last.\n\n\"That is what I most desire to know. Something must be done, and soon.\nMay his bones rot! If he lives thou art destroyed.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said Marzak, with sudden vigour and significance. \"If he lives!\"\nAnd he sat up. \"Whilst we plan and plot, and our plans and plots come\nto naught save to provoke the anger of my father, we might be better\nemployed in taking the shorter way.\"\n\nShe stood in the middle of the chamber, pondering him with gloomy eyes\n\"I too have thought of that,\" said she. \"I could hire me men to do the\nthing for a handful of gold. But the risk of it....\"\n\n\"Where would be the risk once he is dead?\"\n\n\"He might pull us down with him, and then what would our profit be in\nhis death? Thy father would avenge him terribly.\"\n\n\"If it were craftily done we should not be discovered.\"\n\n\"Not be discovered?\" she echoed, and laughed without mirth. \"How young\nand blind thou art, O Marzak! We should be the first to be suspected.\nI have made no secret of my hate of him, and the people do not love me.\nThey would urge thy father to do justice even were he himself averse to\nit, which I will not credit would be the case. This Sakr-el-Bahr--may\nAllah wither him!--is a god in their eyes. Bethink thee of the welcome\ngiven him! What Basha returning in triumph was ever greeted by the like?\nThese victories that fortune has vouchsafed him have made them account\nhim divinely favoured and protected. I tell thee, Marzak, that did thy\nfather die to-morrow Sakr-el-Bahr would be proclaimed Basha of Algiers\nin his stead, and woe betide us then. And Asad-el-Din grows old. True,\nhe does not go forth to fight. He clings to life and may last long. But\nif he should not, and if Sakr-el-Bahr should still walk the earth when\nthy father\'s destiny is fulfilled, I dare not think what then will be\nthy fate and mine.\"\n\n\"May his grave be defiled!\" growled Matzak.\n\n\"His grave?\" said she. \"The difficulty is to dig it for him without hurt\nto ourselves. Shaitan protects the dog.\"\n\n\"May he make his bed in hell!\" said Marzak.\n\n\"To curse him will not help us. Up, Marzak, and consider how the thing\nis to be done.\"\n\nMarzak came to his feet, nimble and supple as a greyhound. \"Listen now,\"\nhe said. \"Since I must go this voyage with him, perchance upon the seas\non some dark night opportunity may serve me.\"\n\n\"Wait! Let me consider it. Allah guide me to find some way!\" She beat\nher hands together and bade the slave girl who answered her to summon\nher wazeer Ayoub, and bid a litter be prepared for her. \"We\'ll to the\nsôk, O Marzak, and see these slaves of his. Who knows but that something\nmay be done by means of them! Guile will serve us better than mere\nstrength against that misbegotten son of shame.\"\n\n\"May his house be destroyed!\" said Marzak.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX. COMPETITORS\n\n\nThe open space before the gates of the sôk-el-Abeed was thronged with a\nmotley, jostling, noisy crowd that at every moment was being swelled by\nthe human streams pouring to mingle in it from the debauching labyrinth\nof narrow, unpaved streets.\n\nThere were brown-skinned Berbers in black goat-hair cloaks that were\nmade in one piece with a cowl and decorated by a lozenge of red or\norange colour on the back, their shaven heads encased in skull-caps or\nsimply bound in a cord of plaited camel-hair; there were black Saharowi\nwho went almost naked, and stately Arabs who seemed overmuffled in\ntheir flowing robes of white with the cowls overshadowing their swarthy,\nfinely featured faces; there were dignified and prosperous-looking Moors\nin brightly coloured selhams astride of sleek mules that were richly\ncaparisoned; and there were Tagareenes, the banished Moors of Andalusia,\nmost of whom followed the trade of slave-dealers; there were native Jews\nin sombre black djellabas, and Christian-Jews--so-called because bred\nin Christian countries, whose garments they still wore; there were\nLevantine Turks, splendid of dress and arrogant of demeanour, and there\nwere humble Cololies, Kabyles and Biscaries. Here a water-seller,\nladen with his goatskin vessel, tinkled his little bell; there an\norange-hawker, balancing a basket of the golden fruit upon his ragged\nturban, bawled his wares. There were men on foot and men on mules,\nmen on donkeys and men on slim Arab horses, an ever-shifting medley of\ncolours, all jostling, laughing, cursing in the ardent African sunshine\nunder the blue sky where pigeons circled. In the shadow of the yellow\ntapia wall squatted a line of whining beggars and cripples soliciting\nalms; near the gates a little space had been cleared and an audience\nhad gathered in a ring about a Meddah--a beggar-troubadour--who, to the\naccompaniment of gimbri and gaitah from two acolytes, chanted a doleful\nballad in a thin, nasal voice.\n\nThose of the crowd who were patrons of the market held steadily amain,\nand, leaving their mounts outside, passed through the gates through\nwhich there was no admittance for mere idlers and mean folk. Within the\nvast quadrangular space of bare, dry ground, enclosed by dust-coloured\nwalls, there was more space. The sale of slaves had not yet begun and\nwas not due to begin for another hour, and meanwhile a little trading\nwas being done by those merchants who had obtained the coveted right\nto set up their booths against the walls; they were vendors of wool, of\nfruit, of spices, and one or two traded in jewels and trinkets for the\nadornment of the Faithful.\n\nA well was sunk in the middle of the ground, a considerable octagon with\na low parapet in three steps. Upon the nethermost of these sat an\naged, bearded Jew in a black djellaba, his head swathed in a coloured\nkerchief. Upon his knees reposed a broad, shallow black box, divided\ninto compartments, each filled with lesser gems and rare stones, which\nhe was offering for sale; about him stood a little group of young Moors\nand one or two Turkish officers, with several of whom the old Israelite\nwas haggling at once.\n\nThe whole of the northern wall was occupied by a long penthouse, its\ncontents completely masked by curtains of camel-hair; from behind it\nproceeded a subdued murmur of human voices. These were the pens in which\nwere confined the slaves to be offered for sale that day. Before the\ncurtains, on guard, stood some dozen corsairs with attendant negro\nslaves.\n\nBeyond and above the wall glistened the white dome of a zowia, flanked\nby a spear-like minaret and the tall heads of a few date palms whose\nlong leaves hung motionless in the hot air.\n\nSuddenly in the crowd beyond the gates there was a commotion. From one\nof the streets six colossal Nubians advanced with shouts of--\n\n\"Oak! Oak! Warda! Way! Make way!\"\n\nThey were armed with great staves, grasped in their two hands, and with\nthese they broke a path through that motley press, hurling men to right\nand left and earning a shower of curses in return.\n\n\"Balâk! Make way! Way for the Lord Asad-ed-Din, the exalted of Allah!\nWay!\"\n\nThe crowd, pressing back, went down upon its knees and grovelled as\nAsad-ed-Din on a milk-white mule rode forward, escorted by Tsamanni his\nwazeer and a cloud of black-robed janissaries with flashing scimitars.\n\nThe curses that had greeted the violence of his negroes were suddenly\nsilenced; instead, blessings as fervent filled the air.\n\n\"May Allah increase thy might! May Allah lengthen thy days! The\nblessings of our Lord Mahomet upon thee! Allah send thee more\nvictories!\" were the benedictions that showered upon him on every hand.\nHe returned them as became a man who was supremely pious and devout.\n\n\"The peace of Allah upon the Faithful of the Prophet\'s House,\" he would\nmurmur in response from time to time, until at last he had reached\nthe gates. There he bade Tsamanni fling a purse to the crouching\nbeggars--for is it not written in the Most Perspicuous Book that of alms\nye shall bestow what ye can spare, for such as are saved from their own\ngreed shall prosper, and whatever ye give in alms, as seeking the face\nof Allah shall be doubled unto you?\n\nSubmissive to the laws as the meanest of his subjects, Asad dismounted\nand passed on foot into the sôk. He came to a halt by the well, and,\nfacing the curtained penthouse, he blessed the kneeling crowd and\ncommanded all to rise.\n\nHe beckoned Sakr-el-Bahr\'s officer Ali--who was in charge of the slaves\nof the corsair\'s latest raid and announced his will to inspect the\ncaptives. At a sign from Ali, the negroes flung aside the camel-hair\ncurtains and let the fierce sunlight beat in upon those pent-up\nwretches; they were not only the captives taken by Sakr-el-Bahr, but\nsome others who were the result of one or two lesser raids by Biskaine.\n\nAsad beheld a huddle of men and women--though the proportion of women\nwas very small--of all ages, races, and conditions; there were pale\nfair-haired men from France or the North, olive-skinned Italians and\nswarthy Spaniards, negroes and half-castes; there were old men, young\nmen and mere children, some handsomely dressed, some almost naked,\nothers hung with rags. In the hopeless dejection of their countenances\nalone was there any uniformity. But it was not a dejection that could\nawaken pity in the pious heart of Asad. They were unbelievers who would\nnever look upon the face of God\'s Prophet, accursed and unworthy of\nany tenderness from man. For a moment his glance was held by a lovely\nblack-haired Spanish girl, who sat with her locked hands held fast\nbetween her knees, in an attitude of intense despair and suffering--the\nglory of her eyes increased and magnified by the dark brown stains of\nsleeplessness surrounding them. Leaning on Tsamanni\'s arm, he stood\nconsidering her for a little while; then his glance travelled on.\nSuddenly he tightened his grasp of Tsamanni\'s arm and a quick interest\nleapt into his sallow face.\n\nOn the uppermost tier of the pen that he was facing sat a very glory\nof womanhood, such a woman as he had heard tell existed but the like\nof which he had never yet beheld. She was tall and graceful as\na cypress-tree; her skin was white as milk, her eyes two darkest\nsapphires, her head of a coppery golden that seemed to glow like metal\nas the sunlight caught it. She was dressed in a close gown of white, the\nbodice cut low and revealing the immaculate loveliness of her neck.\n\nAsad-ed-Din turned to Ali. \"What pearl is this that hath been cast upon\nthis dung-heap?\" he asked.\n\n\"She is the woman our lord Sakr-el-Bahr carried off from England.\"\nSlowly the Basha\'s eyes returned to consider her, and insensible though\nshe had deemed herself by now, he saw her cheeks slowly reddening under\nthe cold insult of his steady, insistent glance. The glow heightened her\nbeauty, effacing the weariness which the face had worn.\n\n\"Bring her forth,\" said the Basha shortly.\n\nShe was seized by two of the negroes, and to avoid being roughly handled\nby them she came at once, bracing herself to bear with dignity whatever\nmight await her. A golden-haired young man beside her, his face haggard\nand stubbled with a beard of some growth, looked up in alarm as she was\ntaken from his side. Then, with a groan, he made as if to clutch her,\nbut a rod fell upon his raised arms and beat them down.\n\nAsad was thoughtful. It was Fenzileh who had bidden him come look at\nthe infidel maid whom Sakr-el-Bahr had risked so much to snatch from\nEngland, suggesting that in her he would behold some proof of the bad\nfaith which she was forever urging against the corsair leader. He beheld\nthe woman, but he discovered about her no such signs as Fenzileh had\nsuggested he must find, nor indeed did he look for any. Out of curiosity\nhad he obeyed her prompting. But that and all else were forgotten now\nin the contemplation of this noble ensample of Northern womanhood,\nstatuesque almost in her terrible restraint.\n\nHe put forth a hand to touch her arm, and she drew it back as if his\nfingers were of fire.\n\nHe sighed. \"How inscrutable are the ways of Allah, that He should suffer\nso luscious a fruit to hang from the foul tree of infidelity!\"\n\nTsamanni watching him craftily, a master-sycophant profoundly learned in\nthe art of playing upon his master\'s moods, made answer:\n\n\"Even so perchance that a Faithful of the Prophet\'s House may pluck it.\nVerily all things are possible to the One!\"\n\n\"Yet is it not set down in the Book to be Read that the daughters of the\ninfidel are not for True-Believers?\" And again he sighed.\n\nBut Tsamanni knowing full well how the Basha would like to be answered,\ntrimmed his reply to that desire.\n\n\"Allah is great, and what hath befallen once may well befall again, my\nlord.\"\n\nAsad\'s kindling eyes flashed a glance at his wazeer.\n\n\"Thou meanest Fenzileh. But then, by the mercy of Allah, I was rendered\nthe instrument of her enlightenment.\"\n\n\"It may well be written that thou shalt be the same again, my lord,\"\nmurmured the insidious Tsamanni. There was more stirring in his mind\nthan the mere desire to play the courtier now. \'Twixt Fenzileh and\nhimself there had long been a feud begotten of the jealousy which each\ninspired in the other where Asad was concerned. Were Fenzileh removed\nthe wazeer\'s influence must grow and spread to his own profit. It was\na thing of which he had often dreamed, but a dream he feared that was\nnever like to be realized, for Asad was ageing, and the fires that had\nburned so fiercely in his earlier years seemed now to have consumed in\nhim all thought of women. Yet here was one as by a miracle, of a beauty\nso amazing and so diverse from any that ever yet had feasted the Basha\'s\nsight, that plainly she had acted as a charm upon his senses.\n\n\"She is white as the snows upon the Atlas, luscious as the dates of\nTafilalt,\" he murmured fondly, his gleaming eyes considering her what\ntime she stood immovable before him. Suddenly he looked about him, and\nwheeled upon Tsamanni, his manner swiftly becoming charged with anger.\n\n\"Her face has been bared to a thousand eyes and more,\" he cried.\n\n\"Even that has been so before,\" replied Tsamanni.\n\nAnd then quite suddenly at their elbow a voice that was naturally soft\nand musical of accent but now rendered harsh, cut in to ask:\n\n\"What woman may this be?\"\n\nStartled, both the Basha and his wazeer swung round. Fenzileh,\nbecomingly veiled and hooded, stood before them, escorted by Marzak. A\nlittle behind them were the eunuchs and the litter in which, unperceived\nby Asad, she had been borne thither. Beside the litter stood her wazeer\nAyoub-el-Samin.\n\nAsad scowled down upon her, for he had not yet recovered from the\nresentment she and Marzak had provoked in him. Moreover, that in private\nshe should be lacking in the respect which was his due was evil enough,\nthough he had tolerated it. But that she should make so bold as to\nthrust in and question him in this peremptory fashion before all the\nworld was more than his dignity could suffer. Never yet had she dared\nso much nor would she have dared it now but that her sudden anxiety had\neffaced all caution from her mind. She had seen the look with which\nAsad had been considering that lovely slave, and not only jealousy but\npositive fear awoke in her. Her hold upon Asad was growing tenuous. To\nsnap it utterly no more was necessary than that he who of late years had\nscarce bestowed a thought or glance upon a woman should be taken with\nthe fancy to bring some new recruit to his hareem.\n\nHence her desperate, reckless courage to stand thus before him now, for\nalthough her face was veiled there was hardy arrogance in every line of\nher figure. Of his scowl she took no slightest heed.\n\n\"If this be the slave fetched by Sakr-el-Bahr from England, then rumour\nhas lied to me,\" she said. \"I vow it was scarce worth so long a\nvoyage and the endangering so many valuable Muslim lives to fetch this\nyellow-faced, long-shanked daughter of perdition into Barbary.\"\n\nAsad\'s surprise beat down his anger. He was not subtle.\n\n\"Yellow-faced? Long-shanked?\" quoth he. Then reading Fenzileh at last,\nhe displayed a slow, crooked smile. \"Already have I observed thee\nto grow hard of hearing, and now thy sight is failing too, it seems.\nAssuredly thou art growing old.\" And he looked her over with such an eye\nof displeasure that she recoiled.\n\nHe stepped close up to her. \"Too long already hast thou queened it in my\nhareem with thine infidel, Frankish ways,\" he muttered, so that none but\nthose immediately about overheard his angry words. \"Thou art become a\nvery scandal in the eyes of the Faithful,\" he added very grimly. \"It\nwere well, perhaps, that we amended that.\"\n\nAbruptly then he turned away, and by a gesture he ordered Ali to return\nthe slave to her place among the others. Leaning on the arm of Tsamanni\nhe took some steps towards the entrance, then halted, and turned again\nto Fenzileh:\n\n\"To thy litter,\" he bade her peremptorily, rebuking her thus before all,\n\"and get thee to the house as becomes a seemly Muslim woman. Nor ever\nagain let thyself be seen roving the public places afoot.\"\n\nShe obeyed him instantly, without a murmur; and he himself lingered at\nthe gates with Tsamanni until her litter had passed out, escorted by\nAyoub and Marzak walking each on one side of it and neither daring to\nmeet the angry eye of the Basha.\n\nAsad looked sourly after that litter, a sneer on his heavy lips.\n\n\"As her beauty wanes so her presumption waxes,\" he growled. \"She is\ngrowing old, Tsamanni--old and lean and shrewish, and no fit mate for a\nMember of the Prophet\'s House. It were perhaps a pleasing thing in the\nsight of Allah that we replaced her.\" And then, referring obviously to\nthat other one, his eye turning towards the penthouse the curtains of\nwhich were drawn again, he changed his tone.\n\n\"Didst thou mark, O Tsamanni, with what a grace she moved?--lithely and\nnobly as a young gazelle. Verily, so much beauty was never created by\nthe All-Wise to be cast into the Pit.\"\n\n\"May it not have been sent to comfort some True-Believer?\" wondered the\nsubtle wazeer. \"To Allah all things are possible.\"\n\n\"Why else, indeed?\" said Asad. \"It was written; and even as none may\nobtain what is not written, so none may avoid what is. I am resolved.\nStay thou here, Tsamanni. Remain for the outcry and purchase her. She\nshall be taught the True Faith. She shall be saved from the furnace.\"\nThe command had come, the thing that Tsamanni had so ardently desired.\n\nHe licked his lips. \"And the price, my lord?\" he asked, in a small\nvoice.\n\n\"Price?\" quoth Asad. \"Have I not bid thee purchase her? Bring her to me,\nthough her price be a thousand philips.\"\n\n\"A thousand philips!\" echoed Tsamanni amazed. \"Allah is great!\"\n\nBut already Asad had left his side and passed out under the arched\ngateay, where the grovelling anew at the sight of him.\n\nIt was a fine thing for Asad to bid him remain for the sale. But the\ndalal would part with no slave until the money was forthcoming, and\nTsamanni had no considerable sum upon his person. Therefore in the wake\nof his master he set out forthwith to the Kasbah. It wanted still an\nhour before the sale would be held and he had time and to spare in which\nto go and return.\n\nIt happened, however, that Tsamanni was malicious, and that the hatred\nof Fenzileh which so long he had consumed in silence and dissembled\nunder fawning smiles and profound salaams included also her servants.\nThere was none in all the world of whom he entertained a greater\ncontempt than her sleek and greasy eunuch Ayoub-el-Samin of the\nmajestic, rolling gait and fat, supercilious lips.\n\nIt was written, too, that in the courtyard of the Kasbah he should\nstumble upon Ayoub, who indeed had by his mistress\'s commands been\nset to watch for the wazeer. The fat fellow rolled forward, his hands\nsupporting his paunch, his little eyes agleam.\n\n\"Allah increase thy health, Tsamanni,\" was his courteous greeting. \"Thou\nbearest news?\"\n\n\"News? What news?\" quoth Tsamanni. \"In truth none that will gladden thy\nmistress.\"\n\n\"Merciful Allah! What now? Doth it concern that Frankish slave-girl?\"\n\nTsamanni smiled, a thing that angered Ayoub, who felt that the ground he\ntrod was becoming insecure; it followed that if his mistress fell from\ninfluence he fell with her, and became as the dust upon Tsamanni\'s\nslippers.\n\n\"By the Koran thou tremblest, Ayoub!\" Tsamanni mocked him. \"Thy soft fat\nis all a-quivering; and well it may, for thy days are numbered, O father\nof nothing.\"\n\n\"Dost deride me, dog?\" came the other\'s voice, shrill now with anger.\n\n\"Callest me dog? Thou?\" Deliberately Tsamanni spat upon his shadow. \"Go\ntell thy mistress that I am bidden by my lord to buy the Frankish girl.\nTell her that my lord will take her to wife, even as he took Fenzileh,\nthat he may lead her into the True Belief and cheat Shaitan of so fair\na jewel. Add that I am bidden to buy her though she cost my lord a\nthousand philips. Bear her that message, O father of wind, and may Allah\nincrease thy paunch!\" And he was gone, lithe, active, and mocking.\n\n\"May thy sons perish and thy daughters become harlots,\" roared the\neunuch, maddened at once by this evil news and the insult with which it\nwas accompanied.\n\nBut Tsamanni only laughed, as he answered him over his shoulder--\n\n\"May thy sons be sultans all, Ayoub!\"\n\nQuivering still with a rage that entirely obliterated his alarm at what\nhe had learnt, Ayoub rolled into the presence of his mistress with that\nevil message.\n\nShe listened to him in a dumb white fury. Then she fell to reviling\nher lord and the slave-girl in a breath, and called upon Allah to break\ntheir bones and blacken their faces and rot their flesh with all the\nfervour of one born and bred in the True Faith. When she recovered from\nthat burst of fury it was to sit brooding awhile. At length she sprang\nup and bade Ayoub see that none lurked to listen about the doorways.\n\n\"We must act, Ayoub, and act swiftly, or I am destroyed and with me\nwill be destroyed Marzak, who alone could not stand against his father\'s\nface. Sakr-el-Bahr will trample us into the dust.\" She checked on a\nsudden thought. \"By Allah it may have been a part of his design to have\nbrought hither that white-faced wench. But we must thwart him and we\nmust thwart Asad, or thou art ruined too, Ayoub.\"\n\n\"Thwart him?\" quoth her wazeer, gaping at the swift energy of mind and\nbody with which this woman was endowed, the like of which he had never\nseen in any woman yet. \"Thwart him?\" he repeated.\n\n\"First, Ayoub, to place this Frankish girl beyond his reach.\"\n\n\"That is well thought--but how?\"\n\n\"How? Can thy wit suggest no way? Hast thou wits at all in that fat head\nof thine? Thou shalt outbid Tsamanni, or, better still, set someone else\nto do it for thee, and so buy the girl for me. Then we\'ll contrive that\nshe shall vanish quietly and quickly before Asad can discover a trace of\nher.\"\n\nHis face blanched, and the wattles about his jaws were shaking. \"And...\nand the cost? Hast thou counted the cost, O Fenzileh? What will happen\nwhen Asad gains knowledge of this thing?\"\n\n\"He shall gain no knowledge of it,\" she answered him. \"Or if he does,\nthe girl being gone beyond recall, he shall submit him to what was\nwritten. Trust me to know how to bring him to it.\"\n\n\"Lady, lady!\" he cried, and wrung his bunches of fat fingers. \"I dare\nnot engage in this!\"\n\n\"Engage in what? If I bid thee go buy this girl, and give thee the money\nthou\'lt require, what else concerns thee, dog? What else is to be done,\na man shall do. Come now, thou shalt have the money, all I have, which\nis a matter of some fifteen hundred philips, and what is not laid out\nupon this purchase thou shalt retain for thyself.\"\n\nHe considered an instant, and conceived that she was right. None could\nblame him for executing the commands she gave him. And there would be\nprofit in it, clearly--ay, and it would be sweet to outbid that dog\nTsamanni and send him empty-handed home to face the wrath of his\nfrustrated master. He spread his hands and salaamed in token of complete\nacquiescence.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X. THE SLAVE-MARKET\n\n\nAt the sôk-el-Abeed it was the hour of the outcry, announced by a blast\nof trumpets and the thudding of tom-toms. The traders that until then\nhad been licensed to ply within the enclosure now put up the shutters\nof their little booths. The Hebrew pedlar of gems closed his box and\neffaced himself, leaving the steps about the well clear for the most\nprominent patrons of the market. These hastened to assemble there,\nsurrounding it and facing outwards, whilst the rest of the crowd was\nranged against the southern and western walls of the enclosure.\n\nCame negro water-carriers in white turbans with aspersers made of\npalmetto leaves to sprinkle the ground and lay the dust against the\ntramp of slaves and buyers. The trumpets ceased for an instant, then\nwound a fresh imperious blast and fell permanently silent. The crowd\nabout the gates fell back to right and left, and very slowly and\nstately three tall dalals, dressed from head to foot in white and with\nimmaculate turbans wound about their heads, advanced into the open\nspace. They came to a halt at the western end of the long wall, the\nchief dalal standing slightly in advance of the other two.\n\nThe chattering of voices sank upon their advent, it became a hissing\nwhisper, then a faint drone like that of bees, and then utter silence.\nIn the solemn and grave demeanour of the dalals there was something\nalmost sacerdotal, so that when that silence fell upon the crowd the\naffair took on the aspect of a sacrament.\n\nThe chief dalal stood forward a moment as if in an abstraction with\ndowncast eyes; then with hands outstretched to catch a blessing he\nraised his voice and began to pray in a monotonous chant:\n\n\"In the name of Allah the Pitying the Pitiful Who created man from clots\nof blood! All that is in the Heavens and in the Earth praiseth Allah,\nWho is the Mighty, the Wise! His the kingdom of the Heavens and of the\nEarth. He maketh alive and killeth, and He hath power over all things.\nHe is the first and the last, the seen and the unseen, and He knoweth\nall things.\"\n\n\"Ameen,\" intoned the crowd.\n\n\"The praise to Him who sent us Mahomet His Prophet to give the world the\nTrue Belief, and curses upon Shaitan the stoned who wages war upon Allah\nand His children.\"\n\n\"Ameen.\"\n\n\"The blessings of Allah and our Lord Mahomet upon this market and upon\nall who may buy and sell herein, and may Allah increase their wealth and\ngrant them length of days in which to praise Him.\"\n\n\"Ameen,\" replied the crowd, as with a stir and rustle the close\nranks relaxed from the tense attitude of prayer, and each man sought\nelbow-room.\n\nThe dalal beat his hands together, whereupon the curtains were drawn\naside and the huddled slaves displayed--some three hundred in all,\noccupying three several pens.\n\nIn the front rank of the middle pen--the one containing Rosamund and\nLionel--stood a couple of stalwart young Nubians, sleek and muscular,\nwho looked on with completest indifference, no whit appalled by the\nfate which had haled them thither. They caught the eye of the dalal,\nand although the usual course was for a buyer to indicate a slave he\nwas prepared to purchase, yet to the end that good beginning should be\npromptly made, the dalal himself pointed out that stalwart pair to the\ncorsairs who stood on guard. In compliance the two negroes were brought\nforth.\n\n\"Here is a noble twain,\" the dalal announced, \"strong of muscle and long\nof limb, as all may see, whom it were a shameful thing to separate. Who\nneeds such a pair for strong labour let him say what he will give.\"\nHe set out on a slow circuit of the well, the corsairs urging the two\nslaves to follow him that all buyers might see and inspect them.\n\nIn the foremost ranks of the crowd near the gate stood Ali, sent thither\nby Othmani to purchase a score of stout fellows required to make up\nthe contingent of the galeasse of Sakr-el-Bahr. He had been strictly\nenjoined to buy naught but the stoutest stuff the market could\nafford--with one exception. Aboard that galeasse they wanted no\nweaklings who would trouble the boatswain with their swoonings. Ali\nannounced his business forthwith.\n\n\"I need such tall fellows for the oars of Sakr-el-Bahr,\" said he with\nloud importance, thus drawing upon himself the eyes of the assembly, and\nsunning himself in the admiring looks bestowed upon one of the officers\nof Oliver-Reis, one of the rovers who were the pride of Islam and a\nsword-edge to the infidel.\n\n\"They were born to toil nobly at the oar, O Ali-Reis,\" replied the dalal\nin all solemnity. \"What wilt thou give for them?\"\n\n\"Two hundred philips for the twain.\"\n\nThe dalal paced solemnly on, the slaves following in his wake.\n\n\"Two hundred philips am I offered for a pair of the lustiest slaves that\nby the favour of Allah were ever brought into this market. Who will say\nfifty philips more?\"\n\nA portly Moor in a flowing blue selham rose from his seat on the step of\nthe well as the dalal came abreast of him, and the slaves scenting here\na buyer, and preferring any service to that of the galleys with which\nthey were threatened, came each in turn to kiss his hands and fawn upon\nhim, for all the world like dogs.\n\nCalm and dignified he ran his hands over them feeling their muscles, and\nthen forced back their lips and examined their teeth and mouths.\n\n\"Two hundred and twenty for the twain,\" he said, and the dalal passed on\nwith his wares, announcing the increased price he had been offered.\n\nThus he completed the circuit and came to stand once more before Ali.\n\n\"Two hundred and twenty is now the price, O Ali! By the Koran, they are\nworth three hundred at the least. Wilt say three hundred?\"\n\n\"Two hundred and thirty,\" was the answer.\n\nBack to the Moor went the dalal. \"Two hundred and thirty I am now\noffered, O Hamet. Thou wilt give another twenty?\"\n\n\"Not I, by Allah!\" said Hamet, and resumed his seat. \"Let him have\nthem.\"\n\n\"Another ten philips?\" pleaded the dalal.\n\n\"Not another asper.\"\n\n\"They are thine, then, O Ali, for two hundred and thirty. Give thanks to\nAllah for so good a bargain.\"\n\nThe Nubians were surrendered to Ali\'s followers, whilst the dalal\'s two\nassistants advanced to settle accounts with the corsair.\n\n\"Wait wait,\" said he, \"is not the name of Sakr-el-Bahr good warranty?\"\n\n\"The inviolable law is that the purchase money be paid ere a slave\nleaves the market, O valiant Ali.\"\n\n\"It shall be observed,\" was the impatient answer, \"and I will so pay\nbefore they leave. But I want others yet, and we will make one account\nan it please thee. That fellow yonder now. I have orders to buy him for\nmy captain.\" And he indicated Lionel, who stood at Rosamund\'s side, the\nvery incarnation of woefulness and debility.\n\nContemptuous surprise flickered an instant in the eyes of the dalal. But\nthis he made haste to dissemble.\n\n\"Bring forth that yellow-haired infidel,\" he commanded.\n\nThe corsairs laid hands on Lionel. He made a vain attempt to struggle,\nbut it was observed that the woman leaned over to him and said something\nquickly, whereupon his struggles ceased and he suffered himself to be\ndragged limply forth into the full view of all the market.\n\n\"Dost want him for the oar, Ali?\" cried Ayoub-el-Samin across the\nquadrangle, a jest this that evoked a general laugh.\n\n\"What else?\" quoth Ali. \"He should be cheap at least.\"\n\n\"Cheap?\" quoth the dalal in an affectation of surprise. \"Nay, now. \'Tis\na comely fellow and a young one. What wilt thou give, now? a hundred\nphilips?\"\n\n\"A hundred philips!\" cried Ali derisively. \"A hundred philips for that\nskinful of bones! Ma\'sh\'-Allah! Five philips is my price, O dalal.\"\n\nAgain laughter crackled through the mob. But the dalal stiffened with\nincreasing dignity. Some of that laughter seemed to touch himself, and\nhe was not a person to be made the butt of mirth.\n\n\"\'Tis a jest, my master,\" said he, with a forgiving yet contemptuous\nwave. \"Behold how sound he is.\" He signed to one of the corsairs, and\nLionel\'s doublet was slit from neck to girdle and wrenched away from his\nbody, leaving him naked to the waist, and displaying better proportions\nthan might have been expected. In a passion at that indignity Lionel\nwrithed in the grip of his guards, until one of the corsairs struck him\na light blow with a whip in earnest of what to expect if he continued\nto be troublesome. \"Consider him now,\" said the dalal, pointing to that\nwhite torso. \"And behold how sound he is. See how excellent are his\nteeth.\" He seized Lionel\'s head and forced the jaws apart.\n\n\"Ay,\" said Ali, \"but consider me those lean shanks and that woman\'s\narm.\"\n\n\"\'Tis a fault the oar will mend,\" the dalal insisted.\n\n\"You filthy blackamoors!\" burst from Lionel in a sob of rage.\n\n\"He is muttering curses in his infidel tongue,\" said Ali. \"His temper is\nnone too good, you see. I have said five philips. I\'ll say no more.\"\n\nWith a shrug the dalal began his circuit of the well, the corsairs\nthrusting Lionel after him. Here one rose to handle him, there another,\nbut none seemed disposed to purchase.\n\n\"Five philips is the foolish price offered me for this fine young\nFrank,\" cried the dalal. \"Will no True-Believer pay ten for such a\nslave? Wilt not thou, O Ayoub? Thou, Hamet--ten philips?\"\n\nBut one after another those to whom he was offered shook their heads.\nThe haggardness of Lionel\'s face was too unprepossessing. They had seen\nslaves with that look before, and experience told them that no good was\never to be done with such fellows. Moreover, though shapely, his muscles\nwere too slight, his flesh looked too soft and tender. Of what use a\nslave who must be hardened and nourished into strength, and who might\nvery well die in the process? Even at five philips he would be dear. So\nthe disgusted dalal came back to Ali.\n\n\"He is thine, then, for five philips--Allah pardon thy avarice.\"\n\nAli grinned, and his men seized upon Lionel and bore him off into the\nbackground to join the two negroes previously purchased.\n\nAnd then, before Ali could bid for another of the slaves he desired to\nacquire, a tall, elderly Jew, dressed in black doublet and hose like a\nCastilian gentleman, with a ruffle at his neck, a plumed bonnet on his\ngrey locks, and a serviceable dagger hanging from his girdle of hammered\ngold, had claimed the attention of the dalal.\n\nIn the pen that held the captives of the lesser raids conducted by\nBiskaine sat an Andalusian girl of perhaps some twenty years, of a\nbeauty entirely Spanish.\n\nHer face was of the warm pallor of ivory, her massed hair of an ebony\nblack, her eyebrows were finely pencilled, and her eyes of deepest and\nsoftest brown. She was dressed in the becoming garb of the Castilian\npeasant, the folded kerchief of red and yellow above her bodice leaving\nbare the glories of her neck. She was very pale, and her eyes were wild\nin their look, but this detracted nothing from her beauty.\n\nShe had attracted the jew\'s notice, and it is not impossible that there\nmay have stirred in him a desire to avenge upon her some of the cruel\nwrongs, some of the rackings, burning, confiscations, and banishment\nsuffered by the men of his race at the hands of the men of hers. He may\nhave bethought him of invaded ghettos, of Jewish maidens ravished,\nand Jewish children butchered in the name of the God those Spanish\nChristians worshipped, for there was something almost of contemptuous\nfierceness in his dark eyes and in the hand he flung out to indicate\nher.\n\n\"Yonder is a Castilian wench for whom I will give fifty Philips, O\ndalal,\" he announced. The datal made a sign, whereupon the corsairs\ndragged her struggling forth.\n\n\"So much loveliness may not be bought for fifty Philips, O Ibrahim,\"\nsaid he. \"Yusuf here will pay sixty at least.\" And he stood expectantly\nbefore a resplendent Moor.\n\nThe Moor, however, shook his head.\n\n\"Allah knows I have three wives who would destroy her loveliness within\nthe hour and so leave me the loser.\"\n\nThe dalal moved on, the girl following him but contesting every step of\nthe way with those who impelled her forward, and reviling them too\nin hot Castilian. She drove her nails into the arms of one and spat\nfiercely into the face of another of her corsair guards. Rosamund\'s\nweary eyes quickened to horror as she watched her--a horror prompted as\nmuch by the fate awaiting that poor child as by the undignified fury\nof the futile battle she waged against it. But it happened that her\nbehaviour impressed a Levantine Turk quite differently. He rose, a short\nsquat figure, from his seat on the steps of the well.\n\n\"Sixty Philips will I pay for the joy of taming that wild cat,\" said he.\n\nBut Ibrahim was not to be outbidden. He offered seventy, the Turk\ncountered with a bid of eighty, and Ibrahim again raised the price to\nninety, and there fell a pause.\n\nThe dalal spurred on the Turk. \"Wilt thou be beaten then, and by\nan Israelite? Shall this lovely maid be given to a perverter of the\nScriptures, to an inheritor of the fire, to one of a race that would not\nbestow on their fellow-men so much as the speck out of a date-stone? It\nwere a shame upon a True-Believer.\"\n\nUrged thus the Turk offered another five Philips, but with obvious\nreluctance. The Jew, however, entirely unabashed by a tirade against\nhim, the like of which he heard a score of times a day in the course of\ntrading, pulled forth a heavy purse from his girdle.\n\n\"Here are one hundred Philips,\" he announced. \"\'Tis overmuch. But I\noffer it.\"\n\nEre the dalal\'s pious and seductive tongue could urge him further the\nTurk sat down again with a gesture of finality.\n\n\"I give him joy of her,\" said he.\n\n\"She is thine, then, O Ibrahim, for one hundred philips.\"\n\nThe Israelite relinquished the purse to the dalal\'s white-robed\nassistants and advanced to receive the girl. The corsairs thrust her\nforward against him, still vainly battling, and his arms closed about\nher for a moment.\n\n\"Thou has cost me dear, thou daughter of Spain,\" said he. \"But I am\ncontent. Come.\" And he made shift to lead her away. Suddenly, however,\nfierce as a tiger-cat she writhed her arms upwards and clawed at his\nface. With a scream of pain he relaxed his hold of her and in that\nmoment, quick as lightning she plucked the dagger that hung from his\ngirdle so temptingly within her reach.\n\n\"Valga me Dios!\" she cried, and ere a hand could be raised to prevent\nher she had buried the blade in her lovely breast and sank in a\nlaughing, coughing, heap at his feet. A final convulsive heave and she\nlay there quite still, whilst Ibrahim glared down at her with eyes of\ndismay, and over all the market there hung a hush of sudden awe.\n\nRosamund had risen in her place, and a faint colour came to warm her\npallor, a faint light kindled in her eyes. God had shown her the way\nthrough this poor Spanish girl, and assuredly God would give her the\nmeans to take it when her own turn came. She felt herself suddenly\nuplifted and enheartened. Death was a sharp, swift severing, an easy\ndoor of escape from the horror that threatened her, and God in His\nmercy, she knew, would justify self-murder under such circumstances as\nwere her own and that poor dead Andalusian maid\'s.\n\nAt length Ibrahim roused himself from his momentary stupor. He stepped\ndeliberately across the body, his face inflamed, and stood to beard the\nimpassive dalal.\n\n\"She is dead!\" he bleated. \"I am defrauded. Give me back my gold!\"\n\n\"Are we to give back the price of every slave that dies?\" the dalal\nquestioned him.\n\n\"But she was not yet delivered to me,\" raved the Jew. \"My hands had not\ntouched her. Give me back my gold.\"\n\n\"Thou liest, son of a dog,\" was the answer, dispassionately delivered.\n\"She was thine already. I had so pronounced her. Bear her hence, since\nshe belongs to thee.\"\n\nThe Jew, his face empurpling, seemed to fight for breath\n\n\"How?\" he choked. \"Am I to lose a hundred philips?\"\n\n\"What is written is written,\" replied the serene dalal.\n\nIbrahim was frothing at the lips, his eyes were blood-injected. \"But it\nwas never written that....\"\n\n\"Peace,\" said the dalal. \"Had it not been written it could not have come\nto pass. It is the will of Allah! Who dares rebel against it?\"\n\nThe crowd began to murmur.\n\n\"I want my hundred philips,\" the Jew insisted, whereupon the murmur\nswelled into a sudden roar.\n\n\"Thou hearest?\" said the dalal. \"Allah pardon thee, thou art disturbing\nthe peace of this market. Away, ere ill betide thee.\"\n\n\"Hence! hence!\" roared the crowd, and some advanced threateningly upon\nthe luckless Ibrahim. \"Away, thou perverter of Holy Writ! thou filth!\nthou dog! Away!\"\n\nSuch was the uproar, such the menace of angry countenances and clenched\nfists shaken in his very face, that Ibrahim quailed and forgot his loss\nin fear.\n\n\"I go, I go,\" he said, and turned hastily to depart.\n\nBut the dalal summoned him back. \"Take hence thy property,\" said he,\nand pointed to the body. And so Ibrahim was forced to suffer the further\nmockery of summoning his slaves to bear away the lifeless body for which\nhe had paid in lively potent gold.\n\nYet by the gates he paused again. \"I will appeal me to the Basha,\" he\nthreatened. \"Asad-ed-Din is just, and he will have my money restored to\nme.\"\n\n\"So he will,\" said the dalal, \"when thou canst restore the dead to life,\"\nand he turned to the portly Ayoub, who was plucking at his sleeve. He\nbent his head to catch the muttered words of Fenzileh\'s wazeer. Then, in\nobedience to them, he ordered Rosamund to be brought forward.\n\nShe offered no least resistance, advancing in a singularly lifeless way,\nlike a sleep-walker or one who had been drugged. In the heat and glare\nof the open market she stood by the dalal\'s side at the head of the\nwell, whilst he dilated upon her physical merits in that lingua franca\nwhich he used since it was current coin among all the assorted races\nrepresented there--a language which the knowledge of French that her\nresidence in France had taught her she was to her increasing horror and\nshame able to understand.\n\nThe first to make an offer for her was that same portly Moor who had\nsought to purchase the two Nubeans. He rose to scrutinize her closely,\nand must have been satisfied, for the price he offered was a good one,\nand he offered it with contemptuous assurance that he would not be\noutbidden.\n\n\"One hundred philips for the milk-faced girl.\"\n\n\"\'Tis not enough. Consider me the moon-bright loveliness of her face,\"\nsaid the dalal as he moved on. \"Chigil yields us fair women, but no woman\nof Chigil was ever half so fair.\"\n\n\"One hundred and fifty,\" said the Levantine Turk with a snap.\n\n\"Not yet enough. Behold the stately height which Allah hath vouchsafed\nher. See the noble carriage of her head, the lustre of her eye! By\nAllah, she is worthy to grace the Sultan\'s own hareem.\"\n\nHe said no more than the buyers recognized to be true, and excitement\nstirred faintly through their usually impassive ranks. A Tagareen Moor\nnamed Yusuf offered at once two hundred.\n\nBut still the dalal continued to sing her praises. He held up one of her\narms for inspection, and she submitted with lowered eyes, and no sign\nof resentment beyond the slow flush that spread across her face and\nvanished again.\n\n\"Behold me these limbs, smooth as Arabian silks and whiter than ivory.\nLook at those lips like pomegranate blossoms. The price is now two\nhundred philips. What wilt thou give, O Hamet?\"\n\nHamet showed himself angry that his original bid should so speedily have\nbeen doubled. \"By the Koran, I have purchased three sturdy girls from\nthe Sus for less.\"\n\n\"Wouldst thou compare a squat-faced girl from the Sus with this\nnarcissus-eyed glory of womanhood?\" scoffed the dalal.\n\n\"Two hundred and ten, then,\" was Hamet\'s sulky grunt.\n\nThe watchful Tsamanni considered that the time had come to buy her for\nhis lord as he had been bidden.\n\n\"Three hundred,\" he said curtly, to make an end of matters, and--\n\n\"Four hundred,\" instantly piped a shrill voice behind him.\n\nHe spun round in his amazement and met the leering face of Ayoub. A\nmurmur ran through the ranks of the buyers, the people craned their\nnecks to catch a glimpse of this open-handed purchaser.\n\nYusuf the Tagareen rose up in a passion. He announced angrily that never\nagain should the dust of the sôk of Algiers defile his slippers, that\nnever again would he come there to purchase slaves.\n\n\"By the Well of Zem-Zem,\" he swore, \"all men are bewitched in this\nmarket. Four hundred philips for a Frankish girl! May Allah increase\nyour wealth, for verily you\'ll need it.\" And in his supreme disgust\nhe stalked to the gates, and elbowed his way through the crowd, and so\nvanished from the sôk.\n\nYet ere he was out of earshot her price had risen further. Whilst\nTsamanni was recovering from his surprise at the competitor that had\nsuddenly appeared before him, the dalal had lured an increased offer\nfrom the Turk.\n\n\"\'Tis a madness,\" the latter deplored. \"But she pleaseth me, and should\nit seem good to Allah the Merciful to lead her into the True Faith she\nmay yet become the light of my hareem. Four hundred and twenty philips,\nthen, O dalal, and Allah pardon me my prodigality.\"\n\nYet scarcely was his little speech concluded than Tsamanni with laconic\neloquence rapped out: \"Five hundred.\"\n\n\"Y\'Allah!\" cried the Turk, raising his hands to heaven, and \"Y\'Allah!\"\nechoed the crowd.\n\n\"Five hundred and fifty,\" shrilled Ayoub\'s voice above the general din.\n\n\"Six hundred,\" replied Tsamanni, still unmoved.\n\nAnd now such was the general hubbub provoked by these unprecedented\nprices that the dalal was forced to raise his voice and cry for silence.\n\nWhen this was restored Ayoub at once raised the price to seven hundred.\n\n\"Eight hundred,\" snapped Tsamanni, showing at last a little heat.\n\n\"Nine hundred,\" replied Ayoub.\n\nTsamanni swung round upon him again, white now with fury.\n\n\"Is this a jest, O father of wind?\" he cried, and excited laughter by\nthe taunt implicit in that appellation.\n\n\"And thou\'rt the jester,\" replied Ayoub with forced calm, \"thou\'lt find\nthe jest a costly one.\"\n\nWith a shrug Tsamanni turned again to the dalal. \"A thousand philips,\"\nsaid he shortly.\n\n\"Silence there!\" cried the dalal again. \"Silence, and praise Allah who\nsends good prices.\"\n\n\"One thousand and one hundred,\" said Ayoub the irrepressible\n\nAnd now Tsamanni not only found himself outbidden, but he had reached\nthe outrageous limit appointed by Asad. He lacked authority to go\nfurther, dared not do so without first consulting the Basha. Yet if he\nleft the sôk for that purpose Ayoub would meanwhile secure the girl.\nHe found himself between sword and wall. On the one hand did he\npermit himself to be outbidden his master might visit upon him his\ndisappointment. On the other, did he continue beyond the limit so idly\nmentioned as being far beyond all possibility, it might fare no less ill\nwith him.\n\nHe turned to the crowd, waving his arms in furious gesticulation. \"By\nthe beard of the Prophet, this bladder of wind and grease makes sport of\nus. He has no intent to buy. What man ever heard of the half of such a\nprice for a slave girl?\"\n\nAyoub\'s answer was eloquent; he produced a fat bag and flung it on the\nground, where it fell with a mellow chink. \"There is my sponsor,\" he\nmade answer, grinning in the very best of humours, savouring to the\nfull his enemy\'s rage and discomfiture, and savouring it at no cost\nto himself. \"Shall I count out one thousand and one hundred philips, O\ndalal.\"\n\n\"If the wazeer Tsamanni is content.\"\n\n\"Dost thou know for whom I buy?\" roared Tsamanni. \"For the Basha\nhimself, Asad-ed-Din, the exalted of Allah,\" He advanced upon Ayoub with\nhands upheld. \"What shalt thou say to him, O dog, when he calls thee to\naccount for daring to outbid him.\"\n\nBut Ayoub remained unruffled before all this fury. He spread his fat\nhands, his eyes twinkling, his great lips pursed. \"How should I know,\nsince Allah has not made me all-knowing? Thou shouldst have said so\nearlier. \'Tis thus I shall answer the Basha should he question me, and\nthe Basha is just.\"\n\n\"I would not be thee, Ayoub--not for the throne of Istambul.\"\n\n\"Nor I thee, Tsamanni; for thou art jaundiced with rage.\"\n\nAnd so they stood glaring each at the other until the dalal called them\nback to the business that was to do.\n\n\"The price is now one thousand and one hundred philips. Wilt thou suffer\ndefeat, O wazeer?\"\n\n\"Since Allah wills. I have no authority to go further.\"\n\n\"Then at one thousand and one hundred philips, Ayoub, she is....\"\n\nBut the sale was not yet to be completed. From the dense and eager\nthrong about the gates rang a crisp voice--\n\n\"One thousand and two hundred philips for the Frankish girl.\"\n\nThe dalal, who had conceived that the limits of madness had been already\nreached, stood gaping now in fresh amazement. The mob crowed and cheered\nand roared between enthusiasm and derision, and even Tsamanni brightened\nto see another champion enter the lists who perhaps would avenge him\nupon Ayoub. The crowd parted quickly to right and left, and through it\ninto the open strode Sakr-el-Bahr. They recognized him instantly, and\nhis name was shouted in acclamation by that idolizing multitude.\n\nThat Barbary name of his conveyed no information to Rosamund, and her\nback being turned to the entrance she did not see him. But she had\nrecognized his voice, and she had shuddered at the sound. She could make\nnothing of the bidding, nor what the purpose that surely underlay it to\naccount for the extraordinary excitement of the traders. Vaguely had she\nbeen wondering what dastardly purpose Oliver might intend to serve, but\nnow that she heard his voice that wonder ceased and understanding took\nits place. He had hung there somewhere in the crowd waiting until all\ncompetitors but one should have been outbidden, and now he stepped forth\nto buy her for his own--his slave! She closed her eyes a moment and\nprayed God that he might not prevail in his intent. Any fate but that;\nshe would rob him even of the satisfaction of driving her to sheathe\na poniard in her heart as that poor Andalusian girl had done. A wave\nalmost of unconsciousness passed over her in the intensity of her\nhorror. For a moment the ground seemed to rock and heave under her feet.\n\nThen the dizziness passed, and she was herself again. She heard the\ncrowd thundering \"Ma\'sh\'Allah!\" and \"Sakr-el-Bahr!\" and the dalal\nclamouring sternly for silence. When this was at last restored she heard\nhis exclamation--\n\n\"The glory to Allah who sends eager buyers! What sayest thou, O wazeer\nAyoub?\"\n\n\"Ay!\" sneered Tsamanni, \"what now?\"\n\n\"One thousand and three hundred,\" said Ayoub with a quaver of uneasy\ndefiance.\n\n\"Another hundred, O dalal,\" came from Sakr-el-Bahr in a quiet voice.\n\n\"One thousand and five hundred,\" screamed Ayoub, thus reaching not only\nthe limit imposed by his mistress, but the very limit of the resources\nat her immediate disposal. Gone, too, with that bid was all hope of\nprofit to himself.\n\nBut Sakr-el-Bahr, impassive as Fate, and without so much as deigning to\nbestow a look upon the quivering eunuch, said again--\n\n\"Another hundred, O dalal.\"\n\n\"One thousand and six hundred philips!\" cried the dalal, more in\namazement than to announce the figure reached. Then controlling his\nemotions he bowed his head in reverence and made confession of his\nfaith. \"All things are possible if Allah wills them. The praise to Him\nwho sends wealthy buyers.\"\n\nHe turned to the crestfallen Ayoub, so crestfallen that in the\ncontemplation of him Tsamanni was fast gathering consolation for his own\ndiscomfiture, vicariously tasting the sweets of vengeance. \"What say you\nnow, O perspicuous wazeer?\"\n\n\"I say,\" choked Ayoub, \"that since by the favour of Shaitan he hath so\nmuch wealth he must prevail.\"\n\nBut the insulting words were scarcely uttered than Sakr-el-Bahr\'s great\nhand had taken the wazeer by the nape of his fat neck, a growl of anger\nrunning through the assembly to approve him.\n\n\"By the favour of Shaitan, sayest thou, thou sex-less dog?\" he growled,\nand tightened his grip so that the wazeer squirmed and twisted in an\nagony of pain. Down was his head thrust, and still down, until his fat\nbody gave way and he lay supine and writhing in the dust of the sôk.\n\"Shall I strangle thee, thou father of filth, or shall I fling thy soft\nflesh to the hooks to teach thee what is a man\'s due from thee?\" And as\nhe spoke he rubbed the too daring fellow\'s face roughly on the ground.\n\n\"Mercy!\" squealed the wazeer. \"Mercy, O mighty Sakr-el-Bahr, as thou\nlookest for mercy!\"\n\n\"Unsay thy words, thou offal. Pronounce thyself a liar and a dog.\"\n\n\"I do unsay them. I have foully lied. Thy wealth is the reward sent thee\nby Allah for thy glorious victories over the unbelieving.\"\n\n\"Put out thine offending tongue,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr, \"and cleanse it in\nthe dust. Put it forth, I say.\"\n\nAyoub obeyed him in fearful alacrity, whereupon Sakr-el-Bahr released\nhis hold and allowed the unfortunate fellow to rise at last, half-choked\nwith dirt, livid of face, and quaking like a jelly, an object of\nridicule and cruel mockery to all assembled.\n\n\"Now get thee hence, ere my sea-hawks lay their talons on thee. Go!\"\n\nAyoub departed in all haste to the increasing jeers of the multitude and\nthe taunts of Tsamanni, whilst Sakr-el-Bahr turned him once more to the\ndalal.\n\n\"At one thousand and six hundred philips this slave is thine, O\nSakr-el-Bahr, thou glory of Islam. May Allah increase thy victories!\"\n\n\"Pay him, Ali,\" said the corsair shortly, and he advanced to receive his\npurchase.\n\nFace to face stood he now with Rosamund, for the first time since that\nday before the encounter with the Dutch argosy when he had sought her in\nthe cabin of the carack.\n\nOne swift glance she bestowed on him, then, her senses reeling with\nhorror at her circumstance she shrank back, her face of a deathly\npallor. In his treatment of Ayoub she had just witnessed the lengths\nof brutality of which he was capable, and she was not to know that this\nbrutality had been a deliberate piece of mummery calculated to strike\nterror into her.\n\nPondering her now he smiled a tight-lipped cruel smile that only served\nto increase her terror.\n\n\"Come,\" he said in English.\n\nShe cowered back against the dalal as if for protection. Sakr-el-Bahr\nreached forward, caught her by the wrists, and almost tossed her to his\nNubians, Abiad and Zal-Zer, who were attending him.\n\n\"Cover her face,\" he bade them. \"Bear her to my house. Away!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI. THE TRUTH\n\n\nThe sun was dipping swiftly to the world\'s rim when Sakr-el-Bahr with\nhis Nubians and his little retinue of corsairs came to the gates of that\nwhite house of his on its little eminence outside the Bab-el-Oueb and\nbeyond the walls of the city.\n\nWhen Rosamund and Lionel, brought in the wake of the corsair, found\nthemselves in the spacious courtyard beyond the dark and narrow\nentrance, the blue of the sky contained but the paling embers of the\ndying day, and suddenly, sharply upon the evening stillness, came a\nmueddin\'s voice calling the faithful unto prayer.\n\nSlaves fetched water from the fountain that played in the middle of the\nquadrangle and tossed aloft a slender silvery spear of water to break\ninto a myriad gems and so shower down into the broad marble basin.\nSakr-el-Bahr washed, as did his followers, and then he went down upon\nthe praying-mat that had been set for him, whilst his corsairs detached\ntheir cloaks and spread them upon the ground to serve them in like\nstead.\n\nThe Nubians turned the two slaves about, lest their glances should\ndefile the orisons of the faithful, and left them so facing the wall\nand the green gate that led into the garden whence were wafted on the\ncooling air the perfumes of jessamine and lavender. Through the laths of\nthe gate they might have caught a glimpse of the riot of colour there,\nand they might have seen the slaves arrested by the Persian waterwheel\nat which they had been toiling and chanting until the call to prayer had\ncome to strike them into statues.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr rose from his devotions, uttered a sharp word of command,\nand entered the house. The Nubians followed him, urging their captives\nbefore them up the narrow stairs, and so brought them out upon the\nterrace on the roof, that space which in Eastern houses is devoted to\nthe women, but which no woman\'s foot had ever trodden since this house\nhad been tenanted by Sakr-el-Bahr the wifeless.\n\nThis terrace, which was surrounded by a parapet some four feet high,\ncommanded a view of the city straggling up the hillside to eastward,\nfrom the harbour and of the island at the end of the mole which had been\nso laboriously built by the labour of Christian slaves from the stones\nof the ruined fortress--the Peñon, which Kheyr-ed-Din Barbarossa had\nwrested from the Spaniards. The deepening shroud of evening was now upon\nall, transmuting white and yellow walls alike to a pearly greyness. To\nwestward stretched the fragrant gardens of the house, where the doves\nwere murmuring fondly among the mulberries and lotus trees. Beyond it a\nvalley wound its way between the shallow hills, and from a pool fringed\nwith sedges and bullrushes above which a great stork was majestically\nsailing came the harsh croak of frogs.\n\nAn awning supported upon two gigantic spears hung out from the southern\nwall of the terrace which rose to twice the height of that forming the\nparapet on its other three sides. Under this was a divan and silken\ncushions, and near it a small Moorish table of ebony inlaid with\nmother-of-pearl and gold. Over the opposite parapet, where a lattice had\nbeen set, rioted a trailing rose-tree charged with blood-red blossoms,\nthough now their colours were merged into the all-encompassing greyness.\n\nHere Lionel and Rosamund looked at each other in the dim light, their\nfaces gleaming ghostly each to each, whilst the Nubians stood like twin\nstatues by the door that opened from the stair-head.\n\nThe man groaned, and clasped his hands before him. The doublet which had\nbeen torn from him in the sôk had since been restored and temporarily\nrepaired by a strand of palmetto cord. But he was woefully bedraggled.\nYet his thoughts, if his first words are to be taken as an indication of\nthem were for Rosamund\'s condition rather than his own.\n\n\"O God, that you should be subjected to this!\" he cried. \"That you\nshould have suffered what you have suffered! The humiliation of it, the\nbarbarous cruelty! Oh!\" He covered his haggard face with his hands.\n\nShe touched him gently on the arm.\n\n\"What I have suffered is but a little thing,\" she said, and her\nvoice was wonderfully steady and soothing. Have I not said that these\nGodolphins were brave folk? Even their women were held to have something\nof the male spirit in their breasts; and to this none can doubt that\nRosamund now bore witness. \"Do not pity me, Lionel, for my sufferings\nare at an end or very nearly.\" She smiled strangely, the smile of\nexaltation that you may see upon the martyr\'s face in the hour of doom.\n\n\"How?\" quoth he, in faint surprise.\n\n\"How?\" she echoed. \"Is there not always a way to thrust aside life\'s\nburden when it grows too heavy--heavier than God would have us bear?\"\n\nHis only answer was a groan. Indeed, he had done little but groan in all\nthe hours they had spent together since they were brought ashore from\nthe carack; and had the season permitted her so much reflection, she\nmight have considered that she had found him singularly wanting during\nthose hours of stress when a man of worth would have made some effort,\nhowever desperate, to enhearten her rather than repine upon his own\nplight.\n\nSlaves entered bearing four enormous flaming torches which they set in\niron sconces protruding from the wall of the house. Thence they shed\na lurid ruddy glow upon the terrace. The slaves departed again, and\npresently, in the black gap of the doorway between the Nubians, a third\nfigure appeared unheralded. It was Sakr-el-Bahr.\n\nHe stood a moment at gaze, his attitude haughty, his face\nexpressionless; then slowly he advanced. He was dressed in a short white\ncaftan that descended to his knees, and was caught about his waist in\na shimmering girdle of gold that quivered like fire in the glow of the\ntorches as he moved. His arms from the elbow and his legs from the knee\nwere bare, and his feet were shod with gold-embroidered red Turkish\nslippers. He wore a white turban decked by a plume of osprey attached by\na jewelled clasp.\n\nHe signed to the Nubians and they vanished silently, leaving him alone\nwith his captives.\n\nHe bowed to Rosamund. \"This, mistress,\" he said, \"is to be your domain\nhenceforth which is to treat you more as wife than slave. For it is to\nMuslim wives that the housetops in Barbary are allotted. I hope you like\nit.\"\n\nLionel staring at him out of a white face, his conscience bidding him\nfear the very worst, his imagination painting a thousand horrid\nfates for him and turning him sick with dread, shrank back before his\nhalf-brother, who scarce appeared to notice him just then.\n\nBut Rosamund confronted him, drawn to the full of her splendid height,\nand if her face was pale, yet it was as composed and calm as his own;\nif her bosom rose and fell to betray her agitations yet her glance was\ncontemptuous and defiant, her voice calm and steady, when she answered\nhim with the question--\"What is your intent with me?\"\n\n\"My intent?\" said he, with a little twisted smile. Yet for all that he\nbelieved he hated her and sought to hurt, to humble and to crush her,\nhe could not stifle his admiration of her spirit\'s gallantry in such an\nhour as this.\n\nFrom behind the hills peeped the edge of the moon--a sickle of burnished\ncopper.\n\n\"My intent is not for you to question,\" he replied. \"There was a time,\nRosamund, when in all the world you had no slave more utter than was I.\nYourself in your heartlessness, and in your lack of faith, you broke the\ngolden fetters of that servitude. You\'ll find it less easy to break the\nshackles I now impose upon you.\"\n\nShe smiled her scorn and quiet confidence. He stepped close to her. \"You\nare my slave, do you understand?--bought in the market-place as I might\nbuy me a mule, a goat, or a camel--and belonging to me body and soul.\nYou are my property, my thing, my chattel, to use or abuse, to cherish\nor break as suits my whim, without a will that is not my will, holding\nyour very life at my good pleasure.\"\n\nShe recoiled a step before the dull hatred that throbbed in his words,\nbefore the evil mockery of his swarthy bearded face.\n\n\"You beast!\" she gasped.\n\n\"So now you understand the bondage into which you are come in exchange\nfor the bondage which in your own wantonness you dissolved.\"\n\n\"May God forgive you,\" she panted.\n\n\"I thank you for that prayer,\" said he. \"May He forgive you no less.\"\n\nAnd then from the background came an inarticulate sound, a strangled,\nsnarling sob from Lionel.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr turned slowly. He eyed the fellow a moment in silence, then\nhe laughed.\n\n\"Ha! My sometime brother. A pretty fellow, as God lives is it not?\nConsider him Rosamund. Behold how gallantly misfortune is borne by this\npillar of manhood upon which you would have leaned, by this stalwart\nhusband of your choice. Look at him! Look at this dear brother of mine.\"\n\nUnder the lash of that mocking tongue Lionel\'s mood was stung to anger\nwhere before it had held naught but fear.\n\n\"You are no brother of mine,\" he retorted fiercely. \"Your mother was a\nwanton who betrayed my father.\"\n\nSakr-el-Bahr quivered a moment as if he had been struck. Yet he\ncontrolled himself.\n\n\"Let me hear my mother\'s name but once again on thy foul tongue, and\nI\'ll have it ripped out by the roots. Her memory, I thank God, is far\nabove the insults of such a crawling thing as you. None the less, take\ncare not to speak of the only woman whose name I reverence.\"\n\nAnd then turning at bay, as even the rat will do, Lionel sprang\nupon him, with clawing hands outstretched to reach his throat. But\nSakr-el-Bahr caught him in a grip that bent him howling to his knees.\n\n\"You find me strong, eh?\" he gibed. \"Is it matter for wonder? Consider\nthat for six endless months I toiled at the oar of a galley, and you\'ll\nunderstand what it was that turned my body into iron and robbed me of a\nsoul.\"\n\nHe flung him off, and sent him crashing into the rosebush and the\nlattice over which it rambled.\n\n\"Do you realize the horror of the rower\'s bench? to sit day in day out,\nnight in night out, chained naked to the oar, amid the reek and stench\nof your fellows in misfortune, unkempt, unwashed save by the rain,\nbroiled and roasted by the sun, festering with sores, lashed and cut\nand scarred by the boatswain\'s whip as you faint under the ceaseless,\nendless, cruel toil?\"\n\n\"Do you realize it?\" From a tone of suppressed fury his voice rose\nsuddenly to a roar. \"You shall. For that horror which was mine by your\ncontriving shall now be yours until you die.\"\n\nHe paused; but Lionel made no attempt to avail himself of this. His\ncourage all gone out of him again, as suddenly as it had flickered up,\nhe cowered where he had been flung.\n\n\"Before you go there is something else,\" Sakr-el-Bahr resumed,\n\"something for which I have had you brought hither to-night.\n\n\"Not content with having delivered me to all this, not content with\nhaving branded me a murderer, destroyed my good name, filched my\npossessions and driven me into the very path of hell, you must further\nset about usurping my place in the false heart of this woman I once\nloved.\"\n\n\"I hope,\" he went on reflectively, \"that in your own poor way you love\nher, too, Lionel. Thus to the torment that awaits your body shall be\nadded torment for your treacherous soul--such torture of mind as only\nthe damned may know. To that end have I brought you hither. That you may\nrealize something of what is in store for this woman at my hands; that\nyou may take the thought of it with you to be to your mind worse than\nthe boatswain\'s lash to your pampered body.\"\n\n\"You devil!\" snarled Lionel. \"Oh, you fiend out of hell!\"\n\n\"If you will manufacture devils, little toad of a brother, do not\nupbraid them for being devils when next you meet them.\"\n\n\"Give him no heed, Lionel!\" said Rosamund. \"I shall prove him as much a\nboaster as he has proved himself a villain. Never think that he will be\nable to work his evil will.\"\n\n\"\'Tis you are the boaster there,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr. \"And for the rest,\nI am what you and he, between you, have made me.\"\n\n\"Did we make you liar and coward?--for that is what you are indeed,\" she\nanswered.\n\n\"Coward?\" he echoed, in genuine surprise. \"\'Twill be some lie that he\nhas told you with the others. In what, pray, was I ever a coward?\"\n\n\"In what? In this that you do now; in this taunting and torturing of two\nhelpless beings in our power.\"\n\n\"I speak not of what I am,\" he replied, \"for I have told you that I am\nwhat you have made me. I speak of what I was. I speak of the past.\"\n\nShe looked at him and she seemed to measure him with her unwavering\nglance.\n\n\"You speak of the past?\" she echoed, her voice low. \"You speak of the\npast and to me? You dare?\"\n\n\"It is that we might speak of it together that I have fetched you all\nthe way from England; that at last I may tell you things I was a fool\nto have kept from you five years ago; that we may resume a conversation\nwhich you interrupted when you dismissed me.\"\n\n\"I did you a monstrous injury, no doubt,\" she answered him, with bitter\nirony. \"I was surely wanting in consideration. It would have become me\nbetter to have smiled and fawned upon my brother\'s murderer.\"\n\n\"I swore to you, then, that I was not his murderer,\" he reminded her in\na voice that shook.\n\n\"And I answered you that you lied.\"\n\n\"Ay, and on that you dismissed me--the word of the man whom you\nprofessed to love, the word of the man to whom you had given your trust\nweighing for naught with you.\"\n\n\"When I gave you my trust,\" she retorted, \"I did so in ignorance of your\ntrue self, in a headstrong wilful ignorance that would not be guided\nby what all the world said of you and your wild ways. For that blind\nwilfulness I have been punished, as perhaps I deserved to be.\"\n\n\"Lies--all lies!\" he stormed. \"Those ways of mine--and God knows they\nwere none so wild, when all is said--I abandoned when I came to love\nyou. No lover since the world began was ever so cleansed, so purified,\nso sanctified by love as was I.\"\n\n\"Spare me this at least!\" she cried on a note of loathing\n\n\"Spare you?\" he echoed. \"What shall I spare you?\"\n\n\"The shame of it all; the shame that is ever mine in the reflection that\nfor a season I believed I loved you.\"\n\nHe smiled. \"If you can still feel shame, it shall overwhelm you ere I\nhave done. For you shall hear me out. Here there are none to interrupt\nus, none to thwart my sovereign will. Reflect then, and remember.\nRemember what a pride you took in the change you had wrought in me. Your\nvanity welcomed that flattery, that tribute to the power of your beauty.\nYet, all in a moment, upon the paltriest grounds, you believed me the\nmurderer of your brother.\"\n\n\"The paltriest grounds?\" she cried, protesting almost despite herself\n\n\"So paltry that the justices at Truro would not move against me.\"\n\n\"Because,\" she cut in, \"they accounted that you had been sufficiently\nprovoked. Because you had not sworn to them as you swore to me that no\nprovocation should ever drive you to raise your hand against my brother.\nBecause they did not realize how false and how forsworn you were.\"\n\nHe considered her a moment. Then he took a turn on the terrace. Lionel\ncrouching ever by the rose-tree was almost entirely forgotten by him\nnow.\n\n\"God give me patience with you!\" he said at length. \"I need it. For I\ndesire you to understand many things this night. I mean you to see how\njust is my resentment; how just the punishment that is to overtake you\nfor what you have made of my life and perhaps of my hereafter. Justice\nBaine and another who is dead, knew me for innocent.\"\n\n\"They knew you for innocent?\" There was scornful amazement in her tone.\n\"Were they not witnesses of the quarrel betwixt you and Peter and of\nyour oath that you would kill him?\"\n\n\"That was an oath sworn in the heat of anger. Afterwards I bethought me\nthat he was your brother.\"\n\n\"Afterwards?\" said she. \"After you had murdered him?\"\n\n\"I say again,\" Oliver replied calmly, \"that I did not do this thing.\"\n\n\"And I say again that you lie.\"\n\nHe considered her for a long moment; then he laughed. \"Have you ever,\"\nhe asked, \"known a man to lie without some purpose? Men lie for the sake\nof profit, they lie out of cowardice or malice, or else because they are\nvain and vulgar boasters. I know of no other causes that will drive\na man to falsehood, save that--ah, yes!--\" (and he flashed a sidelong\nglance at Lionel)--\"save that sometimes a man will lie to shield\nanother, out of self-sacrifice. There you have all the spurs that urge\na man to falsehood. Can any of these be urging me to-night? Reflect!\nAsk yourself what purpose I could serve by lying to you now. Consider\nfurther that I have come to loathe you for your unfaith; that I\ndesire naught so much as to punish you for that and for all its bitter\nconsequences to me that I have brought you hither to exact payment from\nyou to the uttermost farthing. What end then can I serve by falsehood?\"\n\n\"All this being so, what end could you serve by truth?\" she countered.\n\n\"To make you realize to the full the injustice that you did. To make you\nunderstand the wrongs for which you are called to pay. To prevent you\nfrom conceiving yourself a martyr; to make you perceive in all its\ndeadly bitterness that what now comes to you is the inevitable fruit of\nyour own faithlessness.\"\n\n\"Sir Oliver, do you think me a fool?\" she asked him.\n\n\"Madam, I do--and worse,\" he answered.\n\n\"Ay, that is clear,\" she agreed scornfully, \"since even now you waste\nbreath in attempting to persuade me against my reason. But words\nwill not blot out facts. And though you talk from now till the day of\njudgment no word of yours can efface those bloodstains in the snow that\nformed a trail from that poor murdered body to your own door; no word of\nyours can extinguish the memory of the hatred between him and you, and\nof your own threat to kill him; nor can it stifle the recollection of\nthe public voice demanding your punishment. You dare to take such a tone\nas you are taking with me? You dare here under Heaven to stand and lie\nto me that you may give false gloze to the villainy of your present\ndeed--for that is the purpose of your falsehood, since you asked me what\npurpose there could be for it. What had you to set against all that, to\nconvince me that your hands were clean, to induce me to keep the troth\nwhich--God forgive me!--I had plighted to you?\"\n\n\"My word,\" he answered her in a ringing voice.\n\n\"Your lie,\" she amended.\n\n\"Do not suppose,\" said he, \"that I could not support my word by proofs if\ncalled upon to do so.\"\n\n\"Proofs?\" She stared at him, wide-eyed a moment. Then her lip curled.\n\"And that no doubt was the reason of your flight when you heard that the\nQueen\'s pursuivants were coming in response to the public voice to call\nyou to account.\"\n\nHe stood at gaze a moment, utterly dumbfounded. \"My flight?\" he said.\n\"What fable\'s that?\"\n\n\"You will tell me next that you did not flee. That that is another false\ncharge against you?\"\n\n\"So,\" he said slowly, \"it was believed I fled!\"\n\nAnd then light burst upon him, to dazzle and stun him. It was so\ninevitably what must have been believed, and yet it had never crossed\nhis mind. O the damnable simplicity of it! At another time his\ndisappearance must have provoked comment and investigation, perhaps.\nBut, happening when it did, the answer to it came promptly and\nconvincingly and no man troubled to question further. Thus was Lionel\'s\ntask made doubly easy, thus was his own guilt made doubly sure in the\neyes of all. His head sank upon his breast. What had he done? Could\nhe still blame Rosamund for having been convinced by so overwhelming a\npiece of evidence? Could he still blame her if she had burnt unopened\nthe letter which he had sent her by the hand of Pitt? What else indeed\ncould any suppose, but that he had fled? And that being so, clearly such\na flight must brand him irrefutably for the murderer he was alleged to\nbe. How could he blame her if she had ultimately been convinced by the\nonly reasonable assumption possible?\n\nA sudden sense of the wrong he had done rose now like a tide about him.\n\n\"My God!\" he groaned, like a man in pain. \"My God!\"\n\nHe looked at her, and then averted his glance again, unable now to\nendure the haggard, strained yet fearless gaze of those brave eyes of\nhers.\n\n\"What else, indeed, could you believe?\" he muttered brokenly, thus\ngiving some utterance to what was passing through his mind.\n\n\"Naught else but the whole vile truth,\" she answered fiercely, and\nthereby stung him anew, whipped him out of his sudden weakening back to\nhis mood of resentment and vindictiveness.\n\nShe had shown herself, he thought in that moment of reviving anger, too\nready to believe what told against him.\n\n\"The truth?\" he echoed, and eyed her boldly now. \"Do you know the truth\nwhen you see it? We shall discover. For by God\'s light you shall have\nthe truth laid stark before you now, and you shall find it hideous\nbeyond all your hideous imaginings.\"\n\nThere was something so compelling now in his tone and manner that\nit drove her to realize that some revelation was impending. She was\nconscious of a faint excitement, a reflection perhaps of the wild\nexcitement that was astir in him.\n\n\"Your brother,\" he began, \"met his death at the hands of a false\nweakling whom I loved, towards whom I had a sacred duty. Straight from\nthe deed he fled to me for shelter. A wound he had taken in the struggle\nleft that trail of blood to mark the way he had come.\" He paused, and\nhis tone became gentler, it assumed the level note of one who reasons\nimpassively. \"Was it not an odd thing, now, that none should ever\nhave paused to seek with certainty whence that blood proceeded, and to\nconsider that I bore no wound in those days? Master Baine knew it, for\nI submitted my body to his examination, and a document was drawn up and\nduly attested which should have sent the Queen\'s pursuivants back to\nLondon with drooping tails had I been at Penarrow to receive them.\"\n\nFaintly through her mind stirred the memory that Master Baine had urged\nthe existence of some such document, that in fact he had gone so far as\nto have made oath of this very circumstance now urged by Sir Oliver; and\nshe remembered that the matter had been brushed aside as an invention of\nthe justice\'s to answer the charge of laxity in the performance of his\nduty, particularly as the only co-witness he could cite was Sir Andrew\nFlack, the parson, since deceased. Sir Oliver\'s voice drew her attention\nfrom that memory.\n\n\"But let that be,\" he was saying. \"Let us come back to the story itself.\nI gave the craven weakling shelter. Thereby I drew down suspicion upon\nmyself, and since I could not clear myself save by denouncing him, I\nkept silent. That suspicion drew to certainty when the woman to whom I\nwas betrothed, recking nothing of my oaths, freely believing the very\nworst of me, made an end of our betrothal and thereby branded me a\nmurderer and a liar in the eyes of all. Indignation swelled against me.\nThe Queen\'s pursuivants were on their way to do what the justices of\nTruro refused to do.\n\n\"So far I have given you facts. Now I give you surmise--my own\nconclusions--but surmise that strikes, as you shall judge, the very\nbull\'s-eye of truth. That dastard to whom I had given sanctuary, to whom\nI had served as a cloak, measured my nature by his own and feared that\nI must prove unequal to the fresh burden to be cast upon me. He feared\nlest under the strain of it I should speak out, advance my proofs,\nand so destroy him. There was the matter of that wound, and there was\nsomething still more unanswerable he feared I might have urged. There\nwas a certain woman--a wanton up at Malpas--who could have been made\nto speak, who could have revealed a rivalry concerning her betwixt the\nslayer and your brother. For the affair in which Peter Godolphin met his\ndeath was a pitifully, shamefully sordid one at bottom.\"\n\nFor the first time she interrupted him, fiercely. \"Do you malign the\ndead?\"\n\n\"Patience, mistress,\" he commanded. \"I malign none. I speak the truth of\na dead man that the truth may be known of two living ones. Hear me out,\nthen! I have waited long and survived a deal that I might tell you this\n\n\"That craven, then, conceived that I might become a danger to him; so\nhe decided to remove me. He contrived to have me kidnapped one night and\nput aboard a vessel to be carried to Barbary and sold there as a slave.\nThat is the truth of my disappearance. And the slayer, whom I had\nbefriended and sheltered at my own bitter cost, profited yet further by\nmy removal. God knows whether the prospect of such profit was a further\ntemptation to him. In time he came to succeed me in my possessions, and\nat last to succeed me even in the affections of the faithless woman who\nonce had been my affianced wife.\"\n\nAt last she started from the frozen patience in which she had listened\nhitherto. \"Do you say that... that Lionel...?\" she was beginning in a\nvoice choked by indignation.\n\nAnd then Lionel spoke at last, straightening himself into a stiffly\nupright attitude.\n\n\"He lies!\" he cried. \"He lies, Rosamund! Do not heed him.\"\n\n\"I do not,\" she answered, turning away.\n\nA wave of colour suffused the swarthy face of Sakr-el-Bahr. A moment\nhis eyes followed her as she moved away a step or two, then they turned\ntheir blazing light of anger upon Lionel. He strode silently across to\nhim, his mien so menacing that Lionel shrank back in fresh terror.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr caught his brother\'s wrist in a grip that was as that of\na steel manacle. \"We\'ll have the truth this night if we have to tear it\nfrom you with red-hot pincers,\" he said between his teeth.\n\nHe dragged him forward to the middle of the terrace and held him\nthere before Rosamund, forcing him down upon his knees into a cowering\nattitude by the violence of that grip upon his wrist.\n\n\"Do you know aught of the ingenuity of Moorish torture?\" he asked him.\n\"You may have heard of the rack and the wheel and the thumbscrew at\nhome. They are instruments of voluptuous delight compared with the\ncontrivances of Barbary to loosen stubborn tongues.\"\n\nWhite and tense, her hands clenched, Rosamund seemed to stiffen before\nhim.\n\n\"You coward! You cur! You craven renegade dog!\" she branded him.\n\nOliver released his brother\'s wrist and beat his hands together. Without\nheeding Rosamund he looked down upon Lionel, who cowered shuddering at\nhis feet.\n\n\"What do you say to a match between your fingers? Or do you think a pair\nof bracelets of living fire would answer better, to begin with?\"\n\nA squat, sandy-bearded, turbaned fellow, rolling slightly in his gait,\ncame--as had been prearranged--to answer the corsair\'s summons.\n\nWith the toe of his slipper Sakr-el-Bahr stirred his brother.\n\n\"Look up, dog,\" he bade him. \"Consider me that man, and see if you know\nhim again. Look at him, I say!\" And Lionel looked, yet since clearly\nhe did so without recognition his brother explained: \"His name among\nChristians was Jasper Leigh. He was the skipper you bribed to carry me\ninto Barbary. He was taken in his own toils when his ship was sunk by\nSpaniards. Later he fell into my power, and because I forebore from\nhanging him he is to-day my faithful follower. I should bid him tell\nyou what he knows,\" he continued, turning to Rosamund, \"if I thought\nyou would believe his tale. But since I am assured you would not, I will\ntake other means.\" He swung round to Jasper again. \"Bid Ali heat me a\npair of steel manacles in a brazier and hold them in readiness against\nmy need of them.\" And he waved his hand.\n\nJasper bowed and vanished.\n\n\"The bracelets shall coax confession from your own lips, my brother.\"\n\n\"I have naught to confess,\" protested Lionel. \"You may force lies from\nme with your ruffianly tortures.\"\n\nOliver smiled. \"Not a doubt but that lies will flow from you more\nreadily than truth. But we shall have truth, too, in the end, never\ndoubt it.\" He was mocking, and there was a subtle purpose underlying his\nmockery. \"And you shall tell a full story,\" he continued, \"in all its\ndetails, so that Mistress Rosamund\'s last doubt shall vanish. You shall\ntell her how you lay in wait for him that evening in Godolphin Park; how\nyou took him unawares, and....\"\n\n\"That is false!\" cried Lionel in a passion of sincerity that brought him\nto his feet.\n\nIt was false, indeed, and Oliver knew it, and deliberately had recourse\nto falsehood, using it as a fulcrum upon which to lever out the truth.\nHe was cunning as all the fiends, and never perhaps did he better\nmanifest his cunning.\n\n\"False?\" he cried with scorn. \"Come, now, be reasonable. The truth, ere\ntorture sucks it out of you. Reflect that I know all--exactly as you\ntold it me. How was it, now? Lurking behind a bush you sprang upon him\nunawares and ran him through before he could so much as lay a hand to\nhis sword, and so....\"\n\n\"The lie of that is proven by the very facts themselves,\" was the\nfurious interruption. A subtle judge of tones might have realized that\nhere was truth indeed, angry indignant truth that compelled conviction.\n\"His sword lay beside him when they found him.\"\n\nBut Oliver was loftily disdainful. \"Do I not know? Yourself you drew it\nafter you had slain him.\"\n\nThe taunt performed its deadly work. For just one instant Lionel was\ncarried off his feet by the luxury of his genuine indignation, and in\nthat one instant he was lost.\n\n\"As God\'s my witness, that is false!\" he cried wildly. \"And you know it.\nI fought him fair....\"\n\nHe checked on a long, shuddering, indrawn breath that was horrible to\nhear.\n\nThen silence followed, all three remaining motionless as statues:\nRosamund white and tense, Oliver grim and sardonic, Lionel limp,\nand overwhelmed by the consciousness of how he had been lured into\nself-betrayal.\n\nAt last it was Rosamund who spoke, and her voice shook and shifted from\nkey to key despite her strained attempt to keep it level.\n\n\"What... what did you say, Lionel?\" she asked. Oliver laughed softly.\n\"He was about to add proof of his statement, I think,\" he jeered. \"He\nwas about to mention the wound he took in that fight, which left those\ntracks in the snow, thus to prove that I lied--as indeed I did--when I\nsaid that he took Peter unawares.\n\n\"Lionel!\" she cried. She advanced a step and made as if to hold out her\narms to him, then let them fall again beside her. He stood stricken,\nanswering nothing. \"Lionel!\" she cried again, her voice growing suddenly\nshrill. \"Is this true?\"\n\n\"Did you not hear him say it?\" quoth Oliver.\n\nShe stood swaying a moment, looking at Lionel, her white face distorted\ninto a mask of unutterable pain. Oliver stepped towards her, ready to\nsupport her, fearing that she was about to fall. But with an imperious\nhand she checked his advance, and by a supreme effort controlled her\nweakness. Yet her knees shook under her, refusing their office. She sank\ndown upon the divan and covered her face with her hands.\n\n\"God pity me!\" she moaned, and sat huddled there, shaken with sobs.\n\nLionel started at that heart-broken cry. Cowering, he approached her,\nand Oliver, grim and sardonic, stood back, a spectator of the scene he\nhad precipitated. He knew that given rope Lionel would enmesh himself\nstill further. There must be explanations that would damn him utterly.\nOliver was well content to look on.\n\n\"Rosamund!\" came Lionel\'s piteous cry. \"Rose! Have mercy! Listen ere you\njudge me. Listen lest you misjudge me!\"\n\n\"Ay, listen to him,\" Oliver flung in, with his soft hateful laugh.\n\"Listen to him. I doubt he\'ll be vastly entertaining.\"\n\nThat sneer was a spur to the wretched Lionel. \"Rosamund, all that he has\ntold you of it is false. I...I...It was done in self-defence. It is\na lie that I took him unawares.\" His words came wildly now. \"We had\nquarrelled about... about... a certain matter, and as the devil would\nhave it we met that evening in Godolphin Park, he and I. He taunted me;\nhe struck me, and finally he drew upon me and forced me to draw that I\nmight defend my life. That is the truth. I swear to you here on my knees\nin the sight of Heaven! And....\"\n\n\"Enough, sir! Enough!\" she broke in, controlling herself to check these\nprotests that but heightened her disgust.\n\n\"Nay, hear me yet, I implore you; that knowing all you may be merciful\nin your judgment.\"\n\n\"Merciful?\" she cried, and almost seemed to laugh\n\n\"It was an accident that I slew him,\" Lionel raved on. \"I never meant\nit. I never meant to do more than ward and preserve my life. But when\nswords are crossed more may happen than a man intends. I take God to\nwitness that his death was an accident resulting from his own fury.\"\n\nShe had checked her sobs, and she considered him now with eyes that were\nhard and terrible.\n\n\"Was it also an accident that you left me and all the world in the\nbelief that the deed was your brother\'s?\" she asked him.\n\nHe covered his face, as if unable to endure her glance. \"Did you but\nknow how I loved you--even in those days, in secret--you would perhaps\npity me a little,\" he whimpered.\n\n\"Pity?\" She leaned forward and seemed to spit the word at him. \"\'Sdeath,\nman! Do you sue for pity--you?\"\n\n\"Yet you must pity me did you know the greatness of the temptation to\nwhich I succumbed.\"\n\n\"I know the greatness of your infamy, of your falseness, of your\ncowardice, of your baseness. Oh!\"\n\nHe stretched out suppliant hands to her; there were tears now in his\neyes. \"Of your charity, Rosamund....\" he was beginning, when at last\nOliver intervened:\n\n\"I think you are wearying the lady,\" he said, and stirred him with his\nfoot. \"Relate to us instead some more of your astounding accidents.\nThey are more diverting. Elucidate the accident, by which you had me\nkidnapped to be sold into slavery. Tell us of the accident by which\nyou succeeded to my property. Expound to the full the accidental\ncircumstances of which throughout you have been the unfortunate victim.\nCome, man, ply your wits. \'Twill make a pretty tale.\"\n\nAnd then came Jasper to announce that Ali waited with the brazier and\nthe heated manacles.\n\n\"They are no longer needed,\" said Oliver. \"Take this slave hence with\nyou. Bid Ali to take charge of him, and at dawn to see him chained to\none of the oars of my galeasse. Away with him.\"\n\nLionel rose to his feet, his face ashen. \"Wait! Ah, wait! Rosamund!\" he\ncried.\n\nOliver caught him by the nape of his neck, spun him round, and flung him\ninto the arms of Jasper. \"Take him away!\" he growled, and Jasper took\nthe wretch by the shoulders and urged him out, leaving Rosamund and\nOliver alone with the truth under the stars of Barbary.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII. THE SUBTLETY OF FENZILEH\n\n\nOliver considered the woman for a long moment as she sat half-crouching\non the divan, her hands locked, her face set and stony, her eyes\nlowered. He sighed gently and turned away. He paced to the parapet and\nlooked out upon the city bathed in the white glare of the full risen\nmoon. There arose thence a hum of sound, dominated, however, by the\nthrobbing song of a nightingale somewhere in his garden and the croaking\nof the frogs by the pool in the valley.\n\nNow that truth had been dragged from its well, and tossed, as it were,\ninto Rosamund\'s lap, he felt none of the fierce exultation which he had\nconceived that such an hour as this must bring him. Rather, indeed, was\nhe saddened and oppressed. To poison the unholy cup of joy which he\nhad imagined himself draining with such thirsty zest there was that\ndiscovery of a measure of justification for her attitude towards him in\nher conviction that his disappearance was explained by flight.\n\nHe was weighed down by a sense that he had put himself entirely in the\nwrong; that in his vengeance he had overreached himself; and he found\nthe fruits of it, which had seemed so desirably luscious, turning to\nashes in his mouth.\n\nLong he stood there, the silence between them entirely unbroken. Then at\nlength he stirred, turned from the parapet, and paced slowly back until\nhe came to stand beside the divan, looking down upon her from his great\nheight.\n\n\"At last you have heard the truth,\" he said. And as she made no answer\nhe continued: \"I am thankful it was surprised out of him before the\ntorture was applied, else you might have concluded that pain was\nwringing a false confession from him.\" He paused, but still she did\nnot speak; indeed, she made no sign that she had heard him. \"That,\" he\nconcluded, \"was the man whom you preferred to me. Faith, you did not\nflatter me, as perhaps you may have learnt.\"\n\nAt last she was moved from her silence, and her voice came dull and\nhard. \"I have learnt how little there is to choose between you,\" she\nsaid. \"It was to have been expected. I might have known two brothers\ncould not have been so dissimilar in nature. Oh, I am learning a deal,\nand swiftly!\"\n\nIt was a speech that angered him, that cast out entirely the softer mood\nthat had been growing in him.\n\n\"You are learning?\" he echoed. \"What are you learning?\"\n\n\"Knowledge of the ways of men.\"\n\nHis teeth gleamed in his wry smile. \"I hope the knowledge will bring you\nas much bitterness as the knowledge of women--of one woman--has brought\nme. To have believed me what you believed me--me whom you conceived\nyourself to love!\" He felt, perhaps the need to repeat it that he might\nkeep the grounds of his grievance well before his mind.\n\n\"If I have a mercy to beg of you it is that you will not shame me with\nthe reminder.\"\n\n\"Of your faithlessness?\" he asked. \"Of your disloyal readiness to\nbelieve the worst evil of me?\"\n\n\"Of my ever having believed that I loved you. That is the thought that\nshames me, as nothing else in life could shame me, as not even the\nslave-market and all the insult to which you have submitted me could\nshame me. You taunt me with my readiness to believe evil of you....\"\n\n\"I do more than taunt you with it,\" he broke in, his anger mounting\nunder the pitiless lash of her scorn. \"I lay to your charge the wasted\nyears of my life, all the evil that has followed out of it, all that I\nhave suffered, all that I have lost, all that I am become.\"\n\nShe looked up at him coldly, astonishingly mistress of herself. \"You lay\nall this to my charge?\" she asked him.\n\n\"I do.\" He was very vehement. \"Had you not used me as you did, had you\nnot lent a ready ear to lies, that whelp my brother would never\nhave gone to such lengths, nor should I ever have afforded him the\nopportunity.\"\n\nShe shifted on the cushions of the divan and turned her shoulder to him.\n\n\"All this is very idle,\" she said coldly. Yet perhaps because she felt\nthat she had need to justify herself she continued: \"If, after all, I\nwas so ready to believe evil of you, it is that my instincts must\nhave warned me of the evil that was ever in you. You have proved to\nme to-night that it was not you who murdered Peter; but to attain that\nproof you have done a deed that is even fouler and more shameful, a\ndeed that reveals to the full the blackness of your heart. Have you not\nproved yourself a monster of vengeance and impiety?\" She rose and faced\nhim again in her sudden passion. \"Are you not--you that were born a\nCornish Christian gentleman--become a heathen and a robber, a renegade\nand a pirate? Have you not sacrificed your very God to your vengeful\nlust?\"\n\nHe met her glance fully, never quailing before her denunciation, and\nwhen she had ended on that note of question he counter-questioned her.\n\n\"And your instincts had forewarned you of all this? God\'s life, woman!\ncan you invent no better tale than that?\" He turned aside as two slaves\nentered bearing an earthenware vessel. \"Here comes your supper. I hope\nyour appetite is keener than your logic.\"\n\nThey set the vessel, from which a savoury smell proceeded, upon the\nlittle Moorish table by the divan. On the ground beside it they placed\na broad dish of baked earth in which there were a couple of loaves and\na red, short-necked amphora of water with a drinking-cup placed over the\nmouth of it to act as a stopper.\n\nThey salaamed profoundly and padded softly out again.\n\n\"Sup,\" he bade her shortly.\n\n\"I want no supper,\" she replied, her manner sullen.\n\nHis cold eye played over her. \"Henceforth, girl, you will consider\nnot what you want, but what I bid you do. I bid you eat; about it,\ntherefore.\"\n\n\"I will not.\"\n\n\"Will not?\" he echoed slowly. \"Is that a speech from slave to master?\nEat, I say.\"\n\n\"I cannot! I cannot!\" she protested.\n\n\"A slave may not live who cannot do her master\'s bidding.\"\n\n\"Then kill me,\" she answered fiercely, leaping up to confront and dare\nhim. \"Kill me. You are used to killing, and for that at least I should\nbe grateful.\"\n\n\"I will kill you if I please,\" he said in level icy tones. \"But not to\nplease you. You don\'t yet understand. You are my slave, my thing, my\nproperty, and I will not suffer you to be damaged save at my own good\npleasure. Therefore, eat, or my Nubians shall whip you to quicken\nappetite.\"\n\nFor a moment she stood defiant before him, white and resolute. Then\nquite suddenly, as if her will was being bent and crumpled under the\ninsistent pressure of his own, she drooped and sank down again to the\ndivan. Slowly, reluctantly she drew the dish nearer. Watching her, he\nlaughed quite silently.\n\nShe paused, appearing to seek for something. Failing to find it she\nlooked up at him again, between scorn and intercession.\n\n\"Am I to tear the meat with my fingers?\" she demanded.\n\nHis eyes gleamed with understanding, or at least with suspicion. But he\nanswered her quite calmly--\"It is against the Prophet\'s law to defile\nmeat or bread by the contact of a knife. You must use the hands that God\nhas given you.\"\n\n\"Do you mock me with the Prophet and his laws? What are the Prophet\'s\nlaws to me? If eat I must, at least I will not eat like a heathen dog,\nbut in Christian fashion.\"\n\nTo indulge her, as it seemed, he slowly drew the richly hilted dagger\nfrom his girdle. \"Let that serve you, then,\" he said; and carelessly he\ntossed it down beside her.\n\nWith a quick indrawn breath she pounced upon it. \"At last,\" she said,\n\"you give me something for which I can be grateful to you.\" And on the\nwords she laid the point of it against her breast.\n\nLike lightning he had dropped to one knee, and his hand had closed about\nher wrist with such a grip that all her arm felt limp and powerless. He\nwas smiling into her eyes, his swarthy face close to her own.\n\n\"Did you indeed suppose I trusted you? Did you really think me deceived\nby your sudden pretence of yielding? When will you learn that I am not a\nfool? I did it but to test your spirit.\"\n\n\"Then now you know its temper,\" she replied. \"You know my intention.\"\n\n\"Forewarned, forearmed,\" said he.\n\nShe looked at him, with something that would have been mockery but for\nthe contempt that coloured it too deeply. \"Is it so difficult a thing,\"\nshe asked, \"to snap the thread of life? Are there no ways of dying save\nby the knife? You boast yourself my master; that I am your slave; that,\nhaving bought me in the market-place, I belong to you body and soul. How\nidle is that boast. My body you may bind and confine; but my soul.... Be\nvery sure that you shall be cheated of your bargain. You boast yourself\nlord of life and death. A lie! Death is all that you can command.\"\n\nQuick steps came pattering up the stairs, and before he could answer\nher, before he had thought of words in which to do so, Ali confronted\nhim with the astounding announcement that there was a woman below asking\nurgently to speak with him.\n\n\"A woman?\" he questioned, frowning. \"A Nasrani woman, do you mean?\"\n\n\"No, my lord. A Muslim,\" was the still more surprising information.\n\n\"A Muslim woman, here? Impossible!\"\n\nBut even as he spoke a dark figure glided like a shadow across the\nthreshold on to the terrace. She was in black from head to foot,\nincluding the veil that shrouded her, a veil of the proportions of a\nmantle, serving to dissemble her very shape.\n\nAli swung upon her in a rage. \"Did I not bid thee wait below, thou\ndaughter of shame?\" he stormed. \"She has followed me up, my lord, to\nthrust herself in here upon you. Shall I drive her forth?\"\n\n\"Let her be,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr. And he waved Ali away. \"Leave us!\"\n\nSomething about that black immovable figure arrested his attention and\nfired his suspicions. Unaccountably almost it brought to his mind the\nthought of Ayoub-el-Sarnin and the bidding there had been for Rosamund\nin the sôk.\n\nHe stood waiting for his visitor to speak and disclose herself. She\non her side continued immovable until Ali\'s footsteps had faded in\nthe distance. Then, with a boldness entirely characteristic, with the\nrecklessness that betrayed her European origin, intolerant of the Muslim\nrestraint imposed upon her sex, she did what no True-believing woman\nwould have done. She tossed back that long black veil and disclosed the\npale countenance and languorous eyes of Fenzileh.\n\nFor all that it was no more than he had expected, yet upon beholding\nher--her countenance thus bared to his regard--he recoiled a step.\n\n\"Fenzileh!\" he cried. \"What madness is this?\"\n\nHaving announced herself in that dramatic fashion she composedly\nreadjusted her veil so that her countenance should once more be decently\nconcealed.\n\n\"To come here, to my house, and thus!\" he protested. \"Should this reach\nthe ears of thy lord, how will it fare with thee and with me? Away,\nwoman, and at once!\" he bade her.\n\n\"No need to fear his knowing of this unless, thyself, thou tell him,\"\nshe answered. \"To thee I need no excuse if thou\'lt but remember that\nlike thyself I was not born a Muslim.\"\n\n\"But Algiers is not thy native Sicily, and whatever thou wast born it\nwere well to remember what thou art become.\"\n\nHe went on at length to tell her of the precise degree of her folly, but\nshe cut in, stemming his protestation in full flow.\n\n\"These are idle words that but delay me.\"\n\n\"To thy purpose then, in Allah\'s name, that thus thou mayest depart the\nsooner.\"\n\nShe came to it straight enough on that uncompromising summons. She\npointed to Rosamund. \"It concerns that slave,\" said she. \"I sent my\nwazeer to the sôk to-day with orders to purchase her for me.\"\n\n\"So I had supposed,\" he said.\n\n\"But it seems that she caught thy fancy, and the fool suffered himself\nto be outbidden.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Thou\'lt relinquish her to me at the price she cost thee?\" A faint note\nof anxiety trembled in her voice.\n\n\"I am anguished to deny thee, O Fenzileh. She is not for sale.\"\n\n\"Ah, wait,\" she cried. \"The price paid was high--many times higher than\nI have ever heard tell was given for a slave, however lovely. Yet I\ncovet her. \'Tis a whim of mine, and I cannot suffer to be thwarted in my\nwhims. To gratify this one I will pay three thousand philips.\"\n\nHe looked at her and wondered what devilries might be stirring in her\nmind, what evil purpose she desired to serve.\n\n\"Thou\'lt pay three thousand philips?\" he said slowly. Then bluntly asked\nher: \"Why?\"\n\n\"To gratify a whim, to please a fancy.\"\n\n\"What is the nature of this costly whim?\" he insisted.\n\n\"The desire to possess her for my own,\" she answered evasively.\n\n\"And this desire to possess her, whence is it sprung?\" he returned, as\npatient as he was relentless.\n\n\"You ask too many questions,\" she exclaimed with a flash of anger.\n\nHe shrugged and smiled. \"You answer too few.\"\n\nShe set her arms akimbo and faced him squarely. Faintly through her veil\nhe caught the gleam of her eyes, and he cursed the advantage she had in\nthat her face was covered from his reading.\n\n\"In a word, Oliver-Reis,\" said she, \"wilt sell her for three thousand\nphilips?\"\n\n\"In a word--no,\" he answered her.\n\n\"Thou\'lt not? Not for three thousand philips?\" Her voice was charged\nwith surprise, and he wondered was it real or assumed.\n\n\"Not for thirty thousand,\" answered he. \"She is mine, and I\'ll not\nrelinquish her. So since I have proclaimed my mind, and since to tarry\nhere is fraught with peril for us both, I beg thee to depart.\"\n\nThere fell a little pause, and neither of them noticed the alert\ninterest stamped upon the white face of Rosamund. Neither of them\nsuspected her knowledge of French which enabled her to follow most of\nwhat was said in the lingua franca they employed.\n\nFenzileh drew close to him. \"Thou\'lt not relinquish her, eh?\" she asked,\nand he was sure she sneered. \"Be not so confident. Thou\'lt be forced to\nit, my friend--if not to me, why then, to Asad. He is coming for her,\nhimself, in person.\"\n\n\"Asad?\" he cried, startled now.\n\n\"Asad-ed-Din,\" she answered, and upon that resumed her pleading. \"Come,\nthen! It were surely better to make a good bargain with me than a bad\none with the Basha.\"\n\nHe shook his head and planted his feet squarely. \"I intend to make no\nbargain with either of you. This slave is not for sale.\"\n\n\"Shalt thou dare resist Asad? I tell thee he will take her whether she\nbe for sale or not.\"\n\n\"I see,\" he said, his eyes narrowing. \"And the fear of this, then, is\nthe source of thy whim to acquire her for thyself. Thou art not subtle,\nO Fenzileh. The consciousness that thine own charms are fading sets thee\ntrembling lest so much loveliness should entirely cast thee from thy\nlord\'s regard, eh?\"\n\nIf he could not see her face, and study there the effect of that thrust\nof his, at least he observed the quiver that ran through her muffled\nfigure, he caught the note of anger that throbbed in her reply--\"And if\nthat were so, what is\'t to thee?\"\n\n\"It may be much or little,\" he replied thoughtfully.\n\n\"Indeed, it should be much,\" she answered quickly, breathlessly. \"Have I\nnot ever been thy friend? Have I not ever urged thy valour on my\nlord\'s notice and wrought like a true friend for thine advancement,\nSakr-el-Bahr?\"\n\nHe laughed outright. \"Hast thou so?\" quoth he.\n\n\"Laugh as thou wilt, but it is true,\" she insisted. \"Lose me and thy\nmost valuable ally is lost--one who has the ear and favour of her lord.\nFor look, Sakr-el-Bahr, it is what would befall if another came to\nfill my place, another who might poison Asad\'s mind with lies against\nthee--for surely she cannot love thee, this Frankish girl whom thou hast\ntorn from her home!\"\n\n\"Be not concerned for that,\" he answered lightly, his wits striving in\nvain to plumb the depths and discover the nature of her purpose. \"This\nslave of mine shall never usurp thy place beside Asad.\"\n\n\"O fool, Asad will take her whether she be for sale or not.\"\n\nHe looked down upon her, head on one side and arms akimbo. \"If he can\ntake her from me, the more easily can he take her from thee. No doubt\nthou hast considered that, and in some dark Sicilian way considered too\nhow to provide against it. But the cost--hast thou counted that? What\nwill Asad say to thee when he learns how thou hast thwarted him?\"\n\n\"What do I care for that?\" she cried in sudden fury, her gestures\nbecoming a little wild. \"She will be at the bottom of the harbour by\nthen with a stone about her neck. He may have me whipped. No doubt he\nwill. But \'twill end there. He will require me to console him for his\nloss, and so all will be well again.\"\n\nAt last he had drawn her, pumped her dry, as he imagined. Indeed,\nindeed, he thought, he had been right to say she was not subtle. He had\nbeen a fool to have permitted himself to be intrigued by so shallow, so\nobvious a purpose. He shrugged and turned away from her.\n\n\"Depart in peace, O Fenzileh,\" he said. \"I yield her to none--be his\nname Asad or Shaitan.\"\n\nHis tone was final, and her answer seemed to accept at last his\ndetermination. Yet she was very quick with that answer; so quick that he\nmight have suspected it to be preconceived.\n\n\"Then it is surely thine intent to wed her.\" No voice could have been\nmore innocent and guileless than was hers now. \"If so,\" she went on, \"it\nwere best done quickly, for marriage is the only barrier Asad will not\noverthrow. He is devout, and out of his deep reverence for the Prophet\'s\nlaw he would be sure to respect such a bond as that. But be very sure\nthat he will respect nothing short of it.\"\n\nYet notwithstanding her innocence and assumed simplicity--because of\nit, perhaps--he read her as if she had been an open book; it no longer\nmattered that her face was veiled.\n\n\"And thy purpose would be equally well served, eh?\" he questioned her,\nsly in his turn.\n\n\"Equally,\" she admitted.\n\n\"Say \'better,\' Fenzileh,\" he rejoined. \"I said thou art not subtle. By\nthe Koran, I lied. Thou art subtle as the serpent. Yet I see whither\nthou art gliding. Were I to be guided by thine advice a twofold purpose\nwould be served. First, I should place her beyond Asad\'s reach, and\nsecond, I should be embroiled with him for having done so. What could\nmore completely satisfy thy wishes?\"\n\n\"Thou dost me wrong,\" she protested. \"I have ever been thy friend. I\nwould that....\" She broke off suddenly to listen. The stillness of the\nnight was broken by cries from the direction of the Bab-el-Oueb. She\nran swiftly to the parapet whence the gate was to be seen and leaned far\nout.\n\n\"Look, look!\" she cried, and there was a tremor of fear in her voice.\n\"It is he--Asad-ed-Din.\"\n\nSakr-el-Bahr crossed to her side and in a glare of torches saw a body of\nmen coming forth from the black archway of the gate.\n\n\"It almost seems as if, departing from thy usual custom, thou hast\nspoken truth, O Fenzileh.\"\n\nShe faced him, and he suspected the venomous glance darted at him\nthrough her veil. Yet her voice when she spoke was cold. \"In a moment\nthou\'lt have no single doubt of it. But what of me?\" The question was\nadded in a quickening tone. \"He must not find me here. He would kill me,\nI think.\"\n\n\"I am sure he would,\" Sakr-el-Bahr agreed. \"Yet muffled thus, who should\nrecognize thee? Away, then, ere he comes. Take cover in the courtyard\nuntil he shall have passed. Didst thou come alone?\"\n\n\"Should I trust anyone with the knowledge that I had visited thee?\" she\nasked, and he admired the strong Sicilian spirit in her that not all\nthese years in the Basha\'s hareem had sufficed to extinguish.\n\nShe moved quickly to the door, to pause again on the threshold.\n\n\"Thou\'lt not relinquish her? Thou\'lt not.\"\n\n\"Be at ease,\" he answered her, on so resolved a note that she departed\nsatisfied.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII. IN THE SIGHT OF ALLAH\n\n\nSakr-el-Bahr stood lost in thought after she had gone. Again he weighed\nher every word and considered precisely how he should meet Asad, and how\nrefuse him, if the Basha\'s were indeed such an errand as Fenzileh had\nheralded.\n\nThus in silence he remained waiting for Ali or another to summon him\nto the presence of the Basha. Instead, however, when Ali entered it\nwas actually to announce Asad-ed-Din, who followed immediately upon his\nheels, having insisted in his impatience upon being conducted straight\nto the presence of Sakr-el-Bahr.\n\n\"The peace of the Prophet upon thee, my son, was the Basha\'s greeting.\n\n\"And upon thee, my lord.\" Sakr-el-Bahr salaamed. \"My house is honoured.\"\nWith a gesture he dismissed Ali.\n\n\"I come to thee a suppliant,\" said Asad, advancing.\n\n\"A suppliant, thou? No need, my lord. I have no will that is not the\necho of thine own.\"\n\nThe Basha\'s questing eyes went beyond him and glowed as they rested upon\nRosamund.\n\n\"I come in haste,\" he said, \"like any callow lover, guided by my every\ninstinct to the presence of her I seek--this Frankish pearl, this\npen-faced captive of thy latest raid. I was away from the Kasbah when\nthat pig Tsamanni returned thither from the sôk; but when at last I\nlearnt that he had failed to purchase her as I commanded, I could have\nwept for very grief. I feared at first that some merchant from the\nSus might have bought her and departed; but when I heard--blessed be\nAllah!--that thou wert the buyer, I was comforted again. For thou\'lt\nyield her up to me, my son.\"\n\nHe spoke with such confidence that Oliver had a difficulty in choosing\nthe words that were to disillusion him. Therefore he stood in hesitancy\na moment.\n\n\"I will make good thy, loss,\" Asad ran on. \"Thou shalt have the sixteen\nhundred philips paid and another five hundred to console thee. Say that\nwill content thee; for I boil with impatience.\"\n\nSakr-el-Bahr smiled grimly. \"It is an impatience well known to me, my\nlord, where she is concerned,\" he answered slowly. \"I boiled with\nit myself for five interminable years. To make an end of it I went a\ndistant perilous voyage to England in a captured Frankish vessel. Thou\ndidst not know, O Asad, else thou wouldst....\"\n\n\"Bah!\" broke in the Basha. \"Thou\'rt a huckster born. There is none like\nthee, Sakr-el-Bahr, in any game of wits. Well, well, name thine own\nprice, strike thine own profit out of my impatience and let us have\ndone.\"\n\n\"My lord,\" he said quietly, \"it is not the profit that is in question.\nShe is not for sale.\"\n\nAsad blinked at him, speechless, and slowly a faint colour crept into\nhis sallow cheeks.\n\n\"Not... not for sale?\" he echoed, faltering in his amazement.\n\n\"Not if thou offered me thy Bashalik as the price of her,\" was the\nsolemn answer. Then more warmly, in a voice that held a note of\nintercession--\"Ask anything else that is mine,\" he continued, \"and\ngladly will I lay it at thy feet in earnest of my loyalty and love for\nthee.\"\n\n\"But I want nothing else.\" Asad\'s tone was impatient, petulant almost.\n\"I want this slave.\"\n\n\"Then,\" replied Oliver, \"I cast myself upon thy mercy and beseech thee\nto turn thine eyes elsewhere.\"\n\nAsad scowled upon him. \"Dost thou deny me?\" he demanded, throwing back\nhis head.\n\n\"Alas!\" said Sakr-el-Bahr.\n\nThere fell a pause. Darker and darker grew the countenance of Asad,\nfiercer glowed the eyes he bent upon his lieutenant. \"I see,\" he said at\nlast, with a calm so oddly at variance with his looks as to be sinister.\n\"I see. It seems that there is more truth in Fenzileh than I suspected.\nSo!\" He considered the corsair a moment with his sunken smouldering\neyes.\n\nThen he addressed him in a tone that vibrated with his suppressed anger.\n\"Bethink thee, Sakr-el-Bahr, of what thou art, of what I have made thee.\nBethink thee of all the bounty these hands have lavished on thee. Thou\nart my own lieutenant, and mayest one day be more. In Algiers there is\nnone above thee save myself. Art, then, so thankless as to deny me the\nfirst thing I ask of thee? Truly is it written \'Ungrateful is Man.\'\"\n\n\"Didst thou know,\" began Sakr-el-Bahr, \"all that is involved for me in\nthis....\"\n\n\"I neither know nor care,\" Asad cut in. \"Whatever it may be, it should\nbe as naught when set against my will.\" Then he discarded anger for\ncajolery. He set a hand upon Sakr-el-Bahr\'s stalwart shoulder. \"Come, my\nson. I will deal generously with thee out of my love, and I will put thy\nrefusal from my mind.\"\n\n\"Be generous, my lord, to the point of forgetting that ever thou didst\nask me for her.\"\n\n\"Dost still refuse?\" The voice, honeyed an instant ago, rang harsh\nagain. \"Take care how far thou strain my patience. Even as I have raised\nthee from the dirt, so at a word can I cast thee down again. Even as\nI broke the shackles that chained thee to the rowers\' bench, so can I\nrivet them on thee anew.\"\n\n\"All this canst thou do,\" Sakr-el-Bahr agreed. \"And since, knowing it,\nI still hold to what is doubly mine--by right of capture and of\npurchase--thou mayest conceive how mighty are my reasons. Be merciful,\nthen, Asad....\"\n\n\"Must I take her by force in spite of thee?\" roared the Basha.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr stiffened. He threw back his head and looked the Basha\nsquarely in the eyes.\n\n\"Whilst I live, not even that mayest thou do,\" he answered.\n\n\"Disloyal, mutinous dog! Wilt thou resist me--me?\"\n\n\"It is my prayer that thou\'lt not be so ungenerous and unjust as to\ncompel thy servant to a course so hateful.\"\n\nAsad sneered. \"Is that thy last word?\" he demanded.\n\n\"Save only that in all things else I am thy slave, O Asad.\"\n\nA moment the Basha stood regarding him, his glance baleful. Then\ndeliberately, as one who has taken his resolve, he strode to the door.\nOn the threshold he paused and turned again. \"Wait!\" he said, and on\nthat threatening word departed.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr remained a moment where he had stood during the interview,\nthen with a shrug he turned. He met Rosamund\'s eyes fixed intently upon\nhim, and invested with a look he could not read. He found himself unable\nto meet it, and he turned away. It was inevitable that in such a moment\nthe earlier stab of remorse should be repeated. He had overreached\nhimself indeed. Despair settled down upon him, a full consciousness of\nthe horrible thing he had done, which seemed now so irrevocable. In his\nsilent anguish he almost conceived that he had mistaken his feelings for\nRosamund; that far from hating her as he had supposed, his love for her\nhad not yet been slain, else surely he should not be tortured now by the\nthought of her becoming Asad\'s prey. If he hated her, indeed, as he had\nsupposed, he would have surrendered her and gloated.\n\nHe wondered was his present frame of mind purely the result of his\ndiscovery that the appearances against him had been stronger far than\nhe imagined, so strong as to justify her conviction that he was her\nbrother\'s slayer.\n\nAnd then her voice, crisp and steady, cut into his torture of\nconsideration.\n\n\"Why did you deny him?\"\n\nHe swung round again to face her, amazed, horror-stricken.\n\n\"You understood?\" he gasped.\n\n\"I understood enough,\" said she. \"This lingua franca is none so\ndifferent from French.\" And again she asked--\"Why did you deny him?\"\n\nHe paced across to her side and stood looking down at her.\n\n\"Do you ask why?\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" she said bitterly, \"there is scarce the need perhaps. And yet\ncan it be that your lust of vengeance is so insatiable that sooner than\nwillingly forgo an ounce of it you will lose your head?\"\n\nHis face became grim again. \"Of course,\" he sneered, \"it would be so\nthat you\'d interpret me.\"\n\n\"Nay. If I have asked it is because I doubt.\"\n\n\"Do you realize what it can mean to become the prey of Asad-ed-Din?\"\n\nShe shuddered, and her glance fell from his, yet her voice was composed\nwhen she answered him--\"Is it so very much worse than becoming the prey\nof Oliver-Reis or Sakr-el-Bahr, or whatever they may call you?\"\n\n\"If you say that it is all one to you there\'s an end to my opposing\nhim,\" he answered coldly. \"You may go to him. If I resisted him--like a\nfool, perhaps--it was for no sake of vengeance upon you. It was because\nthe thought of it fills me with horror.\"\n\n\"Then it should fill you with horror of yourself no less,\" said she.\n\nHis answer startled her.\n\n\"Perhaps it does,\" he said, scarcely above a murmur. \"Perhaps it does.\"\n\nShe flashed him an upward glance and looked as if she would have\nspoken. But he went on, suddenly passionate, without giving her time\nto interrupt him. \"O God! It needed this to show me the vileness of the\nthing I have done. Asad has no such motives as had I. I wanted you that\nI might punish you. But he...O God!\" he groaned, and for a moment put\nhis face to his hands.\n\nShe rose slowly, a strange agitation stirring in her, her bosom\ngalloping. But in his overwrought condition he failed to observe it. And\nthen like a ray of hope to illumine his despair came the counsel that\nFenzileh had given him, the barrier which she had said that Asad, being\na devout Muslim, would never dare to violate.\n\n\"There is a way,\" he cried. \"There is the way suggested by Fenzileh\nat the promptings of her malice.\" An instant he hesitated, his eyes\naverted. Then he made his plunge. \"You must marry me.\"\n\nIt was almost as if he had struck her. She recoiled. Instantly suspicion\nawoke in her; swiftly it drew to a conviction that he had but sought to\ntrick her by a pretended penitence.\n\n\"Marry you!\" she echoed.\n\n\"Ay,\" he insisted. And he set himself to explain to her how if she were\nhis wife she must be sacred and inviolable to all good Muslimeen, that\nnone could set a finger upon her without doing outrage to the Prophet\'s\nholy law, and that, whoever might be so disposed, Asad was not of those,\nsince Asad was perfervidly devout. \"Thus only,\" he ended, \"can I place\nyou beyond his reach.\"\n\nBut she was still scornfully reluctant.\n\n\"It is too desperate a remedy even for so desperate an ill,\" said she,\nand thus drove him into a frenzy of impatience with her.\n\n\"You must, I say,\" he insisted, almost angrily. \"You must--or else\nconsent to be borne this very night to Asad\'s hareem--and not even as\nhis wife, but as his slave. Oh, you must trust me for your own sake! You\nmust!\"\n\n\"Trust you!\" she cried, and almost laughed in the intensity of her\nscorn. \"Trust you! How can I trust one who is a renegade and worse?\"\n\nHe controlled himself that he might reason with her, that by cold logic\nhe might conquer her consent.\n\n\"You are very unmerciful,\" he said. \"In judging me you leave out of\nall account the suffering through which I have gone and what yourself\ncontributed to it. Knowing now how falsely I was accused and what other\nbitter wrongs I suffered, consider that I was one to whom the man and\nthe woman I most loved in all this world had proven false. I had lost\nfaith in man and in God, and if I became a Muslim, a renegade, and a\ncorsair, it was because there was no other gate by which I could escape\nthe unutterable toil of the oar to which I had been chained.\" He looked\nat her sadly. \"Can you find no excuse for me in all that?\"\n\nIt moved her a little, for if she maintained a hostile attitude, at\nleast she put aside her scorn.\n\n\"No wrongs,\" she told him, almost with sorrow in her voice, \"could\njustify you in outraging chivalry, in dishonouring your manhood, in\nabusing your strength to persecute a woman. Whatever the causes that may\nhave led to it, you have fallen too low, sir, to make it possible that I\nshould trust you.\"\n\nHe bowed his head under the rebuke which already he had uttered in his\nown heart. It was just and most deserved, and since he recognized its\njustice he found it impossible to resent it.\n\n\"I know,\" he said. \"But I am not asking you to trust me to my profit,\nbut to your own. It is for your sake alone that I implore you to do\nthis.\" Upon a sudden inspiration he drew the heavy dagger from his\ngirdle and proffered it, hilt foremost. \"If you need an earnest of my\ngood faith,\" he said, \"take this knife with which to-night you attempted\nto stab yourself. At the first sign that I am false to my trust, use it\nas you will--upon me or upon yourself.\"\n\nShe pondered him in some surprise. Then slowly she put out her hand to\ntake the weapon, as he bade her.\n\n\"Are you not afraid,\" she asked him, \"that I shall use it now, and so\nmake an end?\"\n\n\"I am trusting you,\" he said, \"that in return you may trust me. Further,\nI am arming you against the worst. For if it comes to choice between\ndeath and Asad, I shall approve your choice of death. But let me add\nthat it were foolish to choose death whilst yet there is a chance of\nlife.\"\n\n\"What chance?\" she asked, with a faint return of her old scorn. \"The\nchance of life with you?\"\n\n\"No,\" he answered firmly. \"If you will trust me, I swear that I will\nseek to undo the evil I have done. Listen. At dawn my galeasse sets out\nupon a raid. I will convey you secretly aboard and find a way to land\nyou in some Christian country--Italy or France--whence you may make your\nway home again.\"\n\n\"But meanwhile,\" she reminded him, \"I shall have become your wife.\"\n\nHe smiled wistfully. \"Do you still fear a trap? Can naught convince you\nof my sincerity? A Muslim marriage is not binding upon a Christian, and\nI shall account it no marriage. It will be no more than a pretence to\nshelter you until we are away.\"\n\n\"How can I trust your word in that?\"\n\n\"How?\" He paused, baffled; but only for a moment. \"You have the dagger,\"\nhe answered pregnantly.\n\nShe stood considering, her eyes upon the weapon\'s lividly gleaming\nblade. \"And this marriage?\" she asked. \"How is it to take place?\"\n\nHe explained to her then that by the Muslim law all that was required\nwas a declaration made before a kadi, or his superior, and in the\npresence of witnesses. He was still at his explanation when from below\nthere came a sound of voices, the tramp of feet, and the flash of\ntorches.\n\n\"Here is Asad returning in force,\" he cried, and his voice trembled. \"Do\nyou consent?\"\n\n\"But the kadi?\" she inquired, and by the question he knew that she was\nwon to his way of saving her.\n\n\"I said the kadi or his superior. Asad himself shall be our priest, his\nfollowers our witnesses.\"\n\n\"And if he refuses? He will refuse!\" she cried, clasping her hands\nbefore her in her excitement.\n\n\"I shall not ask him. I shall take him by surprise.\"\n\n\"It... it must anger him. He may avenge himself for what he must deem a\ntrick.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" he answered, wild-eyed. \"I have thought of that, too. But it is a\nrisk we must run. If we do not prevail, then--\"\n\n\"I have the dagger,\" she cried fearlessly.\n\n\"And for me there will be the rope or the sword,\" he answered. \"Be calm!\nThey come!\"\n\nBut the steps that pattered up the stairs were Ali\'s. He flung upon the\nterrace in alarm.\n\n\"My lord, my lord! Asad-ed-Din is here in force. He has an armed\nfollowing with him!\"\n\n\"There is naught to fear,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr, with every show of calm.\n\"All will be well.\"\n\nAsad swept up the stairs and out upon that terrace to confront his\nrebellious lieutenant. After him came a dozen black-robed janissaries\nwith scimitars along which the light of the torches rippled in little\nrunnels as of blood.\n\nThe Basha came to a halt before Sakr-el-Bahr, his arms majestically\nfolded, his head thrown back, so that his long white beard jutted\nforward.\n\n\"I am returned,\" he said, \"to employ force where gentleness will not\navail. Yet I pray that Allah may have lighted thee to a wiser frame of\nmind.\"\n\n\"He has, indeed, my lord,\" replied Sakr-el-Bahr.\n\n\"The praise to Him!\" exclaimed Asad in a voice that rang with joy. \"The\ngirl, then!\" And he held out a hand.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr stepped back to her and took her hand in his as if to lead\nher forward. Then he spoke the fateful words.\n\n\"In Allah\'s Holy Name and in His All-seeing eyes, before thee,\nAsad-ed-Din, and in the presence of these witnesses, I take this woman\nto be my wife by the merciful law of the Prophet of Allah the All-wise,\nthe All-pitying.\"\n\nThe words were out and the thing was done before Asad had realized the\ncorsair\'s intent. A gasp of dismay escaped him; then his visage grew\ninflamed, his eyes blazed.\n\nBut Sakr-el-Bahr, cool and undaunted before that royal anger, took the\nscarf that lay about Rosamund\'s shoulders, and raising it, flung it over\nher head, so that her face was covered by it.\n\n\"May Allah rot off the hand of him who in contempt of our Lord Mahomet\'s\nholy law may dare to unveil that face, and may Allah bless this union\nand cast into the pit of Gehenna any who shall attempt to dissolve a\nbond that is tied in His All-seeing eyes.\"\n\nIt was formidable. Too formidable for Asad-ed-Din. Behind him his\njanissaries like hounds in leash stood eagerly awaiting his command.\nBut none came. He stood there breathing heavily, swaying a little, and\nturning from red to pale in the battle that was being fought within him\nbetween rage and vexation on the one hand and his profound piety on the\nother. And as he yet hesitated perhaps Sakr-el-Bahr assisted his piety\nto gain the day.\n\n\"Now you will understand why I would not yield her, O mighty Asad,\" he\nsaid. \"Thyself hast thou oft and rightly reproached me with my celibacy,\nreminding me that it is not pleasing in the sight of Allah, that it is\nunworthy a good Muslim. At last it hath pleased the Prophet to send me\nsuch a maid as I could take to wife.\"\n\nAsad bowed his head. \"What is written is written,\" he said in the voice\nof one who admonished himself. Then he raised his arms aloft. \"Allah is\nAll-knowing,\" he declared. \"His will be done!\"\n\n\"Ameen,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr very solemnly and with a great surge of\nthankful prayer to his own long-forgotten God.\n\nThe Basha stayed yet a moment, as if he would have spoken. Then abruptly\nhe turned and waved a hand to his janissaries. \"Away!\" was all he said\nto them, and stalked out in their wake.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV. THE SIGN\n\n\nFrom behind her lattice, still breathless from the haste she had made,\nand with her whelp Marzak at her side, Fenzileh had witnessed that first\nangry return of the Basha from the house of Sakr-el-Bahr.\n\nShe had heard him bawling for Abdul Mohktar, the leader of his\njanissaries, and she had seen the hasty mustering of a score of these\nsoldiers in the courtyard, where the ruddy light of torches mingled with\nthe white light of the full moon. She had seen them go hurrying away\nwith Asad himself at their head, and she had not known whether to weep\nor to laugh, whether to fear or to rejoice.\n\n\"It is done,\" Marzak had cried exultantly. \"The dog hath withstood him\nand so destroyed himself. There will be an end to Sakr-el-Bahr this\nnight.\" And he had added: \"The praise to Allah!\"\n\nBut from Fenzileh came no response to his prayer of thanksgiving. True,\nSakr-el-Bahr must be destroyed, and by a sword that she herself had\nforged. Yet was it not inevitable that the stroke which laid him low\nmust wound her on its repercussion? That was the question to which now\nshe sought an answer. For all her eagerness to speed the corsair to his\ndoom, she had paused sufficiently to weigh the consequences to herself;\nshe had not overlooked the circumstance that an inevitable result of\nthis must be Asad\'s appropriation of that Frankish slave-girl. But at\nthe time it had seemed to her that even this price was worth paying to\nremove Sakr-el-Bahr definitely and finally from her son\'s path--which\nshows that, after all, Fenzileh the mother was capable of some\nself-sacrifice. She comforted herself now with the reflection that\nthe influence, whose waning she feared might be occasioned by the\nintroduction of a rival into Asad\'s hareem, would no longer be so\nvitally necessary to herself and Marzak once Sakr-el-Bahr were removed.\nThe rest mattered none so much to her. Yet it mattered something, and\nthe present state of things left her uneasy, her mind a cockpit of\nemotions. Her grasp could not encompass all her desires at once, it\nseemed; and whilst she could gloat over the gratification of one, she\nmust bewail the frustration of another. Yet in the main she felt that\nshe should account herself the gainer.\n\nIn this state of mind she had waited, scarce heeding the savagely joyous\nand entirely selfish babblings of her cub, who cared little what might\nbetide his mother as the price of the removal of that hated rival\nfrom his path. For him, at least, there was nothing but profit in the\nbusiness, no cause for anything but satisfaction; and that satisfaction\nhe voiced with a fine contempt for his mother\'s feelings.\n\nAnon they witnessed Asad\'s return. They saw the janissaries come\nswinging into the courtyard and range themselves there whilst the Basha\nmade his appearance, walking slowly, with steps that dragged a little,\nhis head sunk upon his breast, his hands behind him. They waited to see\nslaves following him, leading or carrying the girl he had gone to fetch.\nBut they waited in vain, intrigued and uneasy.\n\nThey heard the harsh voice in which Asad dismissed his followers, and\nthe clang of the closing gate; and they saw him pacing there alone in\nthe moonlight, ever in that attitude of dejection.\n\nWhat had happened? Had he killed them both? Had the girl resisted him to\nsuch an extent that he had lost all patience and in one of those rages\nbegotten of such resistance made an end of her?\n\nThus did Fenzileh question herself, and since she could not doubt but\nthat Sakr-el-Bahr was slain, she concluded that the rest must be as she\nconjectured. Yet, the suspense torturing her, she summoned Ayoub and\nsent him to glean from Abdul Mohktar the tale of what had passed. In his\nown hatred of Sakr-el-Bahr, Ayoub went willingly enough and hoping for\nthe worst. He returned disappointed, with a tale that sowed dismay in\nFenzileh and Marzak.\n\nFenzileh, however, made a swift recovery. After all, it was the best\nthat could have happened. It should not be difficult to transmute that\nobvious dejection of Asad\'s into resentment, and to fan this into a\nrage that must end by consuming Sakr-el-Bahr. And so the thing could be\naccomplished without jeopardy to her own place at Asad\'s side. For\nit was inconceivable that he should now take Rosamund to his hareem.\nAlready the fact that she had been paraded with naked face among the\nFaithful must in itself have been a difficult obstacle to his pride. But\nit was utterly impossible that he could so subject his self-respect to\nhis desire as to take to himself a woman who had been the wife of his\nservant.\n\nFenzileh saw her way very clearly. It was through Asad\'s devoutness--as\nshe herself had advised, though scarcely expecting such rich results as\nthese--that he had been thwarted by Sakr-el-Bahr. That same devoutness\nmust further be played upon now to do the rest.\n\nTaking up a flimsy silken veil, she went out to him where he now sat\non the divan under the awning, alone there in the tepid-scented summer\nnight. She crept to his side with the soft, graceful, questing\nmovements of a cat, and sat there a moment unheeded almost--such was his\nabstraction--her head resting lightly against his shoulder.\n\n\"Lord of my soul,\" she murmured presently, \"thou art sorrowing.\" Her\nvoice was in itself a soft and soothing caress.\n\nHe started, and she caught the gleam of his eyes turned suddenly upon\nher.\n\n\"Who told thee so?\" he asked suspiciously.\n\n\"My heart,\" she answered, her voice melodious as a viol. \"Can sorrow\nburden thine and mine go light?\" she wooed him. \"Is happiness possible\nto me when thou art downcast? In there I felt thy melancholy, and thy\nneed of me, and I am come to share thy burden, or to bear it all for\nthee.\" Her arms were raised, and her fingers interlocked themselves upon\nhis shoulder.\n\nHe looked down at her, and his expression softened. He needed comfort,\nand never was she more welcome to him.\n\nGradually and with infinite skill she drew from him the story of what\nhad happened. When she had gathered it, she loosed her indignation.\n\n\"The dog!\" she cried. \"The faithless, ungrateful hound! Yet have I\nwarned thee against him, O light of my poor eyes, and thou hast scorned\nme for the warnings uttered by my love. Now at last thou knowest him,\nand he shall trouble thee no longer. Thou\'lt cast him off, reduce him\nagain to the dust from which thy bounty raised him.\"\n\nBut Asad did not respond. He sat there in a gloomy abstraction, staring\nstraight before him. At last he sighed wearily. He was just, and he had\na conscience, as odd a thing as it was awkward in a corsair Basha.\n\n\"In what hath befallen,\" he answered moodily, \"there is naught to\njustify me in casting aside the stoutest soldier of Islam. My duty to\nAllah will not suffer it.\"\n\n\"Yet his duty to thee suffered him to thwart thee, O my lord,\" she\nreminded him very softly.\n\n\"In my desires--ay!\" he answered, and for a moment his voice quivered\nwith passion. Then he repressed it, and continued more calmly--\"Shall\nmy self-seeking overwhelm my duty to the Faith? Shall the matter of\na slave-girl urge me to sacrifice the bravest soldier of Islam, the\nstoutest champion of the Prophet\'s law? Shall I bring down upon my\nhead the vengeance of the One by destroying a man who is a scourge of\nscorpions unto the infidel--and all this that I may gratify my personal\nanger against him, that I may avenge the thwarting of a petty desire?\"\n\n\"Dost thou still say, O my life, that Sakr-el-Bahr is the stoutest\nchampion of the Prophet\'s law?\" she asked him softly, yet on a note of\namazement.\n\n\"It is not I that say it, but his deeds,\" he answered sullenly.\n\n\"I know of one deed no True-Believer could have wrought. If proof were\nneeded of his infidelity he hath now afforded it in taking to himself\na Nasrani wife. Is it not written in the Book to be Read: \'Marry not\nidolatresses\'? Is not that the Prophet\'s law, and hath he not broken\nit, offending at once against Allah and against thee, O fountain of my\nsoul?\"\n\nAsad frowned. Here was truth indeed, something that he had entirely\noverlooked. Yet justice compelled him still to defend Sakr-el-Bahr, or\nelse perhaps he but reasoned to prove to himself that the case against\nthe corsair was indeed complete.\n\n\"He may have sinned in thoughtlessness,\" he suggested.\n\nAt that she cried out in admiration of him. \"What a fount of mercy\nand forbearance art thou, O father of Marzak! Thou\'rt right as in all\nthings. It was no doubt in thoughtlessness that he offended, but would\nsuch thoughtlessness be possible in a True-Believer--in one worthy to be\ndubbed by thee the champion of the Prophet\'s Holy Law?\"\n\nIt was a shrewd thrust, that pierced the armour of conscience in which\nhe sought to empanoply himself. He sat very thoughtful, scowling darkly\nat the inky shadow of the wall which the moon was casting. Suddenly he\nrose.\n\n\"By Allah, thou art right!\" he cried. \"So that he thwarted me and kept\nthat Frankish woman for himself, he cared not how he sinned against the\nlaw.\"\n\nShe glided to her knees and coiled her arms about his waist, looking up\nat him. \"Still art thou ever merciful, ever sparing in adverse judgment.\nIs that all his fault, O Asad?\"\n\n\"All?\" he questioned, looking down at her. \"What more is there?\"\n\n\"I would there were no more. Yet more there is, to which thy angelic\nmercy blinds thee. He did worse. Not merely was he reckless of how he\nsinned against the law, he turned the law to his own base uses and so\ndefiled it.\"\n\n\"How?\" he asked quickly, eagerly almost.\n\n\"He employed it as a bulwark behind which to shelter himself and her.\nKnowing that thou who art the Lion and defender of the Faith wouldst\nbend obediently to what is written in the Book, he married her to place\nher beyond thy reach.\"\n\n\"The praise to Him who is All-wise and lent me strength to do naught\nunworthy!\" he cried in a great voice, glorifying himself. \"I might have\nslain him to dissolve the impious bond, yet I obeyed what is written.\"\n\n\"Thy forbearance hath given joy to the angels,\" she answered him, \"and\nyet a man was found so base as to trade upon it and upon thy piety, O\nAsad!\"\n\nHe shook off her clasp, and strode away from her a prey to agitation. He\npaced to and fro in the moonlight there, and she, well-content, reclined\nupon the cushions of the divan, a thing of infinite grace, her gleaming\neyes discreetly veiled from him--waiting until her poison should have\ndone its work.\n\nShe saw him halt, and fling up his arms, as if apostrophizing Heaven, as\nif asking a question of the stars that twinkled in the wide-flung nimbus\nof the moon.\n\nThen at last he paced slowly back to her. He was still undecided. There\nwas truth in what she had said; yet he knew and weighed her hatred of\nSakr-el-Bahr, knew how it must urge her to put the worst construction\nupon any act of his, knew her jealousy for Marzak, and so he mistrusted\nher arguments and mistrusted himself. Also there was his own love\nof Sakr-el-Bahr that would insist upon a place in the balance of his\njudgment. His mind was in turmoil.\n\n\"Enough,\" he said almost roughly. \"I pray that Allah may send me counsel\nin the night.\" And upon that he stalked past her, up the steps, and so\ninto the house.\n\nShe followed him. All night she lay at his feet to be ready at the first\npeep of dawn to buttress a purpose that she feared was still weak, and\nwhilst he slept fitfully, she slept not at all, but lay wide-eyed and\nwatchful.\n\nAt the first note of the mueddin\'s voice, he leapt from his couch\nobedient to its summons, and scarce had the last note of it died upon\nthe winds of dawn than he was afoot, beating his hands together to\nsummon slaves and issuing his orders, from which she gathered that he\nwas for the harbour there and then.\n\n\"May Allah have inspired thee, O my lord!\" she cried. And asked him:\n\"What is thy resolve?\"\n\n\"I go to seek a sign,\" he answered her, and upon that departed, leaving\nher in a frame of mind that was far from easy.\n\nShe summoned Marzak, and bade him accompany his father, breathed swift\ninstructions of what he should do and how do it.\n\n\"Thy fate has been placed in thine own hands,\" she admonished him. \"See\nthat thou grip it firmly now.\"\n\nIn the courtyard Marzak found his father in the act of mounting a white\nmule that had been brought him.\n\nHe was attended by his wazeer Tsamanni, Biskaine, and some other of his\ncaptains. Marzak begged leave to go with him. It was carelessly granted,\nand they set out, Marzak walking by his father\'s stirrup, a little in\nadvance of the others. For a while there was silence between father and\nson, then the latter spoke.\n\n\"It is my prayer, O my father, that thou art resolved to depose the\nfaithless Sakr-el-Bahr from the command of this expedition.\"\n\nAsad considered his son with a sombre eye. \"Even now the galeasse\nshould be setting out if the argosy is to be intercepted,\" he said. \"If\nSakr-el-Bahr does not command, who shall, in Heaven\'s name?\"\n\n\"Try me, O my father,\" cried Marzak.\n\nAsad smiled with grim wistfulness. \"Art weary of life, O my son, that\nthou wouldst go to thy death and take the galeasse to destruction?\"\n\n\"Thou art less than just, O my father,\" Marzak protested.\n\n\"Yet more than kind, O my son,\" replied Asad, and they went on in\nsilence thereafter, until they came to the mole.\n\nThe splendid galeasse was moored alongside, and all about her there was\ngreat bustle of preparation for departure. Porters moved up and down the\ngangway that connected her with the shore, carrying bales of provisions,\nbarrels of water, kegs of gunpowder, and other necessaries for the\nvoyage, and even as Asad and his followers reached the head of that\ngangway, four negroes were staggering down it under the load of a huge\npalmetto bale that was slung from staves yoked to their shoulders.\n\nOn the poop stood Sakr-el-Bahr with Othmani, Ali, Jasper-Reis, and some\nother officers. Up and down the gangway paced Larocque and Vigitello,\ntwo renegade boatswains, one French and the other Italian, who had\nsailed with him on every voyage for the past two years. Larocque was\nsuperintending the loading of the vessel, bawling his orders for the\nbestowal of provisions here, of water yonder, and of powder about the\nmainmast. Vigitello was making a final inspection of the slaves at the\noars.\n\nAs the palmetto pannier was brought aboard, Larocque shouted to\nthe negroes to set it down by the mainmast. But here Sakr-el-Bahr\ninterfered, bidding them, instead, to bring it up to the stern and place\nit in the poop-house.\n\nAsad had dismounted, and stood with Marzak at his side at the head of\nthe gangway when the youth finally begged his father himself to take\ncommand of this expedition, allowing him to come as his lieutenant and\nso learn the ways of the sea.\n\nAsad looked at him curiously, but answered nothing. He went aboard,\nMarzak and the others following him. It was at this moment that\nSakr-el-Bahr first became aware of the Basha\'s presence, and he came\ninstantly forward to do the honours of his galley. If there was a sudden\nuneasiness in his heart his face was calm and his glance as arrogant and\nsteady as ever.\n\n\"May the peace of Allah overshadow thee and thy house, O mighty Asad,\"\nwas his greeting. \"We are on the point of casting off, and I shall sail\nthe more securely for thy blessing.\"\n\nAsad considered him with eyes of wonder. So much effrontery, so much\nease after their last scene together seemed to the Basha a thing\nincredible, unless, indeed, it were accompanied by a conscience entirely\nat peace.\n\n\"It has been proposed to me that I shall do more than bless this\nexpedition--that I shall command it,\" he answered, watching Sakr-el-Bahr\nclosely. He observed the sudden flicker of the corsair\'s eyes, the only\noutward sign of his inward dismay.\n\n\"Command it?\" echoed Sakr-el-Bahr. \"\'Twas proposed to thee?\" And he\nlaughed lightly as if to dismiss that suggestion.\n\nThat laugh was a tactical error. It spurred Asad. He advanced slowly\nalong the vessel\'s waist-deck to the mainmast--for she was rigged with\nmain and foremasts. There he halted again to look into the face of\nSakr-el-Bahr who stepped along beside him.\n\n\"Why didst thou laugh?\" he questioned shortly.\n\n\"Why? At the folly of such a proposal,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr in haste, too\nmuch in haste to seek a diplomatic answer.\n\nDarker grew the Basha\'s frown. \"Folly?\" quoth he. \"Wherein lies the\nfolly?\"\n\nSakr-el-Bahr made haste to cover his mistake. \"In the suggestion that\nsuch poor quarry as waits us should be worthy thine endeavour, should\nwarrant the Lion of the Faith to unsheathe his mighty claws. Thou,\" he\ncontinued with ringing scorn, \"thou the inspirer of a hundred glorious\nfights in which whole fleets have been engaged, to take the seas upon so\ntrivial an errand--one galeasse to swoop upon a single galley of Spain!\nIt were unworthy thy great name, beneath the dignity of thy valour!\" and\nby a gesture he contemptuously dismissed the subject.\n\nBut Asad continued to ponder him with cold eyes, his face inscrutable.\n\"Why, here\'s a change since yesterday!\" he said.\n\n\"A change, my lord?\"\n\n\"But yesterday in the market-place thyself didst urge me to join\nthis expedition and to command it,\" Asad reminded him, speaking with\ndeliberate emphasis. \"Thyself invoked the memory of the days that\nare gone, when, scimitar in hand, we charged side by side aboard the\ninfidel, and thou didst beseech me to engage again beside thee. And\nnow....\" He spread his hands, anger gathered in his eyes. \"Whence this\nchange?\" he demanded sternly.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr hesitated, caught in his own toils. He looked away from\nAsad a moment; he had a glimpse of the handsome flushed face of Marzak\nat his father\'s elbow, of Biskaine, Tsamanni, and the others all staring\nat him in amazement, and even of some grimy sunburned faces from the\nrowers\' bench on his left that were looking on with dull curiosity.\n\nHe smiled, seeming outwardly to remain entirely unruffled. \"Why... it is\nthat I have come to perceive thy reasons for refusing. For the rest, it\nis as I say, the quarry is not worthy of the hunter.\"\n\nMarzak uttered a soft sneering laugh, as if the true reason of the\ncorsair\'s attitude were quite clear to him. He fancied too, and he was\nright in this, that Sakr-el-Bahr\'s odd attitude had accomplished what\npersuasions addressed to Asad-ed-Din might to the end have failed to\naccomplish--had afforded him the sign he was come to seek. For it was in\nthat moment that Asad determined to take command himself.\n\n\"It almost seems,\" he said slowly, smiling, \"as if thou didst not want\nme. If so, it is unfortunate; for I have long neglected my duty to my\nson, and I am resolved at last to repair that error. We accompany thee\nupon this expedition, Sakr-el-Bahr. Myself I will command it, and Marzak\nshall be my apprentice in the ways of the sea.\"\n\nSakr-el-Bahr said not another word in protest against that proclaimed\nresolve. He salaamed, and when he spoke there was almost a note of\ngladness in his voice.\n\n\"The praise to Allah, then, since thou\'rt determined. It is not for me\nto urge further the unworthiness of the quarry since I am the gainer by\nthy resolve.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV. THE VOYAGE\n\n\nHis resolve being taken, Asad drew Tsamanni aside and spent some moments\nin talk with him, giving him certain instructions for the conduct of\naffairs ashore during his absence. That done, and the wazeer dismissed,\nthe Basha himself gave the order to cast off, an order which there was\nno reason to delay, since all was now in readiness.\n\nThe gangway was drawn ashore, the boatswains whistle sounded, and the\nsteersmen leapt to their niches in the stern, grasping the shafts of the\ngreat steering-oars. A second blast rang out, and down the gangway-deck\ncame Vigitello and two of his mates, all three armed with long whips\nof bullock-hide, shouting to the slaves to make ready. And then, on the\nnote of a third blast of Larocque\'s whistle, the fifty-four poised oars\ndipped to the water, two hundred and fifty bodies bent as one, and when\nthey heaved themselves upright again the great galeasse shot forward and\nso set out upon her adventurous voyage. From her mainmast the red flag\nwith its green crescent was unfurled to the breeze, and from the crowded\nmole, and the beach where a long line of spectators had gathered, there\nburst a great cry of valediction.\n\nThat breeze blowing stiffly from the desert was Lionel\'s friend that\nday. Without it his career at the oar might have been short indeed. He\nwas chained, like the rest, stark naked, save for a loincloth, in the\nplace nearest the gangway on the first starboard bench abaft the narrow\nwaist-deck, and ere the galeasse had made the short distance between the\nmole and the island at the end of it, the boatswain\'s whip had coiled\nitself about his white shoulders to urge him to better exertion than\nhe was putting forth. He had screamed under the cruel cut, but none had\nheeded him. Lest the punishment should be repeated, he had thrown all\nhis weight into the next strokes of the oar, until by the time the\nPeñon was reached the sweat was running down his body and his heart\nwas thudding against his ribs. It was not possible that it could have\nlasted, and his main agony lay in that he realized it, and saw himself\nface to face with horrors inconceivable that must await the exhaustion\nof his strength. He was not naturally robust, and he had led a soft and\npampered life that was very far from equipping him for such a test as\nthis.\n\nBut as they reached the Peñon and felt the full vigour of that warm\nbreeze, Sakr-el-Bahr, who by Asad\'s command remained in charge of the\nnavigation, ordered the unfurling of the enormous lateen sails on\nmain and foremasts. They ballooned out, swelling to the wind, and the\ngaleasse surged forward at a speed that was more than doubled. The order\nto cease rowing followed, and the slaves were left to return thanks to\nHeaven for their respite, and to rest in their chains until such time as\ntheir sinews should be required again.\n\nThe vessel\'s vast prow, which ended in a steel ram and was armed with a\nculverin on either quarter, was crowded with lounging corsairs, who\ntook their ease there until the time to engage should be upon them. They\nleaned on the high bulwarks or squatted in groups, talking, laughing,\nsome of them tailoring and repairing garments, others burnishing their\nweapons or their armour, and one swarthy youth there was who thrummed a\ngimri and sang a melancholy Shilha love-song to the delight of a\nscore or so of bloodthirsty ruffians squatting about him in a ring of\nvariegated colour.\n\nThe gorgeous poop was fitted with a spacious cabin, to which admission\nwas gained by two archways curtained with stout silken tapestries upon\nwhose deep red ground the crescent was wrought in brilliant green. Above\nthe cabin stood the three cressets or stern-lamps, great structures of\ngilded iron surmounted each by the orb and crescent. As if to continue\nthe cabin forward and increase its size, a green awning was erected from\nit to shade almost half the poop-deck. Here cushions were thrown, and\nupon these squatted now Asad-ed-Din with Marzak, whilst Biskaine and\nsome three or four other officers who had escorted him aboard and whom\nhe had retained beside him for that voyage, were lounging upon the\ngilded balustrade at the poop\'s forward end, immediately above the\nrowers\' benches.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr alone, a solitary figure, resplendent in caftan and turban\nthat were of cloth of silver, leaned upon the bulwarks of the larboard\nquarter of the poop-deck, and looked moodily back upon the receding city\nof Algiers which by now was no more than an agglomeration of white cubes\npiled up the hillside in the morning sunshine.\n\nAsad watched him silently awhile from under his beetling brows, then\nsummoned him. He came at once, and stood respectfully before his prince.\n\nAsad considered him a moment solemnly, whilst a furtive malicious smile\nplayed over the beautiful countenance of his son.\n\n\"Think not, Sakr-el-Bahr,\" he said at length, \"that I bear thee\nresentment for what befell last night or that that happening is the\nsole cause of my present determination. I had a duty--a long-neglected\nduty--to Marzak, which at last I have undertaken to perform.\" He seemed\nto excuse himself almost, and Marzak misliked both words and tone. Why,\nhe wondered, must this fierce old man, who had made his name a terror\nthroughout Christendom, be ever so soft and yielding where that stalwart\nand arrogant infidel was concerned?\n\nSakr-el-Bahr bowed solemnly. \"My lord,\" he said, \"it is not for me to\nquestion thy resolves or the thoughts that may have led to them. It\nsuffices me to know thy wishes; they are my law.\"\n\n\"Are they so?\" said Asad tartly. \"Thy deeds will scarce bear out thy\nprotestations.\" He sighed. \"Sorely was I wounded yesternight when thy\nmarriage thwarted me and placed that Frankish maid beyond my reach. Yet\nI respect this marriage of thine, as all Muslims must--for all that\nin itself it was unlawful. But there!\" he ended with a shrug. \"We sail\ntogether once again to crush the Spaniard. Let no ill-will on either\nside o\'er-cloud the splendour of our task.\"\n\n\"Ameen to that, my lord,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr devoutly. \"I almost\nfeared....\"\n\n\"No more!\" the Basha interrupted him. \"Thou wert never a man to fear\nanything, which is why I have loved thee as a son.\"\n\nBut it suited Marzak not at all that the matter should be thus\ndismissed, that it should conclude upon a note of weakening from his\nfather, upon what indeed amounted to a speech of reconciliation. Before\nSakr-el-Bahr could make answer he had cut in to set him a question laden\nwith wicked intent.\n\n\"How will thy bride beguile the season of thine absence, O\nSakr-el-Bahr?\"\n\n\"I have lived too little with women to be able to give thee an answer,\"\nsaid the corsair.\n\nMarzak winced before a reply that seemed to reflect upon himself. But he\nreturned to the attack.\n\n\"I compassionate thee that art the slave of duty, driven so soon to\nabandon the delight of her soft arms. Where hast thou bestowed her, O\ncaptain?\"\n\n\"Where should a Muslim bestow his wife but according to the biddings of\nthe Prophet--in the house?\"\n\nMarzak sneered. \"Verily, I marvel at thy fortitude in quitting her so\nsoon!\"\n\nBut Asad caught the sneer, and stared at his son. \"What cause is there\nto marvel in that a true Muslim should sacrifice his inclinations to\nthe service of the Faith?\" His tone was a rebuke; but it left Marzak\nundismayed. The youth sprawled gracefully upon his cushions, one leg\ntucked under him.\n\n\"Place no excess of faith in appearances, O my father!\" he said.\n\n\"No more!\" growled the Basha. \"Peace to thy tongue, Marzak, and may\nAllah the All-knowing smile upon our expedition, lending strength to\nour arms to smite the infidel to whom the fragrance of the garden is\nforbidden.\"\n\nTo this again Sakr-el-Bahr replied \"Ameen,\" but an uneasiness abode in\nhis heart summoned thither by the questions Marzak had set him. Were\nthey idle words calculated to do no more than plague him, and to keep\nfresh in Asad\'s mind the memory of Rosamund, or were they based upon\nsome actual knowledge?\n\nHis fears were to be quickened soon on that same score. He was leaning\nthat afternoon upon the rail, idly observing the doling out of the\nrations to the slaves, when Marzak came to join him.\n\nFor some moments he stood silently beside Sakr-el-Bahr watching\nVigitello and his men as they passed from bench to bench serving out\nbiscuits and dried dates to the rowers--but sparingly, for oars move\nsluggishly when stomachs are too well nourished--and giving each to\ndrink a cup of vinegar and water in which floated a few drops of added\noil.\n\nThen he pointed to a large palmetto bale that stood on the waist-deck\nnear the mainmast about which the powder barrels were stacked.\n\n\"That pannier,\" he said, \"seems to me oddly in the way yonder. Were\nit not better to bestow it in the hold, where it will cease to be an\nencumbrance in case of action?\"\n\nSakr-el-Bahr experienced a slight tightening at the heart. He knew that\nMarzak had heard him command that bale to be borne into the poop-cabin,\nand that anon he had ordered it to be fetched thence when Asad had\nannounced his intention of sailing with him. He realized that this in\nitself might be a suspicious circumstance; or, rather, knowing what\nthe bale contained, he was too ready to fear suspicion. Nevertheless he\nturned to Marzak with a smile of some disdain.\n\n\"I understood, Marzak, that thou art sailing with us as apprentice.\"\n\n\"What then?\" quoth Marzak.\n\n\"Why merely that it might become thee better to be content to observe\nand learn. Thou\'lt soon be telling me how grapnels should be slung, and\nhow an action should be fought.\" Then he pointed ahead to what seemed\nto be no more than a low cloud-bank towards which they were rapidly\nskimming before that friendly wind. \"Yonder,\" he said, \"are the\nBalearics. We are making good speed.\"\n\nAlthough he said it without any object other than that of turning the\nconversation, yet the fact itself was sufficiently remarkable to be\nworth a comment. Whether rowed by her two hundred and fifty slaves, or\nsailed under her enormous spread of canvas, there was no swifter vessel\nupon the Mediterranean than the galeasse of Sakr-el-Bahr. Onward she\nleapt now with bellying tateens, her well-greased keel slipping through\nthe wind-whipped water at a rate which perhaps could not have been\nbettered by any ship that sailed.\n\n\"If this wind holds we shall be under the Point of Aguila before sunset,\nwhich will be something to boast of hereafter,\" he promised.\n\nMarzak, however, seemed but indifferently interested; his eyes continued\nawhile to stray towards that palmetto bale by the mainmast. At length,\nwithout another word to Sakr-el-Bahr, he made his way abaft, and flung\nhimself down under the awning, beside his father. Asad sat there in a\nmoody abstraction, already regretting that he should have lent an ear\nto Fenzileh to the extent of coming upon this voyage, and assured by now\nthat at least there was no cause to mistrust Sakr-el-Bahr. Marsak came\nto revive that drooping mistrust. But the moment was ill-chosen, and at\nthe first words he uttered on the subject, he was growled into silence\nby his sire.\n\n\"Thou dost but voice thine own malice,\" Asad rebuked him. \"And I am\nproven a fool in that I have permitted the malice of others to urge me\nin this matter. No more, I say.\"\n\nThereupon Marzak fell silent and sulking, his eyes ever following\nSakr-el-Bahr, who had descended the three steps from the poop to the\ngangway and was pacing slowly down between the rowers\' benches.\n\nThe corsair was supremely ill at ease, as a man must be who has\nsomething to conceal, and who begins to fear that he may have been\nbetrayed. Yet who was there could have betrayed him? But three men\naboard that vessel knew his secret--Ali, his lieutenant, Jasper, and\nthe Italian Vigitello. And Sakr-el-Bahr would have staked all his\npossessions that neither Ali nor Vigitello would have betrayed him,\nwhilst he was fairly confident that in his own interests Jasper also\nmust have kept faith. Yet Marzak\'s allusion to that palmetto bale had\nfilled him with an uneasiness that sent him now in quest of his Italian\nboatswain whom he trusted above all others.\n\n\"Vigitello,\" said he, \"is it possible that I have been betrayed to the\nBasha?\"\n\nVigitello looked up sharply at the question, then smiled with\nconfidence. They were standing alone by the bulwarks on the waist-deck.\n\n\"Touching what we carry yonder?\" quoth he, his glance shifting to the\nbale. \"Impossible. If Asad had knowledge he would have betrayed it\nbefore we left Algiers, or else he would never have sailed without a\nstouter bodyguard of his own.\n\n\"What need of bodyguard for him?\" returned Sakr-el-Bahr. \"If it\nshould come to grips between us--as well it may if what I suspect be\ntrue--there is no doubt as to the side upon which the corsairs would\nrange themselves.\"\n\n\"Is there not?\" quoth Vigitello, a smile upon his swarthy face. \"Be\nnot so sure. These men have most of them followed thee into a score of\nfights. To them thou art the Basha, their natural leader.\"\n\n\"Maybe. But their allegiance belongs to Asad-ed-Din, the exalted of\nAllah. Did it come to a choice between us, their faith would urge them\nto stand beside him in spite of any past bonds that may have existed\nbetween them and me.\"\n\n\"Yet there were some who murmured when thou wert superseded in the\ncommand of this expedition,\" Vigitello informed him. \"I doubt not that\nmany would be influenced by their faith, but many would stand by\nthee against the Grand Sultan himself. And do not forget,\" he added,\ninstinctively lowering his voice, \"that many of us are renegadoes like\nmyself and thee, who would never know a moment\'s doubt if it came to\na choice of sides. But I hope,\" he ended in another tone, \"there is no\nsuch danger here.\"\n\n\"And so do I, in all faith,\" replied Sakr-el-Bahr, with fervour. \"Yet\nI am uneasy, and I must know where I stand if the worst takes place. Go\nthou amongst the men, Vigitello, and probe their real feelings, gauge\ntheir humour and endeavour to ascertain upon what numbers I may count\nif I have to declare war upon Asad or if he declares it upon me. Be\ncautious.\"\n\nVigitello closed one of his black eyes portentously. \"Depend upon it,\"\nhe said, \"I\'ll bring you word anon.\"\n\nOn that they parted, Vigitello to make his way to the prow and there\nengage in his investigations, Sakr-el-Bahr slowly to retrace his steps\nto the poop. But at the first bench abaft the gangway he paused, and\nlooked down at the dejected, white-fleshed slave who sat shackled\nthere. He smiled cruelly, his own anxieties forgotten in the savour of\nvengeance.\n\n\"So you have tasted the whip already,\" he said in English. \"But that\nis nothing to what is yet to come. You are in luck that there is a wind\nto-day. It will not always be so. Soon shall you learn what it was that\nI endured by your contriving.\"\n\nLionel looked up at him with haggard, blood-injected eyes. He wanted\nto curse his brother, yet was he too overwhelmed by the sense of the\nfitness of this punishment.\n\n\"For myself I care nothing,\" he replied.\n\n\"But you will, sweet brother,\" was the answer. \"You will care for\nyourself most damnably and pity yourself most poignantly. I speak from\nexperience. \'Tis odds you will not live, and that is my chief regret. I\nwould you had my thews to keep you alive in this floating hell.\"\n\n\"I tell you I care nothing for myself,\" Lionel insisted. \"What have you\ndone with Rosamund?\"\n\n\"Will it surprise you to learn that I have played the gentleman and\nmarried her?\" Oliver mocked him.\n\n\"Married her?\" his brother gasped, blenching at the very thought. \"You\nhound!\"\n\n\"Why abuse me? Could I have done more?\" And with a laugh he\nsauntered on, leaving Lionel to writhe there with the torment of his\nhalf-knowledge.\n\nAn hour later, when the cloudy outline of the Balearic Isles had\nacquired density and colour, Sakr-el-Bahr and Vigitello met again on the\nwaist-deck, and they exchanged some few words in passing.\n\n\"It is difficult to say exactly,\" the boatswain murmured, \"but from what\nI gather I think the odds would be very evenly balanced, and it were\nrash in thee to precipitate a quarrel.\"\n\n\"I am not like to do so,\" replied Sakr-el-Bahr. \"I should not be like to\ndo so in any case. I but desired to know how I stand in case a quarrel\nshould be forced upon me.\" And he passed on.\n\nYet his uneasiness was no whit allayed; his difficulties were very far\nfrom solved. He had undertaken to carry Rosamund to France or Italy; he\nhad pledged her his word to land her upon one or the other shore, and\nshould he fail, she might even come to conclude that such had never\nbeen his real intention. Yet how was he to succeed, now, since Asad was\naboard the galeasse? Must he be constrained to carry her back to Algiers\nas secretly as he had brought her thence, and to keep her there until\nanother opportunity of setting her ashore upon a Christian country\nshould present itself? That was clearly impracticable and fraught with\ntoo much risk of detection. Indeed, the risk of detection was very\nimminent now. At any moment her presence in that pannier might be\nbetrayed. He could think of no way in which to redeem his pledged word.\nHe could but wait and hope, trusting to his luck and to some opportunity\nwhich it was impossible to foresee.\n\nAnd so for a long hour and more he paced there moodily to and fro, his\nhands clasped behind him, his turbaned head bowed in thought, his heart\nvery heavy within him. He was taken in the toils of the evil web which\nhe had spun; and it seemed very clear to him now that nothing short of\nhis life itself would be demanded as the price of it. That, however, was\nthe least part of his concern. All things had miscarried with him and\nhis life was wrecked. If at the price of it he could ensure safety to\nRosamund, that price he would gladly pay. But his dismay and uneasiness\nall sprang from his inability to discover a way of achieving that most\ndesired of objects even at such a sacrifice. And so he paced on alone\nand very lonely, waiting and praying for a miracle.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI. THE PANNIER\n\n\nHe was still pacing there when an hour or so before sunset--some fifteen\nhours after setting out--they stood before the entrance of a long\nbottle-necked cove under the shadow of the cliffs of Aquila Point on\nthe southern coast of the Island of Formentera. He was rendered aware of\nthis and roused from his abstraction by the voice of Asad calling to him\nfrom the poop and commanding him to make the cove.\n\nAlready the wind was failing them, and it became necessary to take to\nthe oars, as must in any case have happened once they were through the\ncoves narrow neck in the becalmed lagoon beyond. So Sakr-el-Bahr, in his\nturn, lifted up his voice, and in answer to his shout came Vigitello and\nLarocque.\n\nA blast of Vigitello\'s whistle brought his own men to heel, and they\npassed rapidly along the benches ordering the rowers to make ready,\nwhilst Jasper and a half-dozen Muslim sailors set about furling\nthe sails that already were beginning to flap in the shifting and\nintermittent gusts of the expiring wind. Sakr-el-Bahr gave the word to\nrow, and Vigitello blew a second and longer blast. The oars dipped, the\nslaves strained and the galeasse ploughed forward, time being kept by\na boatswain\'s mate who squatted on the waist-deck and beat a tomtom\nrhythmically. Sakr-el-Bahr, standing on the poop-deck, shouted his\norders to the steersmen in their niches on either side of the stern, and\nskilfully the vessel was manoeuvred through the narrow passage into the\ncalm lagoon whose depths were crystal clear. Here before coming to rest,\nSakr-el-Bahr followed the invariable corsair practice of going about,\nso as to be ready to leave his moorings and make for the open again at a\nmoment\'s notice.\n\nShe came at last alongside the rocky buttresses of a gentle slope that\nwas utterly deserted by all save a few wild goats browsing near the\nsummit. There were clumps of broom, thick with golden flower, about\nthe base of the hill. Higher, a few gnarled and aged olive trees reared\ntheir grey heads from which the rays of the westering sun struck a glint\nas of silver.\n\nLarocque and a couple of sailors went over the bulwarks on the larboard\nquarter, dropped lightly to the horizontal shafts of the oars, which\nwere rigidly poised, and walking out upon them gained the rocks and\nproceeded to make fast the vessel by ropes fore and aft.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr\'s next task was to set a watch, and he appointed Larocque,\nsending him to take his station on the summit of the head whence a wide\nrange of view was to be commanded.\n\nPacing the poop with Marzak the Basha grew reminiscent of former days\nwhen roving the seas as a simple corsair he had used this cove both for\npurposes of ambush and concealment. There were, he said, few harbours\nin all the Mediterranean so admirably suited to the corsairs\' purpose\nas this; it was a haven of refuge in case of peril, and an unrivalled\nlurking-place in which to lie in wait for the prey. He remembered\nonce having lain there with the formidable Dragut-Reis, a fleet of six\ngalleys, their presence entirely unsuspected by the Genoese admiral,\nDoria, who had passed majestically along with three caravels and seven\ngalleys.\n\nMarzak, pacing beside his father, listened but half-heartedly to these\nreminiscences. His mind was all upon Sakr-el-Bahr, and his suspicions\nof that palmetto bale were quickened by the manner in which for the\nlast two hours he had seen the corsair hovering thoughtfully in its\nneighbourhood.\n\nHe broke in suddenly upon his father\'s memories with an expression of\nwhat was in his mind.\n\n\"The thanks to Allah,\" he said, \"that it is thou who command this\nexpedition, else might this coves advantages have been neglected.\"\n\n\"Not so,\" said Asad. \"Sakr-el-Bahr knows them as well as I do. He has\nused this vantage point afore-time. It was himself who suggested that\nthis would be the very place in which to await this Spanish craft.\"\n\n\"Yet had he sailed alone I doubt if the Spanish argosy had concerned him\ngreatly. There are other matters on his mind, O my father. Observe him\nyonder, all lost in thought. How many hours of this voyage has he spent\nthus. He is as a man trapped and desperate. There is some fear rankling\nin him. Observe him, I say.\"\n\n\"Allah pardon thee,\" said his father, shaking his old head and sighing\nover so much impetuosity of judgment. \"Must thy imagination be for ever\nfeeding on thy malice? Yet I blame not thee, but thy Sicilian mother,\nwho has fostered this hostility in thee. Did she not hoodwink me into\nmaking this unnecessary voyage?\"\n\n\"I see thou hast forgot last night and the Frankish slave-girl,\" said\nhis son.\n\n\"Nay, then thou seest wrong. I have not forgot it. But neither have I\nforgot that since Allah hath exalted me to be Basha of Algiers, He looks\nto me to deal in justice. Come, Marzak, set an end to all this. Perhaps\nto-morrow thou shalt see him in battle, and after such a sight as that\nnever again wilt thou dare say evil of him. Come, make thy peace with\nhim, and let me see better relations betwixt you hereafter.\"\n\nAnd raising his voice he called Sakr-el-Bahr, who immediately turned and\ncame up the gangway. Marzak stood by in a sulky mood, with no notion of\ndoing his father\'s will by holding out an olive branch to the man who\nwas like to cheat him of his birthright ere all was done. Yet was it he\nwho greeted Sakr-el-Bahr when the corsair set foot upon the poop.\n\n\"Does the thought of the coming fight perturb thee, dog of war?\" he\nasked.\n\n\"Am I perturbed, pup of peace?\" was the crisp answer.\n\n\"It seems so. Thine aloofness, thine abstractions....\"\n\n\"Are signs of perturbation, dost suppose?\"\n\n\"Of what else?\"\n\nSakr-el-Bahr laughed. \"Thou\'lt tell me next that I am afraid. Yet I\nshould counsel thee to wait until thou hast smelt blood and powder, and\nlearnt precisely what fear is.\"\n\nThe slight altercation drew the attention of Asad\'s officers who were\nidling there. Biskaine and some three others lounged forward to stand\nbehind the Basha, looking, on in some amusement, which was shared by\nhim.\n\n\"Indeed, indeed,\" said Asad, laying a hand upon Marzak\'s shoulder, \"his\ncounsel is sound enough. Wait, boy, until thou hast gone beside him\naboard the infidel, ere thou judge him easily perturbed.\"\n\nPetulantly Marzak shook off that gnarled old hand. \"Dost thou, O my\nfather, join with him in taunting me upon my lack of knowledge. My youth\nis a sufficient answer. But at least,\" he added, prompted by a wicked\nnotion suddenly conceived, \"at least you cannot taunt me with lack of\naddress with weapons.\"\n\n\"Give him room,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr, with ironical good-humour, \"and he\nwill show us prodigies.\"\n\nMarzak looked at him with narrowing, gleaming eyes. \"Give me a\ncross-bow,\" he retorted, \"and I\'ll show thee how to shoot,\" was his\namazing boast.\n\n\"Thou\'lt show him?\" roared Asad. \"Thou\'lt show him!\" And his laugh rang\nloud and hearty. \"Go smear the sun\'s face with clay, boy.\"\n\n\"Reserve thy judgment, O my father,\" begged Marzak, with frosty dignity.\n\n\"Boy, thou\'rt mad! Why, Sakr-el-Bahr\'s quarrel will check a swallow in\nits flight.\"\n\n\"That is his boast, belike,\" replied Marzak.\n\n\"And what may thine be?\" quoth Sakr-el-Bahr. \"To hit the Island of\nFormentera at this distance?\"\n\n\"Dost dare to sneer at me?\" cried Marzak, ruffling.\n\n\"What daring would that ask?\" wondered Sakr-el-Bahr.\n\n\"By Allah, thou shalt learn.\"\n\n\"In all humility I await the lesson.\"\n\n\"And thou shalt have it,\" was the answer viciously delivered. Marzak\nstrode to the rail. \"Ho there! Vigitello! A cross-bow for me, and\nanother for Sakr-el-Bahr.\"\n\nVigitello sprang to obey him, whilst Asad shook his head and laughed\nagain.\n\n\"An it were not against the Prophet\'s law to make a wager....\" he was\nbeginning, when Marzak interrupted him.\n\n\"Already should I have proposed one.\"\n\n\"So that,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr, \"thy purse would come to match thine head\nfor emptiness.\"\n\nMarzak looked at him and sneered. Then he snatched from Vigitello\'s\nhands one of the cross-bows that he bore and set a shaft to it. And then\nat last Sakr-el-Bahr was to learn the malice that was at the root of all\nthis odd pretence.\n\n\"Look now,\" said the youth, \"there is on that palmetto bale a speck of\npitch scarce larger than the pupil of my eye. Thou\'lt need to strain thy\nsight to see it. Observe how my shaft will find it. Canst thou better\nsuch a shot?\"\n\nHis eyes, upon Sakr-el-Bahr\'s face, watching it closely, observed the\npallor by which it was suddenly overspread. But the corsair\'s recovery\nwas almost as swift. He laughed, seeming so entirely careless that\nMarzak began to doubt whether he had paled indeed or whether his own\nimagination had led him to suppose it.\n\n\"Ay, thou\'lt choose invisible marks, and wherever the arrow enters\nthou\'lt say \'twas there! An old trick, O Marzak. Go cozen women with\nit.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Marzak, \"we will take instead the slender cord that binds\nthe bale.\" And he levelled his bow. But Sakr-el-Bahr\'s hand closed upon\nhis arm in an easy yet paralyzing grip.\n\n\"Wait,\" he said. \"Thou\'lt choose another mark for several reasons. For\none, I\'ll not have thy shaft blundering through my oarsmen and haply\nkilling one of them. Most of them are slaves specially chosen for their\nbrawn, and I cannot spare any. Another reason is that the mark is a\nfoolish one. The distance is not more than ten paces. A childish test,\nwhich, maybe, is the reason why thou hast chosen it.\"\n\nMarzak lowered his bow and Sakr-el-Bahr released his arm. They looked at\neach other, the corsair supremely master of himself and smiling easily,\nno faintest trace of the terror that was in his soul showing upon his\nswarthy bearded countenance or in his hard pale eyes.\n\nHe pointed up the hillside to the nearest olive tree, a hundred paces\ndistant. \"Yonder,\" he said, \"is a man\'s mark. Put me a shaft through the\nlong branch of that first olive.\"\n\nAsad and his officers voiced approval.\n\n\"A man\'s mark, indeed,\" said the Basha, \"so that he be a marksman.\"\n\nBut Marzak shrugged his shoulders with make-believe contempt. \"I knew he\nwould refuse the mark I set,\" said he. \"As for the olive-branch, it is\nso large a butt that a child could not miss it at this distance.\"\n\n\"If a child could not, then thou shouldst not,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr,\nwho had so placed himself that his body was now between Marzak and the\npalmetto bale. \"Let us see thee hit it, O Marzak.\" And as he spoke he\nraised his cross-bow, and scarcely seeming to take aim, he loosed his\nshaft. It flashed away to be checked, quivering, in the branch he had\nindicated.\n\nA chorus of applause and admiration greeted the shot, and drew the\nattention of all the crew to what was toward.\n\nMarzak tightened his lips, realizing how completely he had been\noutwitted. Willy-nilly he must now shoot at that mark. The choice had\nbeen taken out of his hands by Sakr-el-Bahr. He never doubted that he\nmust cover himself with ridicule in the performance, and that there he\nwould be constrained to abandon this pretended match.\n\n\"By the Koran,\" said Biskaine, \"thou\'lt need all thy skill to equal such\na shot, Marzak.\"\n\n\"\'Twas not the mark I chose,\" replied Marzak sullenly.\n\n\"Thou wert the challenger, O Marzak,\" his father reminded him. \"Therefore\nthe choice of mark was his. He chose a man\'s mark, and by the beard of\nMohammed, he showed us a man\'s shot.\"\n\nMarzak would have flung the bow from him in that moment, abandoning\nthe method he had chosen to investigate the contents of that suspicious\npalmetto bale; but he realized that such a course must now cover him\nwith scorn. Slowly he levelled his bow at that distant mark.\n\n\"Have a care of the sentinel on the hill-top,\" Sakr-el-Bahr admonished\nhim, provoking a titter.\n\nAngrily the youth drew the bow. The cord hummed, and the shaft sped to\nbury itself in the hill\'s flank a dozen yards from the mark.\n\nSince he was the son of the Basha none dared to laugh outright save\nhis father and Sakr-el-Bahr. But there was no suppressing a titter to\nexpress the mockery to which the proven braggart must ever be exposed.\n\nAsad looked at him, smiling almost sadly. \"See now,\" he said, \"what\ncomes of boasting thyself against Sakr-el-Bahr.\"\n\n\"My will was crossed in the matter of a mark,\" was the bitter answer.\n\"You angered me and made my aim untrue.\"\n\nSakr-el-Bahr strode away to the starboard bulwarks, deeming the matter\nat an end. Marzak observed him.\n\n\"Yet at that small mark,\" he said, \"I challenge him again.\" As he spoke\nhe fitted a second shaft to his bow. \"Behold!\" he cried, and took aim.\n\nBut swift as thought, Sakr-el-Bahr--heedless now of all\nconsequences--levelled at Marzak the bow which he still held.\n\n\"Hold!\" he roared. \"Loose thy shaft at that bale, and I loose this at\nthy throat. I never miss!\" he added grimly.\n\nThere was a startled movement in the ranks of those who stood behind\nMarzak. In speechless amazement they stared at Sakr-el-Bahr, as he stood\nthere, white-faced, his eyes aflash, his bow drawn taut and ready to\nlaunch that death-laden quarrel as he threatened.\n\nSlowly then, smiling with unutterable malice, Marzak lowered his bow.\nHe was satisfied. His true aim was reached. He had drawn his enemy into\nself-betrayal.\n\nAsad\'s was the voice that shattered that hush of consternation.\n\n\"Kellamullah!\" he bellowed. \"What is this? Art thou mad, too, O\nSakr-el-Bahr?\"\n\n\"Ay, mad indeed,\" said Marzak; \"mad with fear.\" And he stepped quickly\naside so that the body of Biskaine should shield him from any sudden\nconsequences of his next words. \"Ask him what he keeps in that pannier,\nO my father.\"\n\n\"Ay, what, in Allah\'s name?\" demanded the Basha, advancing towards his\ncaptain.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr lowered his bow, master of himself again. His composure was\nbeyond all belief.\n\n\"I carry in it goods of price, which I\'ll not see riddled to please a\npert boy,\" he said.\n\n\"Goods of price?\" echoed Asad, with a snort. \"They\'ll need to be of\nprice indeed that are valued above the life of my son. Let us see these\ngoods of price.\" And to the men upon the waist-deck he shouted, \"Open me\nthat pannier.\"\n\nSakr-el-Bahr sprang forward, and laid a hand upon the Basha\'s arm.\n\n\"Stay, my lord!\" he entreated almost fiercely. \"Consider that this\npannier is my own. That its contents are my property; that none has a\nright to....\"\n\n\"Wouldst babble of rights to me, who am thy lord?\" blazed the Basha, now\nin a towering passion. \"Open me that pannier, I say.\"\n\nThey were quick to his bidding. The ropes were slashed away, and the\nfront of the pannier fell open on its palmetto hinges. There was a\nhalf-repressed chorus of amazement from the men. Sakr-el-Bahr stood\nfrozen in horror of what must follow.\n\n\"What is it? What have you found?\" demanded Asad.\n\nIn silence the men swung the bale about, and disclosed to the eyes of\nthose upon the poop-deck the face and form of Rosamund Godolphin. Then\nSakr-el-Bahr, rousing himself from his trance of horror, reckless of\nall but her, flung down the gangway to assist her from the pannier, and\nthrusting aside those who stood about her, took his stand at her side.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII. THE DUPE\n\n\nFor a little while Asad stood at gaze, speechless in his incredulity.\nThen to revive the anger that for a moment had been whelmed in\nastonishment came the reflection that he had been duped by Sakr-el-Bahr,\nduped by the man he trusted most. He had snarled at Fenzileh and scorned\nMarzak when they had jointly warned him against his lieutenant; if at\ntimes he had been in danger of heeding them, yet sooner or later he\nhad concluded that they but spoke to vent their malice. And yet it was\nproven now that they had been right in their estimate of this traitor,\nwhilst he himself had been a poor, blind dupe, needing Marzak\'s wit to\ntear the bandage from his eyes.\n\nSlowly he went down the gangway, followed by Marzak, Biskaine, and the\nothers. At the point where it joined the waist-deck he paused, and his\ndark old eyes smouldered under his beetling brows.\n\n\"So,\" he snarled. \"These are thy goods of price. Thou lying dog, what\nwas thine aim in this?\"\n\nDefiantly Sakr-el-Bahr answered him: \"She is my wife. It is my right to\ntake her with me where I go.\" He turned to her, and bade her veil her\nface, and she immediately obeyed him with fingers that shook a little in\nher agitation.\n\n\"None questions thy right to that,\" said Asad. \"But being resolved to\ntake her with thee, why not take her openly? Why was she not housed in\nthe poop-house, as becomes the wife of Sakr-el-Bahr? Why smuggle her\naboard in a pannier, and keep her there in secret?\"\n\n\"And why,\" added Marzak, \"didst thou lie to me when I questioned thee\nupon her whereabouts?--telling me she was left behind in thy house in\nAlgiers?\"\n\n\"All this I did,\" replied Sakr-el-Bahr, with a lofty--almost a\ndisdainful--dignity, \"because I feared lest I should be prevented from\nbearing her away with me,\" and his bold glance, beating full upon Asad,\ndrew a wave of colour into the gaunt old cheeks.\n\n\"What could have caused that fear?\" he asked. \"Shall I tell thee?\nBecause no man sailing upon such a voyage as this would have desired the\ncompany of his new-wedded wife. Because no man would take a wife with\nhim upon a raid in which there is peril of life and peril of capture.\"\n\n\"Allah has watched over me his servant in the past,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr,\n\"and I put my trust in Him.\"\n\nIt was a specious answer. Such words--laying stress upon the victories\nAllah sent him--had afore-time served to disarm his enemies. But they\nserved not now. Instead, they did but fan the flames of Asad\'s wrath.\n\n\"Blaspheme not,\" he croaked, and his tall form quivered with rage, his\nsallow old face grew vulturine. \"She was brought thus aboard in secret\nout of fear that were her presence known thy true purpose too must stand\nrevealed.\"\n\n\"And whatever that true purpose may have been,\" put in Marzak, \"it was\nnot the task entrusted thee of raiding the Spanish treasure-galley.\"\n\n\"\'Tis what I mean, my son,\" Asad agreed. Then with a commanding gesture:\n\"Wilt thou tell me without further lies what thy purpose was?\" he asked.\n\n\"How?\" said Sakr-el-Bahr, and he smiled never so faintly. \"Hast thou not\nsaid that this purpose was revealed by what I did? Rather, then, I think\nis it for me to ask thee for some such information. I do assure thee, my\nlord, that it was no part of my intention to neglect the task entrusted\nme. But just because I feared lest knowledge of her presence might lead\nmy enemies to suppose what thou art now supposing, and perhaps persuade\nthee to forget all that I have done for the glory of Islam, I determined\nto bring her secretly aboard.\n\n\"My real aim, since you must know it, was to land her somewhere on the\ncoast of France, whence she might return to her own land, and her own\npeople. That done, I should have set about intercepting the Spanish\ngalley, and never fear but that by Allah\'s favour I should have\nsucceeded.\"\n\n\"By the horns of Shaitan,\" swore Marzak, thrusting himself forward, \"he\nis the very father and mother of lies. Wilt thou explain this desire to\nbe rid of a wife thou hadst but wed?\" he demanded.\n\n\"Ay,\" growled Asad. \"Canst answer that?\"\n\n\"Thou shalt hear the truth,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr.\n\n\"The praise to Allah!\" mocked Marzak.\n\n\"But I warn you,\" the corsair continued, \"that to you it will seem less\neasy to believe by much than any falsehood I could invent. Years ago in\nEngland where I was born I loved this woman and should have taken her\nto wife. But there were men and circumstances that defamed me to her\nso that she would not wed me, and I went forth with hatred of her in my\nheart. Last night the love of her which I believed to be dead and turned\nto loathing, proved to be still a living force. Loving her, I came to\nsee that I had used her unworthily, and I was urged by a desire above\nall others to undo the evil I had done.\"\n\nOn that he paused, and after an instant\'s silence Asad laughed angrily\nand contemptuously. \"Since when has man expressed his love for a woman\nby putting her from him?\" he asked in a voice of scorn that showed the\nprecise value he set upon such a statement.\n\n\"I warned thee it would seem incredible,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr.\n\n\"Is it not plain, O my father, that this marriage of his was no more\nthan a pretence?\" cried Marzak.\n\n\"As plain as the light of day,\" replied Asad. \"Thy marriage with that\nwoman made an impious mock of the True Faith. It was no marriage. It was\na blasphemous pretence, thine only aim to thwart me, abusing my regard\nfor the Prophet\'s Holy Law, and to set her beyond my reach.\" He turned\nto Vigitello, who stood a little behind Sakr-el-Bahr. \"Bid thy men put\nme this traitor into irons,\" he said.\n\n\"Heaven hath guided thee to a wise decision, O my father!\" cried Marzak,\nhis voice jubilant. But his was the only jubilant note that was sounded,\nhis the only voice that was raised.\n\n\"The decision is more like to guide you both to Heaven,\" replied\nSakr-el-Bahr, undaunted. On the instant he had resolved upon his course.\n\"Stay!\" he said, raising his hand to Vigitello, who, indeed had shown no\nsign of stirring. He stepped close up to Asad, and what he said did not\ngo beyond those who stood immediately about the Basha and Rosamund, who\nstrained her ears that she might lose no word of it.\n\n\"Do not think, Asad,\" he said, \"that I will submit me like a camel to\nits burden. Consider thy position well. If I but raise my voice to call\nmy sea-hawks to me, only Allah can tell how many will be left to\nobey thee. Darest thou put this matter to the test?\" he asked, his\ncountenance grave and solemn, but entirely fearless, as of a man in whom\nthere is no doubt of the issue as it concerns himself.\n\nAsad\'s eyes glittered dully, his colour faded to a deathly ashen\nhue. \"Thou infamous traitor....\" he began in a thick voice, his body\nquivering with anger.\n\n\"Ah no,\" Sakr-el-Bahr interrupted him. \"Were I a traitor it is what I\nshould have done already, knowing as I do that in any division of our\nforces, numbers will be heavily on my side. Let then my silence prove\nmy unswerving loyalty, Asad. Let it weigh with thee in considering my\nconduct, nor permit thyself to be swayed by Marzak there, who recks\nnothing so that he vents his petty hatred of me.\"\n\n\"Do not heed him, O my father!\" cried Marzak. \"It cannot be that....\"\n\n\"Peace!\" growled Asad, somewhat stricken on a sudden.\n\nAnd there was peace whilst the Basha stood moodily combing his white\nbeard, his glittering eyes sweeping from Oliver to Rosamund and back\nagain. He was weighing what Sakr-el-Bahr had said. He more than feared\nthat it might be no more than true, and he realized that if he were to\nprovoke a mutiny here he would be putting all to the test, setting all\nupon a throw in which the dice might well be cogged against him.\n\nIf Sakr-el-Bahr prevailed, he would prevail not merely aboard this\ngalley, but throughout Algiers, and Asad would be cast down never to\nrise again. On the other hand, if he bared his scimitar and called upon\nthe faithful to support him, it might chance that recognizing in him the\nexalted of Allah to whom their loyalty was due, they would rally to\nhim. He even thought it might be probable. Yet the stake he put upon\nthe board was too vast. The game appalled him, whom nothing yet had\nappalled, and it scarce needed a muttered caution from Biskaine to\ndetermine him to hold his hand.\n\nHe looked at Sakr-el-Bahr again, his glance now sullen. \"I will consider\nthy words,\" he announced in a voice that was unsteady. \"I would not be\nunjust, nor steer my course by appearances alone. Allah forbid!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII. SHEIK MAT\n\n\nUnder the inquisitive gaping stare of all about them stood Rosamund and\nSakr-el-Bahr regarding each other in silence for a little spell after\nthe Basha\'s departure. The very galley-slaves, stirred from their\nhabitual lethargy by happenings so curious and unusual, craned their\nsinewy necks to peer at them with a flicker of interest in their dull,\nweary eyes.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr\'s feelings as he considered Rosamunds\'s white face in the\nfading light were most oddly conflicting. Dismay at what had befallen\nand some anxious dread of what must follow were leavened by a certain\nmeasure of relief.\n\nHe realized that in no case could her concealment have continued long.\nEleven mortal hours had she spent in the cramped and almost suffocating\nspace of that pannier, in which he had intended to do no more than\ncarry her aboard. The uneasiness which had been occasioned him by the\nimpossibility to deliver her from that close confinement when Asad had\nannounced his resolve to accompany them upon that voyage, had steadily\nbeen increasing as hour succeeded hour, and still he found no way to\nrelease her from a situation in which sooner or later, when the limits\nof her endurance were reached, her presence must be betrayed. This\nrelease which he could not have contrived had been contrived for him\nby the suspicions and malice of Marzak. That was the one grain of\nconsolation in the present peril--to himself who mattered nothing and\nto her, who mattered all. Adversity had taught him to prize benefits\nhowever slight and to confront perils however overwhelming. So he hugged\nthe present slender benefit, and resolutely braced himself to deal\nwith the situation as he found it, taking the fullest advantage of the\nhesitancy which his words had sown in the heart of the Basha. He hugged,\ntoo, the thought that as things had fallen out, from being oppressor and\noppressed, Rosamund and he were become fellows in misfortune, sharing\nnow a common peril. He found it a sweet thought to dwell on. Therefore\nwas it that he faintly smiled as he looked into Rosamund\'s white,\nstrained face.\n\nThat smile evoked from her the question that had been burdening her\nmind.\n\n\"What now? What now?\" she asked huskily, and held out appealing hands to\nhim.\n\n\"Now,\" said he coolly, \"let us be thankful that you are delivered from\nquarters destructive both to comfort and to dignity. Let me lead you to\nthose I had prepared for you, which you would have occupied long since\nbut for the ill-timed coming of Asad. Come.\" And he waved an inviting\nhand towards the gangway leading to the poop.\n\nShe shrank back at that, for there on the poop sat Asad under his awning\nwith Marzak, Biskaine, and his other officers in attendance.\n\n\"Come,\" he repeated, \"there is naught to fear so that you keep a bold\ncountenance. For the moment it is Sheik Mat--check to the king.\"\n\n\"Naught to fear?\" she echoed, staring.\n\n\"For the moment, naught,\" he answered firmly. \"Against what the future\nmay hold, we must determine. Be sure that fear will not assist our\njudgment.\"\n\nShe stiffened as if he had charged her unjustly.\n\n\"I do not fear,\" she assured him, and if her face continued white, her\neyes grew steady, her voice was resolute.\n\n\"Then come,\" he repeated, and she obeyed him instantly now as if to\nprove the absence of all fear.\n\nSide by side they passed up the gangway and mounted the steps of the\ncompanion to the poop, their approach watched by the group that was in\npossession of it with glances at once of astonishment and resentment.\n\nAsad\'s dark, smouldering eyes were all for the girl. They followed her\nevery movement as she approached and never for a moment left her to turn\nupon her companion.\n\nOutwardly she bore herself with a proud dignity and an unfaltering\ncomposure under that greedy scrutiny; but inwardly she shrank and\nwrithed in a shame and humiliation that she could hardly define. In some\nmeasure Oliver shared her feelings, but blent with anger; and urged\nby them he so placed himself at last that he stood between her and the\nBasha\'s regard to screen her from it as he would have screened her from\na lethal weapon. Upon the poop he paused, and salaamed to Asad.\n\n\"Permit, exalted lord,\" said he, \"that my wife may occupy the quarters\nI had prepared for her before I knew that thou wouldst honour this\nenterprise with thy presence.\"\n\nCurtly, contemptuously, Asad waved a consenting hand without vouchsafing\nto reply in words. Sakr-el-Bahr bowed again, stepped forward, and put\naside the heavy red curtain upon which the crescent was wrought in\ngreen. From within the cabin the golden light of a lamp came out to\nmerge into the blue-gray twilight, and to set a shimmering radiance\nabout the white-robed figure of Rosamund.\n\nThus for a moment Asad\'s fierce, devouring eyes observed her, then she\npassed within. Sakr-el-Bahr followed, and the screening curtain swung\nback into its place.\n\nThe small interior was furnished by a divan spread with silken carpets,\na low Moorish table in coloured wood mosaics bearing the newly lighted\nlamp, and a tiny brazier in which aromatic gums were burning and\nspreading a sweetly pungent perfume for the fumigation of all\nTrue-Believers.\n\nOut of the shadows in the farther corners rose silently Sakr-el-Bahr\'s\ntwo Nubian slaves, Abiad and Zal-Zer, to salaam low before him. But for\ntheir turbans and loincloths in spotless white their dusky bodies must\nhave remained invisible, shadowy among the shadows.\n\nThe captain issued an order briefly, and from a hanging cupboard the\nslaves took meat and drink and set it upon the low table--a bowl of\nchicken cooked in rice and olives and prunes, a dish of bread, a melon,\nand a clay amphora of water. Then at another word from him, each took a\nnaked scimitar and they passed out to place themselves on guard beyond\nthe curtain. This was not an act in which there was menace or\ndefiance, nor could Asad so interpret it. The acknowledged presence\nof Sakr-el-Balir\'s wife in that poop-house, rendered the place the\nequivalent of his hareem, and a man defends his hareem as he defends his\nhonour; it is a spot sacred to himself which none may violate, and it is\nfitting that he take proper precaution against any impious attempt to do\nso.\n\nRosamund sank down upon the divan, and sat there with bowed head, her\nhands folded in her lap. Sakr-el-Bahr stood by in silence for a long\nmoment contemplating her.\n\n\"Eat,\" he bade her at last. \"You will need strength and courage, and\nneither is possible to a fasting body.\"\n\nShe shook her head. Despite her long fast, food was repellent. Anxiety\nwas thrusting her heart up into her throat to choke her.\n\n\"I cannot eat,\" she answered him. \"To what end? Strength and courage\ncannot avail me now.\"\n\n\"Never believe that,\" he said. \"I have undertaken to deliver you alive\nfrom the perils into which I have brought you, and I shall keep my\nword.\"\n\nSo resolute was his tone that she looked up at him, and found his\nbearing equally resolute and confident.\n\n\"Surely,\" she cried, \"all chance of escape is lost to me.\"\n\n\"Never count it lost whilst I am living,\" he replied. She considered him\na moment, and there was the faintest smile on her lips.\n\n\"Do you think that you will live long now?\" she asked him.\n\n\"Just as long as God pleases,\" he replied quite coolly. \"What is written\nis written. So that I live long enough to deliver you, then... why,\nthen, faith I shall have lived long enough.\"\n\nHer head sank. She clasped and unclasped the hands in her lap. She\nshivered slightly.\n\n\"I think we are both doomed,\" she said in a dull voice. \"For if you die,\nI have your dagger still, remember. I shall not survive you.\"\n\nHe took a sudden step forward, his eyes gleaming, a faint flush glowing\nthrough the tan of his cheeks. Then he checked. Fool! How could he so\nhave misread her meaning even for a moment? Were not its exact limits\nabundantly plain, even without the words which she added a moment later?\n\n\"God will forgive me if I am driven to it--if I choose the easier way of\nhonour; for honour, sir,\" she added, clearly for his benefit, \"is ever\nthe easier way, believe me.\"\n\n\"I know,\" he replied contritely. \"I would to God I had followed it.\"\n\nHe paused there, as if hoping that his expression of penitence might\nevoke some answer from her, might spur her to vouchsafe him some word\nof forgiveness. Seeing that she continued, mute and absorbed, he sighed\nheavily, and turned to other matters.\n\n\"Here you will find all that you can require,\" he said. \"Should you lack\naught you have but to beat your hands together, one or the other of\nmy slaves will come to you. If you address them in French they will\nunderstand you. I would I could have brought a woman to minister to\nyou, but that was impossible, as you\'ll perceive.\" He stepped to the\nentrance.\n\n\"You are leaving me?\" she questioned him in sudden alarm.\n\n\"Naturally. But be sure that I shall be very near at hand. And meanwhile\nbe no less sure that you have no cause for immediate fear. At least,\nmatters are no worse than when you were in the pannier. Indeed, much\nbetter, for some measure of ease and comfort is now possible to you. So\nbe of good heart; eat and rest. God guard you! I shall return soon after\nsunrise.\"\n\nOutside on the poop-deck he found Asad alone now with Marzak under the\nawning. Night had fallen, the great crescent lanterns on the stern rail\nwere alight and cast a lurid glow along the vessel\'s length, picking out\nthe shadowy forms and gleaming faintly on the naked backs of the slaves\nin their serried ranks along the benches, many of them bowed already in\nattitudes of uneasy slumber. Another lantern swung from the mainmast,\nand yet another from the poop-rail for the Basha\'s convenience. Overhead\nthe clustering stars glittered in a cloudless sky of deepest purple. The\nwind had fallen entirely, and the world was wrapped in stillness broken\nonly by the faint rustling break of waves upon the beach at the cove\'s\nend.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr crossed to Asad\'s side, and begged for a word alone with\nhim.\n\n\"I am alone,\" said the Basha curtly.\n\n\"Marzak is nothing, then,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr. \"I have long suspected\nit.\"\n\nMarzak showed his teeth and growled inarticulately, whilst the Basha,\ntaken aback by the ease reflected in the captain\'s careless, mocking\nwords, could but quote a line of the Koran with which Fenzileh of late\nhad often nauseated him.\n\n\"A man\'s son is the partner of his soul. I have no secrets from Marzak.\nSpeak, then, before him, or else be silent and depart.\"\n\n\"He may be the partner of thy soul, Asad,\" replied the corsair with his\nbold mockery, \"but I give thanks to Allah he is not the partner of mine.\nAnd what I have to say in some sense concerns my soul.\"\n\n\"I thank thee,\" cut in Marzak, \"for the justice of thy words. To be the\npartner of thy soul were to be an infidel unbelieving dog.\"\n\n\"Thy tongue, O Marzak, is like thine archery,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr.\n\n\"Ay--in that it pierces treachery,\" was the swift retort.\n\n\"Nay--in that it aims at what it cannot hit. Now, Allah, pardon me!\nShall I grow angry at such words as thine? Hath not the One proven full\noft that he who calls me infidel dog is a liar predestined to the Pit?\nAre such victories as mine over the fleets of the unbelievers vouchsafed\nby Allah to an infidel? Foolish blasphemer, teach thy tongue better ways\nlest the All-wise strike thee dumb.\"\n\n\"Peace!\" growled Asad. \"Thine arrogance is out of season.\"\n\n\"Haply so,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr, with a laugh. \"And my good sense, too,\nit seems. Since thou wilt retain beside thee this partner of thy soul, I\nmust speak before him. Have I thy leave to sit?\"\n\nLest such leave should be denied him he dropped forthwith to the vacant\nplace beside Asad and tucked his legs under him.\n\n\"Lord,\" he said, \"there is a rift dividing us who should be united for\nthe glory of Islam.\"\n\n\"It is of thy making, Sakr-el-Bahr,\" was the sullen answer, \"and it is\nfor thee to mend it.\"\n\n\"To that end do I desire thine ear. The cause of this rift is yonder.\"\nAnd he jerked his thumb backward over his shoulder towards the\npoop-house. \"If we remove that cause, of a surety the rift itself will\nvanish, and all will be well again between us.\"\n\nHe knew that never could all be well again between him and Asad. He knew\nthat by virtue of his act of defiance he was irrevocably doomed,\nthat Asad having feared him once, having dreaded his power to stand\nsuccessfully against his face and overbear his will, would see to it\nthat he never dreaded it again. He knew that if he returned to Algiers\nthere would be a speedy end to him. His only chance of safety lay,\nindeed, in stirring up mutiny upon the spot and striking swiftly,\nventuring all upon that desperate throw. And he knew that this was\nprecisely what Asad had cause to fear. Out of this assurance had he\nconceived his present plan, deeming that if he offered to heal the\nbreach, Asad might pretend to consent so as to weather his present\ndanger, making doubly sure of his vengeance by waiting until they should\nbe home again.\n\nAsad\'s gleaming eyes considered him in silence for a moment.\n\n\"How remove that cause?\" he asked. \"Wilt thou atone for the mockery of\nthy marriage, pronounce her divorced and relinquish her?\"\n\n\"That were not to remove her,\" replied Sakr-el-Bahr. \"Consider well,\nAsad, what is thy duty to the Faith. Consider that upon our unity\ndepends the glory of Islam. Were it not sinful, then, to suffer the\nintrusion of aught that may mar such unity? Nay, nay, what I propose is\nthat I should be permitted--assisted even--to bear out the project I\nhad formed, as already I have frankly made confession. Let us put to sea\nagain at dawn--or this very night if thou wilt--make for the coast of\nFrance, and there set her ashore that she may go back to her own people\nand we be rid of her disturbing presence. Then we will return--there is\ntime and to spare--and here or elsewhere lurk in wait for this Spanish\nargosy, seize the booty and sail home in amity to Algiers, this\nincident, this little cloud in the splendour of our comradeship, behind\nus and forgotten as though it had never been. Wilt thou, Asad--for the\nglory of the Prophet\'s Law?\"\n\nThe bait was cunningly presented, so cunningly that not for a moment did\nAsad or even the malicious Marzak suspect it to be just a bait and no\nmore. It was his own life, become a menace to Asad, that Sakr-el-Bahr\nwas offering him in exchange for the life and liberty of that Frankish\nslave-girl, but offering it as if unconscious that he did so.\n\nAsad considered, temptation gripping, him. Prudence urged him to accept,\nso that affecting to heal the dangerous breach that now existed he\nmight carry Sakr-el-Bahr back to Algiers, there, beyond the aid of any\nfriendly mutineers, to have him strangled. It was the course to adopt\nin such a situation, the wise and sober course by which to ensure the\noverthrow of one who from an obedient and submissive lieutenant had\nsuddenly shown that it was possible for him to become a serious and\ndangerous rival.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr watched the Basha\'s averted, gleaming eyes under their\nfurrowed, thoughtful brows, he saw Marzak\'s face white, tense and eager\nin his anxiety that his father should consent. And since his father\ncontinued silent, Marzak, unable longer to contain himself, broke into\nspeech.\n\n\"He is wise, O my father!\" was his crafty appeal. \"The glory of Islam\nabove all else! Let him have his way in this, and let the infidel woman\ngo. Thus shall all be well between us and Sakr-el-Bahr!\" He laid such a\nstress upon these words that it was obvious he desired them to convey a\nsecond meaning.\n\nAsad heard and understood that Marzak, too, perceived what was here to\ndo; tighter upon him became temptation\'s grip; but tighter, too, became\nthe grip of a temptation of another sort. Before his fierce eyes there\narose a vision of a tall stately maiden with softly rounded bosom, a\nvision so white and lovely that it enslaved him. And so he found himself\ntorn two ways at once. On the one hand, if he relinquished the woman, he\ncould make sure of his vengeance upon Sakr-el-Bahr, could make sure of\nremoving that rebel from his path. On the other hand, if he determined\nto hold fast to his desires and to be ruled by them, he must be prepared\nto risk a mutiny aboard the galeasse, prepared for battle and perhaps\nfor defeat. It was a stake such as no sane Basha would have consented to\nset upon the board. But since his eyes had again rested upon Rosamund,\nAsad was no longer sane. His thwarted desires of yesterday were the\ndespots of his wits.\n\nHe leaned forward now, looking deep into the eyes of Sakr-el-Bahr.\n\n\"Since for thyself thou dost not want her, why dost thou thwart me?\"\nhe asked, and his voice trembled with suppressed passion. \"So long as I\ndeemed thee honest in taking her to wife I respected that bond as\nbecame a good Muslim; but since \'tis manifest that it was no more than\na pretence, a mockery to serve some purpose hostile to myself, a\ndesecration of the Prophet\'s Holy Law, I, before whom this blasphemous\nmarriage was performed, do pronounce it to be no marriage. There is no\nneed for thee to divorce her. She is no longer thine. She is for any\nMuslim who can take her.\"\n\nSakr-el-Bahr laughed unpleasantly. \"Such a Muslim,\" he announced, \"will\nbe nearer my sword than the Paradise of Mahomet.\" And on the words he\nstood up, as if in token of his readiness.\n\nAsad rose with him in a bound of a vigour such as might scarce have been\nlooked for in a man of his years.\n\n\"Dost threaten?\" he cried, his eyes aflash.\n\n\"Threaten?\" sneered Sakr-el-Bahr. \"I prophesy.\" And on that he turned,\nand stalked away down the gangway to the vessel\'s waist. There was no\npurpose in his going other than his perceiving that here argument were\nworse than useless, and that the wiser course were to withdraw at once,\navoiding it and allowing his veiled threat to work upon the Basha\'s\nmind.\n\nQuivering with rage Asad watched his departure. On the point of\ncommanding him to return, he checked, fearing lest in his present mood\nSakr-el-Bahr should flout his authority and under the eyes of all refuse\nhim the obedience due. He knew that it is not good to command where we\nare not sure of being obeyed or of being able to enforce obedience, that\nan authority once successfully flouted is in itself half-shattered.\n\nWhilst still he hesitated, Marzak, who had also risen, caught him by the\narm and poured into his ear hot, urgent arguments enjoining him to yield\nto Sakr-el-Bahr\'s demand.\n\n\"It is the sure way,\" he cried insistently. \"Shall all be jeopardized\nfor the sake of that whey-faced daughter of perdition? In the name of\nShaitan, let us be rid of her; set her ashore as he demands, as the\nprice of peace between us and him, and in the security of that peace let\nhim be strangled when we come again to our moorings in Algiers. It is\nthe sure way--the sure way!\"\n\nAsad turned at last to look into that handsome eager face. For a moment\nhe was at a loss; then he had recourse to sophistry. \"Am I a coward\nthat I should refuse all ways but sure ones?\" he demanded in a withering\ntone. \"Or art thou a coward who can counsel none other?\"\n\n\"My anxiety is all for thee, O my father,\" Marzak defended himself\nindignantly. \"I doubt if it be safe to sleep, lest he should stir up\nmutiny in the night.\"\n\n\"Have no fear,\" replied Asad. \"Myself I have set the watch, and the\nofficers are all trustworthy. Biskaine is even now in the forecastle\ntaking the feeling of the men. Soon we shall know precisely where we\nstand.\"\n\n\"In thy place I would make sure. I would set a term to this danger of\nmutiny. I would accede to his demands concerning the woman, and settle\nafter-wards with himself.\"\n\n\"Abandon that Frankish pearl?\" quoth Asad. Slowly he shook his head.\n\"Nay, nay! She is a garden that shall yield me roses. Together we shall\nyet taste the sweet sherbet of Kansar, and she shall thank me for having\nled her into Paradise. Abandon that rosy-limbed loveliness!\" He laughed\nsoftly on a note of exaltation, whilst in the gloom Marzak frowned,\nthinking of Fenzileh.\n\n\"She is an infidel,\" his son sternly reminded him, \"so forbidden thee by\nthe Prophet. Wilt thou be as blind to that as to thine own peril?\" Then\nhis voice gathering vehemence and scorn as he proceeded: \"She has gone\nnaked of face through the streets of Algiers; she has been gaped at by\nthe rabble in the sôk; this loveliness of hers has been deflowered by\nthe greedy gaze of Jew and Moor and Turk; galley-slaves and negroes have\nfeasted their eyes upon her unveiled beauty; one of thy captains hath\nowned her his wife.\" He laughed. \"By Allah, I do not know thee, O my\nfather! Is this the woman thou wouldst take for thine own? This the\nwoman for whose possession thou wouldst jeopardize thy life and perhaps\nthe very Bashalik itself!\"\n\nAsad clenched his hands until the nails bit into his flesh. Every word\nhis son had uttered had been as a lash to his soul. The truth of it\nwas not to be contested. He was humiliated and shamed. Yet was he not\nconquered of his madness, nor diverted from his course. Before he could\nmake answer, the tall martial figure of Biskaine came up the companion.\n\n\"Well?\" the Basha greeted him eagerly, thankful for this chance to turn\nthe subject.\n\nBiskaine was downcast. His news was to be read in his countenance. \"The\ntask appointed me was difficult,\" said he. \"I have done my best. Yet\nI could scarce go about it in such a fashion as to draw definite\nconclusions. But this I know, my lord, that he will be reckless indeed\nif he dares to take up arms against thee and challenge thine authority.\nSo much at least I am permitted to conclude.\"\n\n\"No more than that?\" asked Asad. \"And if I were to take up arms against\nhim, and to seek to settle this matter out of hand?\"\n\nBiskaine paused a moment ere replying. \"I cannot think but that Allah\nwould vouchsafe thee victory,\" he said. But his words did not delude the\nBasha. He recognized them to be no more than those which respect for him\ndictated to his officer. \"Yet,\" continued Biskaine, \"I should judge thee\nreckless too, my lord, as reckless as I should judge him in the like\ncircumstances.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Asad. \"The matter stands so balanced that neither of us\ndare put it to the test.\"\n\n\"Thou hast said it.\"\n\n\"Then is thy course plain to thee!\" cried Marzak, eager to renew his\narguments. \"Accept his terms, and....\"\n\nBut Asad broke in impatiently. \"Every thing in its own hour and each\nhour is written. I will consider what to do.\"\n\nBelow on the waist-deck Sakr-el-Bahr was pacing with Vigitello, and\nVigitello\'s words to him were of a tenor identical almost with those of\nBiskaine to the Basha.\n\n\"I scarce can judge,\" said the Italian renegade. \"But I do think that it\nwere not wise for either thou or Asad to take the first step against the\nother.\"\n\n\"Are matters, then, so equal between us?\"\n\n\"Numbers, I fear,\" replied Vigitello, \"would be in favour of Asad. No\ntruly devout Muslim will stand against the Basha, the representative of\nthe Sublime Portal, to whom loyalty is a question of religion. Yet they\nare accustomed to obey thee, to leap at thy command, and so Asad himself\nwere rash to put it to the test.\"\n\n\"Ay--a sound argument,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr. \"It is as I had thought.\"\n\nUpon that he quitted Vigitello, and slowly, thoughtfully, returned\nto the poop-deck. It was his hope--his only hope now--that Asad might\naccept the proposal he had made him. As the price of it he was fully\nprepared for the sacrifice of his own life, which it must entail. But,\nit was not for him to approach Asad again; to do so would be to argue\ndoubt and anxiety and so to court refusal. He must possess his soul in\nwhat patience he could. If Asad persisted in his refusal undeterred by\nany fear of mutiny, then Sakr-el-Bahr knew not what course remained him\nto accomplish Rosamund\'s deliverance. Proceed to stir up mutiny he dared\nnot. It was too desperate a throw. In his own view it offered him no\nslightest chance of success, and did it fail, then indeed all would be\nlost, himself destroyed, and Rosamund at the mercy of Asad. He was as\none walking along a sword-edge. His only chance of present immunity for\nhimself and Rosamund lay in the confidence that Asad would dare no more\nthan himself to take the initiative in aggression. But that was only for\nthe present, and at any moment Asad might give the word to put about\nand steer for Barbary again; in no case could that be delayed beyond the\nplundering of the Spanish argosy. He nourished the faint hope that in\nthat coming fight--if indeed the Spaniards did show fight--some chance\nmight perhaps present itself, some unexpected way out of the present\nsituation.\n\nHe spent the night under the stars, stretched across the threshold of\nthe curtained entrance to the poop-house, making thus a barrier of\nhis body whilst he slept, and himself watched over in his turn by his\nfaithful Nubians who remained on guard. He awakened when the first\nviolet tints of dawn were in the east, and quietly dismissing the weary\nslaves to their rest, he kept watch alone thereafter. Under the awning\non the starboard quarter slept the Basha and his son, and near them\nBiskaine was snoring.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX. THE MUTINEERS\n\n\nLater that morning, some time after the galeasse had awakened to life\nand such languid movement as might be looked for in a waiting crew,\nSakr-el-Bahr went to visit Rosamund.\n\nHe found her brightened and refreshed by sleep, and he brought her\nreassuring messages that all was well, encouraging her with hopes which\nhimself he was very far from entertaining. If her reception of him was\nnot expressedly friendly, neither was it unfriendly. She listened to the\nhopes he expressed of yet effecting her safe deliverance, and whilst\nshe had no thanks to offer him for the efforts he was to exert on\nher behalf--accepting them as her absolute due, as the inadequate\nliquidation of the debt that lay between them--yet there was now none of\nthat aloofness amounting almost to scorn which hitherto had marked her\nbearing towards him.\n\nHe came again some hours later, in the afternoon, by when his Nubians\nwere once more at their post. He had no news to bring her beyond the\nfact that their sentinel on the heights reported a sail to westward,\nbeating up towards the island before the very gentle breeze that was\nblowing. But the argosy they awaited was not yet in sight, and he\nconfessed that certain proposals which he had made to Asad for landing\nher in France had been rejected. Still she need have no fear, he added\npromptly, seeing the sudden alarm that quickened in her eyes. A way\nwould present itself. He was watching, and would miss no chance.\n\n\"And if no chance should offer?\" she asked him.\n\n\"Why then I will make one,\" he answered, lightly almost. \"I have been\nmaking them all my life, and it would be odd if I should have lost the\ntrick of it on my life\'s most important occasion.\"\n\nThis mention of his life led to a question from her.\n\n\"How did you contrive the chance that has made you what you are?\nI mean,\" she added quickly, as if fearing that the purport of that\nquestion might be misunderstood, \"that has enabled you to become a\ncorsair captain.\"\n\n\"\'Tis a long story that,\" he said. \"I should weary you in the telling of\nit.\"\n\n\"No,\" she replied, and shook her head, her clear eyes solemnly meeting\nhis clouded glance. \"You would not weary me. Chances may be few in which\nto learn it.\"\n\n\"And you would learn it?\" quoth he, and added, \"That you may judge me?\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" she said, and her eyes fell.\n\nWith bowed head he paced the length of the small chamber, and back\nagain. His desire was to do her will in this, which is natural\nenough--for if it is true that who knows all must perforce forgive\nall, never could it have been truer than in the case of Sir Oliver\nTressilian.\n\nSo he told his tale. Pacing there he related it at length, from the days\nwhen he had toiled at an oar on one of the galleys of Spain down to that\nhour in which aboard the Spanish vessel taken under Cape Spartel he had\ndetermined upon that voyage to England to present his reckoning to his\nbrother. He told his story simply and without too great a wealth of\ndetail, yet he omitted nothing of all that had gone to place him where\nhe stood. And she, listening, was so profoundly moved that at one moment\nher eyes glistened with tears which she sought vainly to repress. Yet\nhe, pacing there, absorbed, with head bowed and eyes that never once\nstrayed in her direction, saw none of this.\n\n\"And so,\" he said, when at last that odd narrative had reached its end,\n\"you know what the forces were that drove me. Another stronger than\nmyself might have resisted and preferred to suffer death. But I was not\nstrong enough. Or perhaps it is that stronger than myself was my desire\nto punish, to vent the bitter hatred into which my erstwhile love for\nLionel was turned.\"\n\n\"And for me, too--as you have told me,\" she added.\n\n\"Not so,\" he corrected her. \"I hated you for your unfaith, and most of\nall for your having burnt unread the letter that I sent you by the hand\nof Pitt. In doing that you contributed to the wrongs I was enduring,\nyou destroyed my one chance of establishing my innocence and seeking\nrehabilitation, you doomed me for life to the ways which I was treading.\nBut I did not then know what ample cause you had to believe me what\nI seemed. I did not know that it was believed I had fled. Therefore I\nforgive you freely a deed for which at one time I confess that I hated\nyou, and which spurred me to bear you off when I found you under my hand\nthat night at Arwenack when I went for Lionel.\"\n\n\"You mean that it was no part of your intent to have done so?\" she asked\nhim.\n\n\"To carry you off together with him?\" he asked. \"I swear to God I had\nnot premeditated that. Indeed, it was done because not premeditated,\nfor had I considered it, I do think I should have been proof against any\nsuch temptation. It assailed me suddenly when I beheld you there with\nLionel, and I succumbed to it. Knowing what I now know I am punished\nenough, I think.\"\n\n\"I think I can understand,\" she murmured gently, as if to comfort him,\nfor quick pain had trembled in his voice.\n\nHe tossed back his turbaned head. \"To understand is something,\" said\nhe. \"It is half-way at least to forgiveness. But ere forgiveness can be\naccepted the evil done must be atoned for to the full.\"\n\n\"If possible,\" said she.\n\n\"It must be made possible,\" he answered her with heat, and on that he\nchecked abruptly, arrested by a sound of shouting from without.\n\nHe recognized the voice of Larocque, who at dawn had returned to his\nsentinel\'s post on the summit of the headland, relieving the man who had\nreplaced him there during the night.\n\n\"My lord! My lord!\" was the cry, in a voice shaken by excitement, and\nsucceeded by a shouting chorus from the crew.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr turned swiftly to the entrance, whisked aside the\ncurtain, and stepped out upon the poop. Larocque was in the very act\nof clambering over the bulwarks amidships, towards the waist-deck where\nAsad awaited him in company with Marzak and the trusty Biskaine. The\nprow, on which the corsairs had lounged at ease since yesterday, was\nnow a seething mob of inquisitive babbling men, crowding to the rail and\neven down the gangway in their eagerness to learn what news it was that\nbrought the sentinel aboard in such excited haste.\n\nFrom where he stood Sakr-el-Bahr heard Larocque\'s loud announcement.\n\n\"The ship I sighted at dawn, my lord!\"\n\n\"Well?\" barked Asad.\n\n\"She is here--in the bay beneath that headland. She has just dropped\nanchor.\"\n\n\"No need for alarm in that,\" replied the Basha at once. \"Since she has\nanchored there it is plain that she has no suspicion of our presence.\nWhat manner of ship is she?\"\n\n\"A tall galleon of twenty guns, flying the flag of England.\n\n\"Of England!\" cried Asad in surprise. \"She\'ll need be a stout vessel to\nhazard herself in Spanish waters.\"\n\nSakr-el-Bahr advanced to the rail.\n\n\"Does she display no further device?\" he asked.\n\nLarocque turned at the question. \"Ay,\" he answered, \"a narrow blue\npennant on her mizzen is charged with a white bird--a stork, I think.\"\n\n\"A stork?\" echoed Sakr-el-Bahr thoughtfully. He could call to mind no\nsuch English blazon, nor did it seem to him that it could possibly be\nEnglish. He caught the sound of a quickly indrawn breath behind him.\nHe turned to find Rosamund standing in the entrance, not more than half\nconcealed by the curtain. Her face showed white and eager, her eyes were\nwide.\n\n\"What is\'t?\" he asked her shortly.\n\n\"A stork, he thinks,\" she said, as though that were answer enough.\n\n\"I\' faith an unlikely bird,\" he commented. \"The fellow is mistook.\"\n\n\"Yet not by much, Sir Oliver.\"\n\n\"How? Not by much?\" Intrigued by something in her tone and glance, he\nstepped quickly up to her, whilst below the chatter of voices increased.\n\n\"That which he takes to be a stork is a heron--a white heron, and white\nis argent in heraldry, is\'t not?\"\n\n\"It is. What then?\"\n\n\"D\'ye not see? That ship will be the Silver Heron.\"\n\nHe looked at her. \"\'S life!\" said he, \"I reck little whether it be the\nsilver heron or the golden grasshopper. What odds?\"\n\n\"It is Sir John\'s ship--Sir John Killigrew\'s,\" she explained. \"She was\nall but ready to sail when... when you came to Arwenack. He was for the\nIndies. Instead--don\'t you see?--out of love for me he will have come\nafter me upon a forlorn hope of overtaking you ere you could make\nBarbary.\"\n\n\"God\'s light!\" said Sakr-el-Bahr, and fell to musing. Then he raised his\nhead and laughed. \"Faith, he\'s some days late for that!\"\n\nBut the jest evoked no response from her. She continued to stare at him\nwith those eager yet timid eyes.\n\n\"And yet,\" he continued, \"he comes opportunely enough. If the breeze\nthat has fetched him is faint, yet surely it blows from Heaven.\"\n\n\"Were it...?\" she paused, faltering a moment.\n\nThen, \"Were it possible to communicate with him?\" she asked, yet with\nhesitation.\n\n\"Possible--ay,\" he answered. \"Though we must needs devise the means, and\nthat will prove none so easy.\"\n\n\"And you would do it?\" she inquired, an undercurrent of wonder in her\nquestion, some recollection of it in her face.\n\n\"Why, readily,\" he answered, \"since no other way presents itself. No\ndoubt \'twill cost some lives,\" he added, \"but then....\" And he shrugged\nto complete the sentence.\n\n\"Ah, no, no! Not at that price!\" she protested. And how was he to know\nthat all the price she was thinking of was his own life, which she\nconceived would be forfeited if the assistance of the Silver Heron were\ninvoked?\n\nBefore he could return her any answer his attention was diverted. A\nsullen threatening note had crept into the babble of the crew, and\nsuddenly one or two voices were raised to demand insistently that Asad\nshould put to sea at once and remove his vessel from a neighbourhood\nbecome so dangerous. Now, the fault of this was Marzak\'s. His was the\nvoice that first had uttered that timid suggestion, and the infection of\nhis panic had spread instantly through the corsair ranks.\n\nAsad, drawn to the full of his gaunt height, turned upon them the eyes\nthat had quelled greater clamours, and raised the voice which in its\nday had hurled a hundred men straight into the jaws of death without a\nprotest.\n\n\"Silence!\" he commanded. \"I am your lord and need no counsellors save\nAllah. When I consider the time come, I will give the word to row, but\nnot before. Back to your quarters, then, and peace!\"\n\nHe disdained to argue with them, to show them what sound reasons there\nwere for remaining in this secret cove and against putting forth into\nthe open. Enough for them that such should be his will. Not for them to\nquestion his wisdom and his decisions.\n\nBut Asad-ed-Din had lain overlong in Algiers whilst his fleets under\nSakr-el-Bahr and Biskaine had scoured the inland sea. The men were no\nlonger accustomed to the goad of his voice, their confidence in his\njudgment was not built upon the sound basis of past experience. Never\nyet had he led into battle the men of this crew and brought them forth\nagain in triumph and enriched by spoil.\n\nSo now they set their own judgment against his. To them it seemed a\nrecklessness--as, indeed, Marzak had suggested--to linger here, and his\nmere announcement of his purpose was far from sufficient to dispel their\ndoubts.\n\nThe murmurs swelled, not to be overborne by his fierce presence and\nscowling brow, and suddenly one of the renegades--secretly prompted by\nthe wily Vigitello--raised a shout for the captain whom they knew and\ntrusted.\n\n\"Sakr-el-Bahr! Sakr-el-Bahr! Thou\'lt not leave us penned in this cove to\nperish like rats!\"\n\nIt was as a spark to a train of powder. A score of voices instantly took\nup the cry; hands were flung out towards Sakr-el-Bahr, where he stood\nabove them and in full view of all, leaning impassive and stern upon\nthe poop-rail, whilst his agile mind weighed the opportunity thus thrust\nupon him, and considered what profit was to be extracted from it.\n\nAsad fell back a pace in his profound mortification. His face was livid,\nhis eyes blared furiously, his hand flew to the jewelled hilt of his\nscimitar, yet forbore from drawing the blade. Instead he let loose upon\nMarzak the venom kindled in his soul by this evidence of how shrunken\nwas his authority.\n\n\"Thou fool!\" he snarled. \"Look on thy craven\'s work. See what a devil\nthou hast raised with thy woman\'s counsels. Thou to command a galley!\nThou to become a fighter upon the seas! I would that Allah had stricken\nme dead ere I begat me such a son as thou!\"\n\nMarzak recoiled before the fury of words that he feared might be\nfollowed by yet worse. He dared make no answer, offer no excuse; in that\nmoment he scarcely dared breathe.\n\nMeanwhile Rosamund in her eagerness had advanced until she stood at\nSakr-el-Bahr\'s elbow.\n\n\"God is helping us!\" she said in a voice of fervent gratitude. \"This is\nyour opportunity. The men will obey you.\"\n\nHe looked at her, and smiled faintly upon her eagerness. \"Ay, mistress,\nthey will obey me,\" he said. But in the few moments that were sped he\nhad taken his resolve. Whilst undoubtedly Asad was right, and the wise\ncourse was to lie close in this sheltering cove where the odds of their\ngoing unperceived were very heavily in their favour, yet the men\'s\njudgment was not altogether at fault. If they were to put to sea, they\nmight by steering an easterly course pass similarly unperceived, and\neven should the splash of their oars reach the galleon beyond the\nheadland, yet by the time she had weighed anchor and started in pursuit\nthey would be well away straining every ounce of muscle at the oars,\nwhilst the breeze--a heavy factor in his considerations--was become so\nfeeble that they could laugh at pursuit by a vessel that depended upon\nwind alone. The only danger, then, was the danger of the galleon\'s\ncannon, and that danger was none so great as from experience\nSakr-el-Bahr well knew.\n\nThus was he reluctantly forced to the conclusion that in the main the\nwiser policy was to support Asad, and since he was full confident of\nthe obedience of the men he consoled himself with the reflection that a\nmoral victory might be in store for him out of which some surer profit\nmight presently be made.\n\nIn answer, then, to those who still called upon him, he leapt down the\ncompanion and strode along the gangway to the waist-deck to take\nhis stand at the Basha\'s side. Asad watched his approach with angry\nmisgivings; it was with him a foregone conclusion that things being as\nthey were Sakr-el-Bahr would be ranged against him to obtain complete\ncontrol of these mutineers and to cull the fullest advantage from\nthe situation. Softly and slowly he unsheathed his scimitar, and\nSakr-el-Bahr seeing this out of the corner of his eye, yet affected not\nto see, but stood forward to address the men.\n\n\"How now?\" he thundered wrathfully. \"What shall this mean? Are ye all\ndeaf that ye have not heard the commands of your Basha, the exalted\nof Allah, that ye dare raise your mutinous voices and say what is your\nwill?\"\n\nSudden and utter silence followed that exhortation. Asad listened in\nrelieved amazement; Rosamund caught her breath in sheer dismay.\n\nWhat could he mean, then? Had he but fooled and duped her? Were his\nintentions towards her the very opposite to his protestations? She leant\nupon the poop-rail straining to catch every syllable of that speech of\nhis in the lingua franca, hoping almost that her indifferent knowledge\nof it had led her into error on the score of what he had said.\n\nShe saw him turn with a gesture of angry command upon Larocque, who\nstood there by the bulwarks, waiting.\n\n\"Back to thy post up yonder, and keep watch upon that vessel\'s\nmovements, reporting them to us. We stir not hence until such be our\nlord Asad\'s good pleasure. Away with thee!\"\n\nLarocque without a murmur threw a leg over the bulwarks and dropped to\nthe oars, whence he clambered ashore as he had been bidden. And not a\nsingle voice was raised in protest.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr\'s dark glance swept the ranks of the corsairs crowding the\nforecastle.\n\n\"Because this pet of the hareem,\" he said, immensely daring, indicating\nMarzak by a contemptuous gesture, \"bleats of danger into the ears of\nmen, are ye all to grow timid and foolish as a herd of sheep? By Allah!\nWhat are ye? Are ye the fearless sea-hawks that have flown with me, and\nstruck where the talons of my grappling-hooks were flung, or are ye but\nscavenging crows?\"\n\nHe was answered by an old rover whom fear had rendered greatly daring.\n\n\"We are trapped here as Dragut was trapped at Jerba.\"\n\n\"Thou liest,\" he answered. \"Dragut was not trapped, for Dragut found a\nway out. And against Dragut there was the whole navy of Genoa, whilst\nagainst us there is but one single galleon. By the Koran, if she shows\nfight, have we no teeth? Will it be the first galleon whose decks we\nhave overrun? But if ye prefer a coward\'s counsel, ye sons of shame,\nconsider that once we take the open sea our discovery will be assured,\nand Larocque hath told you that she carries twenty guns. I tell you that\nif we are to be attacked by her, best be attacked at close quarters, and\nI tell you that if we lie close and snug in here it is long odds that we\nshall never be attacked at all. That she has no inkling of our presence\nis proven, since she has cast anchor round the headland. And consider\nthat if we fly from a danger that doth not exist, and in our flight\nare so fortunate as not to render real that danger and to court it, we\nabandon a rich argosy that shall bring profit to us all.\"\n\n\"But I waste my breath in argument,\" he ended abruptly. \"You have heard\nthe commands of your lord, Asad-ed-Din, and that should be argument\nenough. No more of this, then.\"\n\nWithout so much as waiting to see them disperse from the rail and return\nto their lounging attitudes about the forecastle, he turned to Asad.\n\n\"It might have been well to hang the dog who spoke of Dragut and Jerba,\"\nhe said. \"But it was never in my nature to be harsh with those who\nfollow me.\" And that was all.\n\nAsad from amazement had passed quickly to admiration and a sort of\ncontrition, into which presently there crept a poisonous tinge of\njealousy to see Sakr-el-Bahr prevail where he himself alone must utterly\nhave failed. This jealousy spread all-pervadingly, like an oil stain. If\nhe had come to bear ill-will to Sakr-el-Bahr before, that ill-will was\nturned of a sudden into positive hatred for one in whom he now beheld a\nusurper of the power and control that should reside in the Basha alone.\nAssuredly there was no room for both of them in the Bashalik of Algiers.\n\nTherefore the words of commendation which had been rising to his lips\nfroze there now that Sakr-el-Bahr and he stood face to face. In silence\nhe considered his lieutenant through narrowing evil eyes, whose message\nnone but a fool could have misunderstood.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr was not a fool, and he did not misunderstand it for a\nmoment. He felt a tightening at the heart, and ill-will sprang to life\nwithin him responding to the call of that ill-will. Almost he repented\nhim that he had not availed himself of that moment of weakness and\nmutiny on the part of the crew to attempt the entire superseding of the\nBasha.\n\nThe conciliatory words he had in mind to speak he now suppressed. To\nthat venomous glance he opposed his ever ready mockery. He turned to\nBiskaine.\n\n\"Withdraw,\" he curtly bade him, \"and take that stout sea-warrior with\nthee.\" And he indicated Marzak.\n\nBiskaine turned to the Basha. \"Is it thy wish, my lord?\" he asked.\n\nAsad nodded in silence, and motioned him away together with the cowed\nMarzak.\n\n\"My lord,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr, when they were alone, \"yesterday I made\nthee a proposal for the healing of this breach between us, and it was\nrefused. But now had I been the traitor and mutineer thou hast dubbed\nme I could have taken full advantage of the humour of my corsairs. Had I\ndone that it need no longer have been mine to propose or to sue.\nInstead it would have been mine to dictate. Since I have given thee\nsuch crowning proof of my loyalty, it is my hope and trust that I may be\nrestored to the place I had lost in thy confidence, and that this being\nso thou wilt accede now to that proposal of mine concerning the Frankish\nwoman yonder.\"\n\nIt was unfortunate perhaps that she should have been standing there\nunveiled upon the poop within the range of Asad\'s glance; for the sight\nof her it may have been that overcame his momentary hesitation and\nstifled the caution which prompted him to accede. He considered her a\nmoment, and a faint colour kindled in his cheeks which anger had made\nlivid.\n\n\"It is not for thee, Sakr-el-Bahr,\" he answered at length, \"to make me\nproposals. To dare it, proves thee far removed indeed from the loyalty\nthy lips profess. Thou knowest my will concerning her. Once hast thou\nthwarted and defied me, misusing to that end the Prophet\'s Holy Law.\nContinue a barrier in my path and it shall be at thy peril.\" His voice\nwas raised and it shook with anger.\n\n\"Not so loud,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr, his eyes gleaming with a response of\nanger. \"For should my men overhear these threats of thine I will not\nanswer for what may follow. I oppose thee at my peril sayest thou. Be\nit so, then.\" He smiled grimly. \"It is war between us, Asad, since\nthou hast chosen it. Remember hereafter when the consequences come to\noverwhelm thee that the choice was thine.\"\n\n\"Thou mutinous, treacherous son of a dog!\" blazed Asad.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr turned on his heel. \"Pursue the path of an old man\'s\nfolly,\" he said over his shoulder, \"and see whither it will lead thee.\"\n\nUpon that he strode away up the gangway to the poop, leaving the Basha\nalone with his anger and some slight fear evoked by that last bold\nmenace. But notwithstanding that he menaced boldly the heart of\nSakr-el-Bahr was surcharged with anxiety. He had conceived a plan; but\nbetween the conception and its execution he realized that much ill might\nlie.\n\n\"Mistress,\" he addressed Rosamund as he stepped upon the poop. \"You are\nnot wise to show yourself so openly.\"\n\nTo his amazement she met him with a hostile glance.\n\n\"Not wise?\" said she, her countenance scornful. \"You mean that I may see\nmore than was intended for me. What game do you play here, sir, that you\ntell me one thing and show me by your actions that you desire another?\"\n\nHe did not need to ask her what she meant. At once he perceived how she\nhad misread the scene she had witnessed.\n\n\"I\'ll but remind you,\" he said very gravely, \"that once before you did\nme a wrong by over-hasty judgment, as has been proven to you.\"\n\nIt overthrew some of her confidence. \"But then....\" she began.\n\n\"I do but ask you to save your judgment for the end. If I live I shall\ndeliver you. Meanwhile I beg that you will keep your cabin. It does not\nhelp me that you be seen.\"\n\nShe looked at him, a prayer for explanation trembling on her lips. But\nbefore the calm command of his tone and glance she slowly lowered her\nhead and withdrew beyond the curtain.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX. THE MESSENGER\n\n\nFor the rest of the day she kept the cabin, chafing with anxiety to know\nwhat was toward and the more racked by it because Sakr-el-Bahr refrained\nthrough all those hours from coming to her. At last towards evening,\nunable longer to contain herself, she went forth again, and as it\nchanced she did so at an untimely moment.\n\nThe sun had set, and the evening prayer was being recited aboard the\ngaleasse, her crew all prostrate. Perceiving this, she drew back again\ninstinctively, and remained screened by the curtain until the prayer was\nended. Then putting it aside, but without stepping past the Nubians\nwho were on guard, she saw that on her left Asad-ed-Din, with Marzak,\nBiskaine, and one or two other officers, was again occupying the divan\nunder the awning. Her eyes sought Sakr-el-Bahr, and presently they\nbeheld him coming up the gangway with his long, swinging stride, in the\nwake of the boat-swain\'s mates who were doling out the meagre evening\nmeal to the slaves.\n\nSuddenly he halted by Lionel, who occupied a seat at the head of his oar\nimmediately next to the gangway. He addressed him harshly in the lingua\nfranca, which Lionel did not understand, and his words rang clearly and\nwere heard--as he intended that they should be--by all upon the poop.\n\n\"Well, dog? How does galley-slave fare suit thy tender stomach?\"\n\nLionel looked up at him.\n\n\"What are you saying?\" he asked in English.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr bent over him, and his face as all could see was evil and\nmocking. No doubt he spoke to him in English also, but no more than\na murmur reached the straining ears of Rosamund, though from his\ncountenance she had no doubt of the purport of his words. And yet she\nwas far indeed from a correct surmise. The mockery in his countenance\nwas but a mask.\n\n\"Take no heed of my looks,\" he was saying. \"I desire them up yonder\nto think that I abuse you. Look as a man would who were being abused.\nCringe or snarl, but listen. Do you remember once when as lads we swam\ntogether from Penarrow to Trefusis Point?\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" quoth Lionel, and the natural sullenness of his mien\nwas all that Sakr-el-Bahr could have desired.\n\n\"I am wondering whether you could still swim as far. If so you might\nfind a more appetizing supper awaiting you at the end--aboard Sir John\nKilligrew\'s ship. You had not heard? The Silver Heron is at anchor in\nthe bay beyond that headland. If I afford you the means, could you swim\nto her do you think?\"\n\nLionel stared at him in profoundest amazement. \"Do you mock me?\" he\nasked at length.\n\n\"Why should I mock you on such a matter?\"\n\n\"Is it not to mock me to suggest a way for my deliverance?\"\n\nSakr-el-Bahr laughed, and he mocked now in earnest. He set his left foot\nupon the rowers\' stretcher, and leaned forward and down his elbow upon\nhis raised knee so that his face was close to Lionel\'s.\n\n\"For your deliverance?\" said he. \"God\'s life! Lionel, your mind was ever\none that could take in naught but your own self. \'Tis that has made\na villain of you. Your deliverance! God\'s wounds! Is there none but\nyourself whose deliverance I might desire? Look you, now I want you to\nswim to Sir John\'s ship and bear him word of the presence here of\nthis galeasse and that Rosamund is aboard it. \'Tis for her that I am\nconcerned, and so little for you that should you chance to be drowned in\nthe attempt my only regret will be that the message was not delivered.\nWill you undertake that swim? It is your one sole chance short of death\nitself of escaping from the rower\'s bench. Will you go?\"\n\n\"But how?\" demanded Lionel, still mistrusting him.\n\n\"Will you go?\" his brother insisted.\n\n\"Afford me the means and I will,\" was the answer.\n\n\"Very well.\" Sakr-el-Bahr leaned nearer still. \"Naturally it will\nbe supposed by all who are watching us that I am goading you to\ndesperation. Act, then, your part. Up, and attempt to strike me. Then\nwhen I return the blow--and I shall strike heavily that no make-believe\nmay be suspected--collapse on your oar pretending to swoon. Leave the\nrest to me. Now,\" he added sharply, and on the word rose with a final\nlaugh of derision as if to take his departure.\n\nBut Lionel was quick to follow the instructions. He leapt up in his\nbonds, and reaching out as far as they would permit him, he struck\nSakr-el-Bahr heavily upon the face. On his side, too, there was to be no\nmake-believe apparent. That done he sank down with a clank of shackles\nto the bench again, whilst every one of his fellow-slaves that faced his\nway looked on with fearful eyes.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr was seen to reel under the blow, and instantly there was\na commotion on board. Biskaine leapt to his feet with a half-cry of\nastonishment; even Asad\'s eyes kindled with interest at so unusual a\nsight as that of a galley-slave attacking a corsair. Then with a snarl\nof anger, the snarl of an enraged beast almost, Sakr-el-Bahr\'s great arm\nwas swung aloft and his fist descended like a hammer upon Lionel\'s head.\n\nLionel sank forward under the blow, his senses swimming. Sakr-el-Bahr\'s\narm swung up a second time.\n\n\"Thou dog!\" he roared, and then checked, perceiving that Lionel appeared\nto have swooned.\n\nHe turned and bellowed for Vigitello and his mates in a voice that was\nhoarse with passion. Vigitello came at a run, a couple of his men at his\nheels.\n\n\"Unshackle me this carrion, and heave it overboard,\" was the harsh\norder. \"Let that serve as an example to the others. Let them learn thus\nthe price of mutiny in their lousy ranks. To it, I say.\"\n\nAway sped a man for hammer and chisel. He returned with them at once.\nFour sharp metallic blows rang out, and Lionel was dragged forth from\nhis place to the gangway-deck. Here he revived, and screamed for mercy\nas though he were to be drowned in earnest.\n\nBiskaine chuckled under the awning, Asad looked on approvingly, Rosamund\ndrew back, shuddering, choking, and near to fainting from sheer horror.\n\nShe saw Lionel borne struggling in the arms of the boatswain\'s men to\nthe starboard quarter, and flung over the side with no more compunction\nor care than had he been so much rubbish. She heard the final scream of\nterror with which he vanished, the splash of his fall, and then in the\nensuing silence the laugh of Sakr-el-Bahr.\n\nFor a spell she stood there with horror and loathing of that renegade\ncorsair in her soul. Her mind was bewildered and confused. She sought\nto restore order in it, that she might consider this fresh deed of his,\nthis act of wanton brutality and fratricide. And all that she could\ngather was the firm conviction that hitherto he had cheated her; he had\nlied when he swore that his aim was to effect her deliverance. It was\nnot in such a nature to know a gentle mood of penitence for a wrong\ndone. What might be his purpose she could not yet perceive, but that it\nwas an evil one she never doubted, for no purpose of his could be aught\nbut evil. So overwrought was she now that she forgot all Lionel\'s sins,\nand found her heart filled with compassion for him hurled in that brutal\nfashion to his death.\n\nAnd then, quite suddenly a shout rang out from the forecastle.\n\n\"He is swimming!\"\n\nSakr-el-Bahr had been prepared for the chance of this.\n\n\"Where? Where?\" he cried, and sprang to the bulwarks.\n\n\"Yonder!\" A man was pointing. Others had joined him and were peering\nthrough the gathering gloom at the moving object that was Lionel\'s head\nand the faintly visible swirl of water about it which indicated that he\nswam.\n\n\"Out to sea!\" cried Sakr-el-Bahr. \"He\'ll not swim far in any case. But\nwe will shorten his road for him.\" He snatched a cross-bow from the rack\nabout the mainmast, fitted a shaft to it and took aim.\n\nOn the point of loosing the bolt he paused.\n\n\"Marzak!\" he called. \"Here, thou prince of marksmen, is a butt for\nthee!\"\n\nFrom the poop-deck whence with his father he too was watching the\nswimmer\'s head, which at every moment became more faint in the failing\nlight, Marzak looked with cold disdain upon his challenger, making no\nreply. A titter ran through the crew.\n\n\"Come now,\" cried Sakr-el-Bahr. \"Take up thy bow!\"\n\n\"If thou delay much longer,\" put in Asad, \"he will be beyond thine aim.\nAlready he is scarcely visible.\"\n\n\"The more difficult a butt, then,\" answered Sakr-el-B ahr, who was but\ndelaying to gain time. \"The keener test. A hundred philips, Marzak, that\nthou\'lt not hit me that head in three shots, and that I\'ll sink him at\nthe first! Wilt take the wager?\"\n\n\"The unbeliever is for ever peeping forth from thee,\" was Marzak\'s\ndignified reply. \"Games of chance are forbidden by the Prophet.\"\n\n\"Make haste, man!\" cried Asad. \"Already I can scarce discern him. Loose\nthy quarrel.\"\n\n\"Pooh,\" was the disdainful answer. \"A fair mark still for such an eye as\nmine. I never miss--not even in the dark.\"\n\n\"Vain boaster,\" said Marzak.\n\n\"Am I so?\" Sakr-el-Bahr loosed his shaft at last into the gloom, and\npeered after it following its flight, which was wide of the direction of\nthe swimmer\'s head. \"A hit!\" he cried brazenly. \"He\'s gone!\"\n\n\"I think I see him still,\" said one.\n\n\"Thine eyes deceive thee in this light. No man was ever known to swim\nwith an arrow through his brain.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" put in Jasper, who stood behind Sakr-el-Bahr. \"He has vanished.\"\n\n\"\'Tis too dark to see,\" said Vigitello.\n\nAnd then Asad turned from the vessel\'s side. \"Well, well--shot or\ndrowned, he\'s gone,\" he said, and there the matter ended.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr replaced the cross-bow in the rack, and came slowly up to\nthe poop.\n\nIn the gloom he found himself confronted by Rosamund\'s white face\nbetween the two dusky countenances of his Nubians. She drew back before\nhim as he approached, and he, intent upon imparting his news to her,\nfollowed her within the poop-house, and bade Abiad bring lights.\n\nWhen these had been kindled they faced each other, and he perceived her\nprofound agitation and guessed the cause of it. Suddenly she broke into\nspeech.\n\n\"You beast! You devil!\" she panted. \"God will punish you! I shall\nspend my every breath in praying Him to punish you as you deserve. You\nmurderer! You hound! And I like a poor simpleton was heeding your false\nwords. I was believing you sincere in your repentance of the wrong you\nhave done me. But now you have shown me....\"\n\n\"How have I hurt you in what I have done to Lionel?\" he cut in, a little\namazed by so much vehemence.\n\n\"Hurt me!\" she cried, and on the words grew cold and calm again with\nvery scorn. \"I thank God it is beyond your power to hurt me. And I thank\nyou for correcting my foolish misconception of you, my belief in your\npitiful pretence that it was your aim to save me. I would not accept\nsalvation at your murderer\'s hands. Though, indeed, I shall not be\nput to it. Rather,\" she pursued, a little wildly now in her deep\nmortification, \"are you like to sacrifice me to your own vile ends,\nwhatever they may be. But I shall thwart you, Heaven helping me. Be\nsure I shall not want courage for that.\" And with a shuddering moan she\ncovered her face, and stood swaying there before him.\n\nHe looked on with a faint, bitter smile, understanding her mood just as\nhe understood her dark threat of thwarting him.\n\n\"I came,\" he said quietly, \"to bring you the assurance that he has got\nsafely away, and to tell you upon what manner of errand I have sent\nhim.\"\n\nSomething compelling in his voice, the easy assurance with which he\nspoke, drew her to stare at him again.\n\n\"I mean Lionel, of course,\" he said, in answer to her questioning\nglance. \"That scene between us--the blow and the swoon and the rest of\nit--was all make-believe. So afterwards the shooting. My challenge to\nMarzak was a ruse to gain time--to avoid shooting until Lionel\'s head\nshould have become so dimly visible in the dusk that none could say\nwhether it was still there or not. My shaft went wide of him, as I\nintended. He is swimming round the head with my message to Sir John\nKilligrew. He was a strong swimmer in the old days, and should easily\nreach his goal. That is what I came to tell you.\"\n\nFor a long spell she continued to stare at him in silence.\n\n\"You are speaking the truth?\" she asked at last, in a small voice.\n\nHe shrugged. \"You will have a difficulty in perceiving the object I\nmight serve by falsehood.\"\n\nShe sat down suddenly upon the divan; it was almost as if she collapsed\nbereft of strength; and as suddenly she fell to weeping softly.\n\n\"And... and I believed that you... that you....\"\n\n\"Just so,\" he grimly interrupted. \"You always did believe the best of\nme.\"\n\nAnd on that he turned and went out abruptly.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI. MORITURUS\n\n\nHe departed from her presence with bitterness in his heart, leaving a\nprofound contrition in her own. The sense of this her last injustice to\nhim so overwhelmed her that it became the gauge by which she measured\nthat other earlier wrong he had suffered at her hands. Perhaps her\noverwrought mind falsified the perspective, exaggerating it until it\nseemed to her that all the suffering and evil with which this chronicle\nhas been concerned were the direct fruits of her own sin of unfaith.\n\nSince all sincere contrition must of necessity bring forth an ardent\ndesire to atone, so was it now with her. Had he but refrained from\ndeparting so abruptly he might have had her on her knees to him\nsuing for pardon for all the wrongs which her thoughts had done him,\nproclaiming her own utter unworthiness and baseness. But since his\nrighteous resentment had driven him from her presence she could but sit\nand brood upon it all, considering the words in which to frame her plea\nfor forgiveness when next he should return.\n\nBut the hours sped, and there was no sign of him. And then, almost\nwith a shock of dread came the thought that ere long perhaps Sir John\nKilligrew\'s ship would be upon them. In her distraught state of mind she\nhad scarcely pondered that contingency. Now that it occurred to her\nall her concern was for the result of it to Sir Oliver. Would there\nbe fighting, and would he perhaps perish in that conflict at the hands\neither of the English or of the corsairs whom for her sake he had\nbetrayed, perhaps without ever hearing her confession of penitence,\nwithout speaking those words of forgiveness of which her soul stood in\nsuch thirsty need?\n\nIt would be towards midnight when unable longer to bear the suspense of\nit, she rose and softly made her way to the entrance. Very quietly she\nlifted the curtain, and in the act of stepping forth almost stumbled\nover a body that lay across the threshold. She drew back with a startled\ngasp; then stooped to look, and by the faint rays of the lanterns on\nmainmast and poop-rail she recognized Sir Oliver, and saw that he slept.\nShe never heeded the two Nubians immovable as statues who kept guard.\nShe continued to bend over him, and then gradually and very softly sank\ndown on her knees beside him. There were tears in her eyes--tears\nwrung from her by a tender emotion of wonder and gratitude at so much\nfidelity. She did not know that he had slept thus last night. But it\nwas enough for her to find him here now. It moved her oddly, profoundly,\nthat this man whom she had ever mistrusted and misjudged should even\nwhen he slept make of his body a barrier for her greater security and\nprotection.\n\nA sob escaped her, and at the sound, so lightly and vigilantly did he\ntake his rest, he came instantly if silently to a sitting attitude; and\nso they looked into each other\'s eyes, his swarthy, bearded hawk face on\na level with her white gleaming countenance.\n\n\"What is it?\" he whispered.\n\nShe drew back instantly, taken with sudden panic at that question. Then\nrecovering, and seeking womanlike to evade and dissemble the thing she\nwas come to do, now that the chance of doing it was afforded her--\"Do\nyou think,\" she faltered, \"that Lionel will have reached Sir John\'s\nship?\"\n\nHe flashed a glance in the direction of the divan under the awning where\nthe Basha slept. There all was still. Besides, the question had been\nasked in English. He rose and held out a hand to help her to her feet.\nThen he signed to her to reenter the poop-house, and followed her\nwithin.\n\n\"Anxiety keeps you wakeful?\" he said, half-question, half-assertion.\n\n\"Indeed,\" she replied.\n\n\"There is scarce the need,\" he assured her. \"Sir John will not be\nlike to stir until dead of night, that he may make sure of taking us\nunawares. I have little doubt that Lionel would reach him. It is none\nso long a swim. Indeed, once outside the cove he could take to the land\nuntil he was abreast of the ship. Never doubt he will have done his\nerrand.\"\n\nShe sat down, her glance avoiding his; but the light falling on her face\nshowed him the traces there of recent tears.\n\n\"There will be fighting when Sir John arrives?\" she asked him presently.\n\n\"Like enough. But what can it avail? We shall be caught--as was said\nto-day--in just such a trap as that in which Andrea Doria caught Dragut\nat Jerba, saving that whilst the wily Dragut found a way out for his\ngalleys, here none is possible. Courage, then, for the hour of your\ndeliverance is surely at hand.\"\n\nHe paused, and then in a softer voice, humbly almost, \"It is my prayer,\"\nhe added, \"that hereafter in a happy future these last few weeks shall\ncome to seem no more than an evil dream to you.\"\n\nTo that prayer she offered no response. She sat bemused, her brow\nwrinkled.\n\n\"I would it might be done without fighting,\" she said presently, and\nsighed wearily.\n\n\"You need have no fear,\" he assured her. \"I shall take all precautions\nfor you. You shall remain here until all is over and the entrance will\nbe guarded by a few whom I can trust.\"\n\n\"You mistake me,\" she replied, and looked up at him suddenly. \"Do you\nsuppose my fears are for myself?\" She paused again, and then abruptly\nasked him, \"What will befall you?\"\n\n\"I thank you for the thought,\" he replied gravely. \"No doubt I shall\nmeet with my deserts. Let it but come swiftly when it comes.\"\n\n\"Ah, no, no!\" she cried. \"Not that!\" And rose in her sudden agitation.\n\n\"What else remains?\" he asked, and smiled. \"What better fate could\nanyone desire me?\"\n\n\"You shall live to return to England,\" she surprised him by exclaiming.\n\"The truth must prevail, and justice be done you.\"\n\nHe looked at her with so fierce and searching a gaze that she averted\nher eyes. Then he laughed shortly.\n\n\"There\'s but one form of justice I can look for in England,\" said he.\n\"It is a justice administered in hemp. Believe me, mistress, I am grown\ntoo notorious for mercy. Best end it here to-night. Besides,\" he added,\nand his mockery fell from him, his tone became gloomy, \"bethink you of\nmy present act of treachery to these men of mine, who, whatever they may\nbe, have followed me into a score of perils and but to-day have shown\ntheir love and loyalty to me to be greater than their devotion to the\nBasha himself. I shall have delivered them to the sword. Could I survive\nwith honour? They may be but poor heathens to you and yours, but to me\nthey are my sea-hawks, my warriors, my faithful gallant followers, and I\nwere a dog indeed did I survive the death to which I have doomed them.\"\n\nAs she listened and gathered from his words the apprehension of a thing\nthat had hitherto escaped her, her eyes grew wide in sudden horror.\n\n\"Is that to be the cost of my deliverance?\" she asked him fearfully.\n\n\"I trust not,\" he replied. \"I have something in mind that will perhaps\navoid it.\"\n\n\"And save your own life as well?\" she asked him quickly.\n\n\"Why waste a thought upon so poor a thing? My life was forfeit already.\nIf I go back to Algiers they will assuredly hang me. Asad will see to\nit, and not all my sea-hawks could save me from my fate.\"\n\nShe sank down again upon the divan, and sat there rocking her arms in a\ngesture of hopeless distress.\n\n\"I see,\" she said. \"I see. I am bringing this fate upon you. When you\nsent Lionel upon that errand you voluntarily offered up your life to\nrestore me to my own people. You had no right to do this without first\nconsulting me. You had no right to suppose I would be a party to such a\nthing. I will not accept the sacrifice. I will not, Sir Oliver.\"\n\n\"Indeed, you have no choice, thank God!\" he answered her. \"But you are\nastray in your conclusions. It is I alone who have brought this fate\nupon myself. It is the very proper fruit of my insensate deed. It\nrecoils upon me as all evil must upon him that does it.\" He shrugged his\nshoulders as if to dismiss the matter. Then in a changed voice, a voice\nsingularly timid, soft, and gentle, \"it were perhaps too much to ask,\"\nsaid he, \"that you should forgive me all the suffering I have brought\nyou?\"\n\n\"I think,\" she answered him, \"that it is for me to beg forgiveness of\nyou.\"\n\n\"Of me?\"\n\n\"For my unfaith, which has been the source of all. For my readiness to\nbelieve evil of you five years ago, for having burnt unread your letter\nand the proof of your innocence that accompanied it.\"\n\nHe smiled upon her very kindly. \"I think you said your instinct guided\nyou. Even though I had not done the thing imputed to me, your instinct\nknew me for evil; and your instinct was right, for evil I am--I must be.\nThese are your own words. But do not think that I mock you with them. I\nhave come to recognize their truth.\"\n\nShe stretched out her hands to him. \"If... if I were to say that I have\ncome to realize the falsehood of all that?\"\n\n\"I should understand it to be the charity which your pitiful heart\nextends to one in my extremity. Your instinct was not at fault.\"\n\n\"It was! It was!\"\n\nBut he was not to be driven out of his conviction. He shook his head,\nhis countenance gloomy. \"No man who was not evil could have done by you\nwhat I have done, however deep the provocation. I perceive it clearly\nnow--as men in their last hour perceive hidden things.\"\n\n\"Oh, why are you so set on death?\" she cried upon a despairing note.\n\n\"I am not,\" he answered with a swift resumption of his more habitual\nmanner. \"\'Tis death that is so set on me. But at least I meet it without\nfear or regret. I face it as we must all face the inevitable--the gifts\nfrom the hands of destiny. And I am heart-ened--gladdened almost--by\nyour sweet forgive-ness.\"\n\nShe rose suddenly, and came to him. She caught his arm, and standing\nvery close to him, looked up now into his face.\n\n\"We have need to forgive each other, you and I, Oliver,\" she said. \"And\nsince forgiveness effaces all, let... let all that has stood between us\nthese last five years be now effaced.\"\n\nHe caught his breath as he looked down into her white, straining face\n\n\"Is it impossible for us to go back five years? Is it impossible for us\nto go back to where we stood in those old days at Godolphin Court?\"\n\nThe light that had suddenly been kindled in his face faded slowly,\nleaving it grey and drawn. His eyes grew clouded with sorrow and\ndespair.\n\n\"Who has erred must abide by his error--and so must the generations that\ncome after him. There is no going back ever. The gates of the past are\ntight-barred against us.\"\n\n\"Then let us leave them so. Let us turn our backs upon that past, you\nand I, and let us set out afresh together, and so make amends to each\nother for what our folly has lost to us in those years.\"\n\nHe set his hands upon her shoulders, and held her so at arm\'s length\nfrom him considering her with very tender eyes.\n\n\"Sweet lady!\" he murmured, and sighed heavily. \"God! How happy might\nwe not have been but for that evil chance....\" He checked abruptly. His\nhands fell from her shoulders to his sides, he half-turned away, brusque\nnow in tone and manner. \"I grow maudlin. Your sweet pity has so softened\nme that I had almost spoke of love; and what have I to do with that?\nLove belongs to life; love is life; whilst I... Moriturus te salutat!\"\n\n\"Ah, no, no!\" She was clinging to him again with shaking hands, her eyes\nwild.\n\n\"It is too late,\" he answered her. \"There is no bridge can span the pit\nI have dug myself. I must go down into it as cheerfully as God will let\nme.\"\n\n\"Then,\" she cried in sudden exaltation, \"I will go down with you. At the\nlast, at least, we shall be together.\"\n\n\"Now here is midsummer frenzy!\" he protested, yet there was a tenderness\nin the very impatience of his accents. He stroked the golden head that\nlay against his shoulder. \"How shall that help me?\" he asked her. \"Would\nyou embitter my last hour--rob death of all its glory? Nay, Rosamund,\nyou can serve me better far by living. Return to England, and publish\nthere the truth of what you have learnt. Be yours the task of clearing\nmy honour of this stain upon it, proclaiming the truth of what drove\nme to the infamy of becoming a renegade and a corsair.\" He started from\nher. \"Hark! What\'s that?\"\n\nFrom without had come a sudden cry, \"Afoot! To arms! To arms! Holâ!\nBalâk! Balâk!\"\n\n\"It is the hour,\" he said, and turning from her suddenly sprang to the\nentrance and plucked aside the curtain.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII. THE SURRENDER\n\n\nUp the gangway between the lines of slumbering slaves came a quick\npatter of feet. Ali, who since sunset had been replacing Larocque on the\nheights, sprang suddenly upon the poop still shouting.\n\n\"Captain! Captain! My lord! Afoot! Up! or we are taken!\"\n\nThroughout the vessel\'s length came the rustle and stir of waking men. A\nvoice clamoured somewhere on the forecastle. Then the flap of the awning\nwas suddenly whisked aside and Asad himself appeared with Marzak at his\nelbow.\n\nFrom the starboard side as suddenly came Biskaine and Othmani, and\nfrom the waist Vigitello, Jasper--that latest renegade--and a group of\nalarmed corsairs.\n\n\"What now?\" quoth the Basha.\n\nAli delivered his message breathlessly. \"The galleon has weighed anchor.\nShe is moving out of the bay.\"\n\nAsad clutched his beard, and scowled. \"Now what may that portend? Can\nknowledge of our presence have reached them?\"\n\n\"Why else should she move from her anchorage thus in the dead of night?\"\nsaid Biskaine.\n\n\"Why else, indeed?\" returned Asad, and then he swung upon Oliver\nstanding there in the entrance of the poop-house. \"What sayest thou,\nSakr-el-Bahr?\" he appealed to him.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr stepped forward, shrugging. \"What is there to say? What is\nthere to do?\" he asked. \"We can but wait. If our presence is known to\nthem we are finely trapped, and there\'s an end to all of us this night.\"\n\nHis voice was cool as ice, contemptuous almost, and whilst it struck\nanxiety into more than one it awoke terror in Marzak.\n\n\"May thy bones rot, thou ill-omened prophet!\" he screamed, and would\nhave added more but that Sakr-el-Bahr silenced him.\n\n\"What is written is written!\" said he in a voice of thunder and reproof.\n\n\"Indeed, indeed,\" Asad agreed, grasping at the fatalist\'s consolation.\n\"If we are ripe for the gardeners hand, the gardener will pluck us.\"\n\nLess fatalistic and more practical was the counsel of Biskaine.\n\n\"It were well to act upon the assumption that we are indeed discovered,\nand make for the open sea while yet there may be time.\"\n\n\"But that were to make certain what is still doubtful,\" broke in Marzak,\nfearful ever. \"It were to run to meet the danger.\"\n\n\"Not so!\" cried Asad in a loud, confident voice. \"The praise to Allah\nwho sent us this calm night. There is scarce a breath of wind. We can\nrow ten leagues while they are sailing one.\"\n\nA murmur of quick approval sped through the ranks of officers and men.\n\n\"Let us but win safely from this cove and they will never overtake us,\"\nannounced Biskaine.\n\n\"But their guns may,\" Sakr-el-Bahr quietly reminded them to damp their\nconfidence. His own alert mind had already foreseen this one chance of\nescaping from the trap, but he had hoped that it would not be quite so\nobvious to the others.\n\n\"That risk we must take,\" replied Asad. \"We must trust to the night. To\nlinger here is to await certain destruction.\" He swung briskly about\nto issue his orders. \"Ali, summon the steersmen. Hasten! Vigitello, set\nyour whips about the slaves, and rouse them.\" Then as the shrill whistle\nof the boatswain rang out and the whips of his mates went hissing and\ncracking about the shoulders of the already half-awakened slaves, to\nmingle with all the rest of the stir and bustle aboard the galeasse, the\nBasha turned once more to Biskaine. \"Up thou to the prow,\" he commanded,\n\"and marshal the men. Bid them stand to their arms lest it should come\nto boarding. Go!\" Biskaine salaamed and sprang down the companion. Above\nthe rumbling din and scurrying toil of preparation rang Asad\'s voice.\n\n\"Crossbowmen, aloft! Gunners to the carronades! Kindle your linstocks!\nPut out all lights!\"\n\nAn instant later the cressets on the poop-rail were extinguished, as was\nthe lantern swinging from the rail, and even the lamp in the poop-house\nwhich was invaded by one of the Basha\'s officers for that purpose. The\nlantern hanging from the mast alone was spared against emergencies; but\nit was taken down, placed upon the deck, and muffled.\n\nThus was the galeasse plunged into a darkness that for some moments\nwas black and impenetrable as velvet. Then slowly, as the eyes became\naccustomed to it, this gloom was gradually relieved. Once more men and\nobjects began to take shape in the faint, steely radiance of the summer\nnight.\n\nAfter the excitement of that first stir the corsairs went about their\ntasks with amazing calm and silence. None thought now of reproaching the\nBasha or Sakr-el-Bahr with having delayed until the moment of peril\nto take the course which all of them had demanded should be taken when\nfirst they had heard of the neighbourhood of that hostile ship. In lines\nthree deep they stood ranged along the ample fighting platform of the\nprow; in the foremost line were the archers, behind them stood the\nswordsmen, their weapons gleaming lividly in the darkness. They crowded\nto the bulwarks of the waist-deck and swarmed upon the rat-lines of\nthe mainmast. On the poop three gunners stood to each of the two small\ncannon, their faces showing faintly ruddy in the glow of the ignited\nmatch.\n\nAsad stood at the head of the companion, issuing his sharp brief\ncommands, and Sakr-el-Bahr, behind him, leaning against the timbers of\nthe poop-house with Rosamund at his side, observed that the Basha\nhad studiously avoided entrusting any of this work of preparation to\nhimself.\n\nThe steersmen climbed to their niches, and the huge steering oars\ncreaked as they were swung out. Came a short word of command from Asad\nand a stir ran through the ranks of the slaves, as they threw forward\ntheir weight to bring the oars to the level. Thus a moment, then a\nsecond word, the premonitory crack of a whip in the darkness of the\ngangway, and the tomtom began to beat the time. The slaves heaved,\nand with a creak and splash of oars the great galeasse skimmed forward\ntowards the mouth of the cove.\n\nUp and down the gangway ran the boatswain\'s mates, cutting fiercely with\ntheir whips to urge the slaves to the very utmost effort. The vessel\ngathered speed. The looming headland slipped by. The mouth of the cove\nappeared to widen as they approached it. Beyond spread the dark steely\nmirror of the dead-calm sea.\n\nRosamund could scarcely breathe in the intensity of her suspense. She\nset a hand upon the arm of Sakr-el-Bahr.\n\n\"Shall we elude them, after all?\" she asked in a trembling whisper.\n\n\"I pray that we may not,\" he answered, muttering. \"But this is the\nhandiwork I feared. Look!\" he added sharply, and pointed.\n\nThey had shot clear to the headland. They were out of the cove, and\nsuddenly they had a view of the dark bulk of the galleon, studded with a\nscore of points of light, riding a cable\'s length away on their larboard\nquarter.\n\n\"Faster!\" cried the voice of Asad. \"Row for your lives, you infidel\nswine! Lay me your whips upon these hides of theirs! Bend me these dogs\nto their oars, and they\'ll never overtake us now.\"\n\nWhips sang and thudded below them in the waist, to be answered by more\nthan one groan from the tormented panting slaves, who already were\nspending every ounce of strength in this cruel effort to elude their\nown chance of salvation and release. Faster beat the tomtom marking the\ndesperate time, and faster in response to it came the creak and dip of\noars and the panting, stertorous breathing of the rowers.\n\n\"Lay on! Lay on!\" cried Asad, inexorable. Let them burst their\nlungs--they were but infidel lungs!--so that for an hour they but\nmaintained the present pace.\n\n\"We are drawing away!\" cried Marzak in jubilation. \"The praise to\nAllah!\"\n\nAnd so indeed they were. Visibly the lights of the galleon were\nreceding. With every inch of canvas spread yet she appeared to be\nstanding still, so faint was the breeze that stirred. And whilst\nshe crawled, the galeasse raced as never yet she had raced since\nSakr-el-Bahr had commanded her, for Sakr-el-Bahr had never yet turned\ntail upon the foe in whatever strength he found him.\n\nSuddenly over the water from the galleon came a loud hail. Asad laughed,\nand in the darkness shook his fist at them, cursing them in the name\nof Allah and his Prophet. And then, in answer to that curse of his, the\ngalleon\'s side belched fire; the calm of the night was broken by a roar\nof thunder, and something smote the water ahead of the Muslim vessel\nwith a resounding thudding splash.\n\nIn fear Rosamund drew closer to Sakr-el-Bahr. But Asad laughed again.\n\n\"No need to fear their marksmanship,\" he cried. \"They cannot see us.\nTheir own lights dazzle them. On! On!\"\n\n\"He is right,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr. \"But the truth is that they will not\nfire to sink us because they know you to be aboard.\"\n\nShe looked out to sea again, and beheld those friendly lights falling\nfarther and farther astern.\n\n\"We are drawing steadily away,\" she groaned. \"They will never overtake\nus now.\"\n\nSo feared Sakr-el-Bahr. He more than feared it. He knew that save for\nsome miraculous rising of the wind it must be as she said. And then out\nof his despair leapt inspiration--a desperate inspiration, true child of\nthat despair of which it was begotten.\n\n\"There is a chance,\" he said to her. \"But it is as a throw of the dice\nwith life and death for stakes.\"\n\n\"Then seize it,\" she bade him instantly. \"For though it should go\nagainst us we shall not be losers.\"\n\n\"You are prepared for anything?\" he asked her.\n\n\"Have I not said that I will go down with you this night? Ah, don\'t\nwaste time in words!\"\n\n\"Be it so, then,\" he replied gravely, and moved away a step, then\nchecked. \"You had best come with me,\" he said.\n\nObediently she complied and followed him, and some there were who stared\nas these two passed down the gangway, yet none attempted to hinder her\nmovements. Enough and to spare was there already to engage the thoughts\nof all aboard that vessel.\n\nHe thrust a way for her, past the boatswain\'s mates who stood over the\nslaves ferociously plying tongues and whips, and so brought her to the\nwaist. Here he took up the lantern which had been muffled, and as\nits light once more streamed forth, Asad shouted an order for its\nextinction. But Sakr-el-Bahr took no least heed of that command. He\nstepped to the mainmast, about which the powder kegs had been stacked.\nOne of these had been broached against its being needed by the gunners\non the poop. The unfastened lid rested loosely atop of it. That lid\nSakr-el-Bahr knocked over; then he pulled one of the horn sides out of\nthe lantern, and held the now half-naked flame immediately above the\npowder.\n\nA cry of alarm went up from some who had watched him. But above that cry\nrang his sharp command:\n\n\"Cease rowing!\"\n\nThe tomtom fell instantly silent, but the slaves took yet another\nstroke.\n\n\"Cease rowing!\" he commanded again. \"Asad!\" he called. \"Bid them pause,\nor I\'ll blow you all straight into the arms of Shaitan.\" And he lowered\nthe lantern until it rested on the very rim of the powder keg.\n\nAt once the rowing ceased. Slaves, corsairs, officers, and Asad himself\nstood paralyzed, all at gaze upon that grim figure illumined by the\nlantern, threatening them with doom. It may have crossed the minds of\nsome to throw themselves forthwith upon him; but to arrest them was the\ndread lest any movement towards him should precipitate the explosion\nthat must blow them all into the next world.\n\nAt last Asad addressed him, his voice half-choked with rage.\n\n\"May Allah strike thee dead! Art thou djinn-possessed?\"\n\nMarzak, standing at his father\'s side, set a quarrel to the bow which\nhe had snatched up. \"Why do you all stand and stare?\" he cried. \"Cut\nhim down, one of you!\" And even as he spoke he raised his bow. But his\nfather checked him, perceiving what must be the inevitable result.\n\n\"If any man takes a step towards me, the lantern goes straight into\nthe gunpowder,\" said Sakr-el-Bahr serenely. \"And if you shoot me as you\nintend, Mar-zak, or if any other shoots, the same will happen of itself.\nBe warned unless you thirst for the Paradise of the Prophet.\"\n\n\"Sakr-el-Bahr!\" cried Asad, and from its erstwhile anger his voice\nhad now changed to a note of intercession. He stretched out his arms\nappealingly to the captain whose doom he had already pronounced in his\nheart and mind. \"Sakr-el-Bahr, I conjure thee by the bread and salt we\nhave eaten together, return to thy senses, my son.\"\n\n\"I am in my sense,\" was the answer, \"and being so I have no mind for the\nfate reserved me in Algiers--by the memory of that same bread and salt.\nI have no mind to go back with thee to be hanged or sent to toil at an\noar again.\"\n\n\"And if I swear to thee that naught of this shall come to pass?\"\n\n\"Thou\'lt be forsworn. I would not trust thee now, Asad. For thou art\nproven a fool, and in all my life I never found good in a fool and never\ntrusted one--save once, and he betrayed me. Yesterday I pleaded\nwith thee, showing thee the wise course, and affording thee thine\nopportunity. At a slight sacrifice thou mightest have had me and hanged\nme at thy leisure. \'Twas my own life I offered thee, and for all that\nthou knewest it, yet thou knewest not that I knew.\" He laughed. \"See now\nwhat manner of fool art thou? Thy greed hath wrought thy ruin. Thy hands\nwere opened to grasp more than they could hold. See now the consequence.\nIt comes yonder in that slowly but surely approaching galleon.\"\n\nEvery word of it sank into the brain of Asad thus tardily to enlighten\nhim. He wrung his hands in his blended fury and despair. The crew stood\nin appalled silence, daring to make no movement that might precipitate\ntheir end.\n\n\"Name thine own price,\" cried the Basha at length, \"and I swear to thee\nby the beard of the Prophet it shall be paid thee.\"\n\n\"I named it yesterday, but it was refused. I offered thee my liberty and\nmy life if that were needed to gain the liberty of another.\"\n\nHad he looked behind him he might have seen the sudden lighting of\nRosamund\'s eyes, the sudden clutch at her bosom, which would have\nannounced to him that his utterances were none so cryptic but that she\nhad understood them.\n\n\"I will make thee rich and honoured, Sakr-el-Bahr,\" Asad continued\nurgently. \"Thou shalt be as mine own son. The Bashalik itself shall\nbe thine when I lay it down, and all men shall do thee honour in the\nmeanwhile as to myself.\"\n\n\"I am not to be bought, O mighty Asad. I never was. Already wert\nthou set upon my death. Thou canst command it now, but only upon the\ncondition that thou share the cup with me. What is written is written.\nWe have sunk some tall ships together in our day, Asad. We\'ll sink\ntogether in our turn to-night if that be thy desire.\"\n\n\"May thou burn for evermore in hell, thou black-hearted traitor!\" Asad\ncursed him, his anger bursting all the bonds he had imposed upon it.\n\nAnd then, of a sudden, upon that admission of defeat from their Basha,\nthere arose a great clamour from the crew. Sakr-el-Bahr\'s sea-hawks\ncalled upon him, reminding him of their fidelity and love, and asking\ncould he repay it now by dooming them all thus to destruction.\n\n\"Have faith in me!\" he answered them. \"I have never led you into aught\nbut victory. Be sure that I shall not lead you now into defeat--on this\nthe last occasion that we stand together.\"\n\n\"But the galleon is upon us!\" cried Vigitello. And so, indeed, it was,\ncreeping up slowly under that faint breeze, her tall bulk loomed now\nabove them, her prow ploughing slowly forward at an acute angle to the\nprow of the galeasse. Another moment and she was alongside, and with a\nswing and clank and a yell of victory from the English seamen lining\nher bulwarks her grappling irons swung down to seize the corsair ship\nat prow and stern and waist. Scarce had they fastened, than a torrent\nof men in breast-plates and morions poured over her side, to alight\nupon the prow of the galeasse, and not even the fear of the lantern\nheld above the powder barrel could now restrain the corsairs from giving\nthese hardy boarders the reception they reserved for all infidels. In an\ninstant the fighting platform on the prow was become a raging, seething\nhell of battle luridly illumined by the ruddy glow from the lights\naboard the Silver Heron. Foremost among those who had leapt down had\nbeen Lionel and Sir John Killigrew. Foremost among those to receive them\nhad been Jasper Leigh, who had passed his sword through Lionel\'s body\neven as Lionel\'s feet came to rest upon the deck, and before the battle\nwas joined.\n\nA dozen others went down on either side before Sakr-el-Bahr\'s ringing\nvoice could quell the fighting, before his command to them to hear him\nwas obeyed.\n\n\"Hold there!\" he had bellowed to his sea-hawks, using the lingua franca.\n\"Back, and leave this to me. I will rid you of these foes.\" Then\nin English he had summoned his countrymen also to desist. \"Sir John\nKilligrew!\" he called in a loud voice. \"Hold your hand until you have\nheard me! Call your men back and let none others come aboard! Hold until\nyou have heard me, I say, then wreak your will.\"\n\nSir John, perceiving him by the mainmast with Rosamund at his side, and\nleaping at the most inevitable conclusion that he meant to threaten\nher life, perhaps to destroy her if they continued their advance, flung\nhimself before his men, to check them.\n\nThus almost as suddenly as it had been joined the combat paused\n\n\"What have you to say, you renegade dog?\" Sir John demanded.\n\n\"This, Sir John, that unless you order your men back aboard your ship,\nand make oath to desist from this encounter, I\'ll take you straight down\nto hell with us at once. I\'ll heave this lantern into the powder here,\nand we sink and you come down with us held by your own grappling hooks.\nObey me and you shall have all that you have come to seek aboard this\nvessel. Mistress Rosamund shall be delivered up to you.\"\n\nSir John glowered upon him a moment from the poop, considering. Then--\n\n\"Though not prepared to make terms with you,\" he announced, \"yet I will\naccept the conditions you impose, but only provided that I have all\nindeed that I am come to seek. There is aboard this galley an infamous\nrenegade hound whom I am bound by my knightly oath to take and hang. He,\ntoo, must be delivered up to me. His name was Oliver Tressilian.\"\n\nInstantly, unhesitatingly, came the answer--\"Him, too, will I surrender\nto you upon your sworn oath that you will then depart and do here no\nfurther hurt.\"\n\nRosamund caught her breath, and clutched Sakr-el-Bahr\'s arm, the arm\nthat held the lantern.\n\n\"Have a care, mistress,\" he bade her sharply, \"or you will destroy us\nall.\"\n\n\"Better that!\" she answered him.\n\nAnd then Sir John pledged him his word that upon his own surrender and\nthat of Rosamund he would withdraw nor offer hurt to any there.\n\nSakr-el-Bahr turned to his waiting corsairs, and briefly told them what\nthe terms he had made.\n\nHe called upon Asad to pledge his word that these terms would be\nrespected, and no blood shed on his behalf, and Asad answered him,\nvoicing the anger of all against him for his betrayal.\n\n\"Since he wants thee that he may hang thee, he may have thee and so\nspare us the trouble, for \'tis no less than thy treachery deserves from\nus.\"\n\n\"Thus, then, I surrender,\" he announced to Sir John, and flung the\nlantern overboard.\n\nOne voice only was raised in his defence, and that voice was Rosamund\'s.\nBut even that voice failed, conquered by weary nature. This last\nblow following upon all that lately she had endured bereft her of all\nstrength. Half swooning she collapsed against Sakr-el-Bahr even as Sir\nJohn and a handful of his followers leapt down to deliver her and make\nfast their prisoner.\n\nThe corsairs stood looking on in silence; the loyalty to their great\ncaptain, which would have made them spend their last drop of blood in\nhis defence, was quenched by his own act of treachery which had brought\nthe English ship upon them. Yet when they saw him pinioned and hoisted\nto the deck of the Silver Heron, there was a sudden momentary reaction\nin their ranks. Scimitars were waved aloft, and cries of menace burst\nforth. If he had betrayed them, yet he had so contrived that they should\nnot suffer by that betrayal. And that was worthy of the Sakr-el-Bahr\nthey knew and loved; so worthy that their love and loyalty leapt\nfull-armed again upon the instant.\n\nBut the voice of Asad called upon them to bear in mind what in their\nname he had promised, and since the voice of Asad alone might not have\nsufficed to quell that sudden spark of revolt, there came down to them\nthe voice of Sakr-el-Bahr himself issuing his last command.\n\n\"Remember and respect the terms I have made for you! Mektub! May Allah\nguard and prosper you!\"\n\nA wail was his reply, and with that wail ringing in his ears to assure\nhim that he did not pass unloved, he was hurried below to prepare him\nfor his end.\n\nThe ropes of the grapnels were cut, and slowly the galleon passed away\ninto the night, leaving the galley to replace what slaves had been\nmaimed in the encounter and to head back for Algiers, abandoning the\nexpedition against the argosy of Spain.\n\nUnder the awning upon the poop Asad now sat like a man who has awakened\nfrom an evil dream. He covered his head and wept for one who had been\nas a son to him, and whom through his madness he had lost. He cursed\nall women, and he cursed destiny; but the bitterest curse of all was for\nhimself.\n\nIn the pale dawn they flung the dead overboard and washed the decks,\nnor did they notice that a man was missing in token that the English\ncaptain, or else his followers, had not kept strictly to the letter of\nthe bond.\n\nThey returned in mourning to Algiers--mourning not for the Spanish\nargosy which had been allowed to go her ways unmolested, but for the\nstoutest captain that ever bared his scimitar in the service of Islam.\nThe story of how he came to be delivered up was never clearly told; none\ndared clearly tell it, for none who had participated in the deed but\ntook shame in it thereafter, however clear it might be that Sakr-el-Bahr\nhad brought it all upon himself. But, at least, it was understood that\nhe had not fallen in battle, and hence it was assumed that he was still\nalive. Upon that presumption there was built up a sort of legend that he\nwould one day come back; and redeemed captives returning a half-century\nlater related how in Algiers to that day the coming of Sakr-el-Bahr was\nstill confidently expected and looked for by all true Muslimeen.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII. THE HEATHEN CREED\n\n\nSakr-el-Bahr was shut up in a black hole in the forecastle of the Silver\nHeron to await the dawn and to spend the time in making his soul. No\nwords had passed between him and Sir John since his surrender. With\nwrists pinioned behind him, he had been hoisted aboard the English ship,\nand in the waist of her he had stood for a moment face to face with an\nold acquaintance--our chronicler, Lord Henry Goade. I imagine the florid\ncountenance of the Queen\'s Lieutenant wearing a preternaturally grave\nexpression, his eyes forbidding as they rested upon the renegade. I\nknow--from Lord Henry\'s own pen--that no word had passed between them\nduring those brief moments before Sakr-el-Bahr was hurried away by his\nguards to be flung into those dark, cramped quarters reeking of tar and\nbilge.\n\nFor a long hour he lay where he had fallen, believing himself alone; and\ntime and place would no doubt conduce to philosophical reflection\nupon his condition. I like to think that he found that when all was\nconsidered, he had little with which to reproach himself. If he had done\nevil he had made ample amends. It can scarcely be pretended that he had\nbetrayed those loyal Muslimeen followers of his, or, if it is, at least\nit must be added that he himself had paid the price of that betrayal.\nRosamund was safe, Lionel would meet the justice due to him, and as for\nhimself, being as good as dead already, he was worth little thought. He\nmust have derived some measure of content from the reflection that he\nwas spending his life to the very best advantage. Ruined it had been\nlong since. True, but for his ill-starred expedition of vengeance he\nmight long have continued to wage war as a corsair, might even have\nrisen to the proud Muslim eminence of the Bashalik of Algiers and\nbecome a feudatory prince of the Grand Turk. But for one who was born a\nChristian gentleman that would have been an unworthy way to have ended\nhis days. The present was the better course.\n\nA faint rustle in the impenetrable blackness of his prison turned\nthe current of his thoughts. A rat, he thought, and drew himself to a\nsitting attitude, and beat his slippered heels upon the ground to drive\naway the loathly creature. Instead, a voice challenged him out of the\ngloom.\n\n\"Who\'s there?\"\n\nIt startled him for a moment, in his complete assurance that he had been\nalone.\n\n\"Who\'s there?\" the voice repeated, querulously to add: \"What black hell\nbe this? Where am I?\"\n\nAnd now he recognized the voice for Jasper Leigh\'s, and marvelled how\nthat latest of his recruits to the ranks of Mohammed should be sharing\nthis prison with him.\n\n\"Faith,\" said he, \"you\'re in the forecastle of the Silver Heron; though\nhow you come here is more than I can answer.\"\n\n\"Who are ye?\" the voice asked.\n\n\"I have been known in Barbary as Sakr-el-Bahr.\"\n\n\"Sir Oliver!\"\n\n\"I suppose that is what they will call me now. It is as well perhaps\nthat I am to be buried at sea, else it might plague these Christian\ngentlemen what legend to inscribe upon my headstone. But you--how come\nyou hither? My bargain with Sir John was that none should be molested,\nand I cannot think Sir John would be forsworn.\"\n\n\"As to that I know nothing, since I did not even know where I was\nbestowed until ye informed me. I was knocked senseless in the fight,\nafter I had put my bilbo through your comely brother. That is the sum of\nmy knowledge.\"\n\nSir Oliver caught his breath. \"What do you say? You killed Lionel?\"\n\n\"I believe so,\" was the cool answer. \"At least I sent a couple of feet\nof steel through him--\'twas in the press of the fight when first the\nEnglish dropped aboard the galley; Master Lionel was in the van--the\nlast place in which I should have looked to see him.\"\n\nThere fell a long silence. At length Sir Oliver spoke in a small voice.\n\n\"Not a doubt but you gave him no more than he was seeking. You are\nright, Master Leigh; the van was the last place in which to look for\nhim, unless he came deliberately to seek steel that he might escape a\nrope. Best so, no doubt. Best so! God rest him!\"\n\n\"Do you believe in God?\" asked the sinful skipper on an anxious note.\n\n\"No doubt they took you because of that,\" Sir Oliver pursued, as if\ncommuning with himself. \"Being in ignorance perhaps of his deserts,\ndeeming him a saint and martyr, they resolved to avenge him upon you,\nand dragged you hither for that purpose.\" He sighed. \"Well, well, Master\nLeigh, I make no doubt that knowing yourself for a rascal you have all\nyour life been preparing your neck for a noose; so this will come as no\nsurprise to you.\"\n\nThe skipper stirred uneasily, and groaned. \"Lord, how my head aches!\" he\ncomplained.\n\n\"They\'ve a sure remedy for that,\" Sir Oliver comforted him. \"And you\'ll\nswing in better company than you deserve, for I am to be hanged in the\nmorn-ing too. You\'ve earned it as fully as have I, Master Leigh. Yet I\nam sorry for you--sorry you should suffer where I had not so intended.\"\n\nMaster Leigh sucked in a shuddering breath, and was silent for a while.\n\nThen he repeated an earlier question.\n\n\"Do you believe in God, Sir Oliver?\"\n\n\"There is no God but God, and Mohammed is his Prophet,\" was the answer,\nand from his tone Master Leigh could not be sure that he did not mock.\n\n\"That\'s a heathen creed,\" said he in fear and loathing.\n\n\"Nay, now; it\'s a creed by which men live. They perform as they preach,\nwhich is more than can be said of any Christians I have ever met.\"\n\n\"How can you talk so upon the eve of death?\" cried Leigh in protest.\n\n\"Faith,\" said Sir Oliver, \"it\'s considered the season of truth above all\nothers.\"\n\n\"Then ye don\'t believe in God?\"\n\n\"On the contrary, I do.\"\n\n\"But not in the real God?\" the skipper insisted.\n\n\"There can be no God but the real God--it matters little what men call\nHim.\"\n\n\"Then if ye believe, are ye not afraid?\"\n\n\"Of what?\"\n\n\"Of hell, damnation, and eternal fire,\" roared the skipper, voicing his\nown belated terrors.\n\n\"I have but fulfilled the destiny which in His Omniscience He marked out\nfor me,\" replied Sir Oliver. \"My life hath been as He designed it, since\nnaught may exist or happen save by His Will. Shall I then fear damnation\nfor having been as God fashioned me?\"\n\n\"\'Tis the heathen Muslim creed!\" Master Leigh protested.\n\n\"\'Tis a comforting one,\" said Sir Oliver, \"and it should comfort such a\nsinner as thou.\"\n\nBut Master Leigh refused to be comforted. \"Oh!\" he groaned miserably. \"I\nwould that I did not believe in God!\"\n\n\"Your disbelief could no more abolish Him than can your fear create\nHim,\" replied Sir Oliver. \"But your mood being what it is, were it not\nbest you prayed?\"\n\n\"Will not you pray with me?\" quoth that rascal in his sudden fear of the\nhereafter.\n\n\"I shall do better,\" said Sir Oliver at last. \"I shall pray for you--to\nSir John Killigrew, that your life be spared.\"\n\n\"Sure he\'ll never heed you!\" said Master Leigh with a catch in his\nbreath.\n\n\"He shall. His honour is concerned in it. The terms of my surrender were\nthat none else aboard the galley should suffer any hurt.\"\n\n\"But I killed Master Lionel.\"\n\n\"True--but that was in the scrimmage that preceded my making terms. Sir\nJohn pledged me his word, and Sir John will keep to it when I have made\nit clear to him that honour demands it.\"\n\nA great burden was lifted from the skipper\'s mind--that great shadow of\nthe fear of death that had overhung him. With it, it is greatly to be\nfeared that his desperate penitence also departed. At least he talked\nno more of damnation, nor took any further thought for Sir Oliver\'s\nopinions and beliefs concerning the hereafter. He may rightly have\nsupposed that Sir Oliver\'s creed was Sir Oliver\'s affair, and that\nshould it happen to be wrong he was scarcely himself a qualified person\nto correct it. As for himself, the making of his soul could wait until\nanother day, when the necessity for it should be more imminent.\n\nUpon that he lay down and attempted to compose himself to sleep, though\nthe pain in his head proved a difficulty. Finding slumber impossible\nafter a while he would have talked again; but by that time his\ncompanion\'s regular breathing warned him that Sir Oliver had fallen\nasleep during the silence.\n\nNow this surprised and shocked the skipper. He was utterly at a loss to\nunderstand how one who had lived Sir Oliver\'s life, been a renegade and\na heathen, should be able to sleep tranquilly in the knowledge that at\ndawn he was to hang. His belated Christian zeal prompted him to rouse\nthe sleeper and to urge him to spend the little time that yet remained\nhim in making his peace with God. Humane compassion on the other\nhand suggested to him that he had best leave him in the peace of that\noblivion. Considering matters he was profoundly touched to reflect that\nin such a season Sir Oliver could have found room in his mind to think\nof him and his fate and to undertake to contrive that he should be saved\nfrom the rope. He was the more touched when he bethought him of the\nextent to which he had himself been responsible for all that happened to\nSir Oliver. Out of the consideration of heroism, a certain heroism came\nto be begotten in him, and he fell to pondering how in his turn he might\nperhaps serve Sir Oliver by a frank confession of all that he knew\nof the influences that had gone to make Sir Oliver what he was. This\nresolve uplifted him, and oddly enough it uplifted him all the more when\nhe reflected that perhaps he would be jeopardizing his own neck by the\nconfession upon which he had determined.\n\nSo through that endless night he sat, nursing his aching head, and\nenheartened by the first purpose he had ever conceived of a truly good\nand altruistic deed. Yet fate it seemed was bent upon frustrating that\npurpose of his. For when at dawn they came to hale Sir Oliver to his\ndoom, they paid no heed to Jasper Leigh\'s demands that he, too, should\nbe taken before Sir John.\n\n\"Thee bean\'t included in our orders,\" said a seaman shortly.\n\n\"Maybe not,\" retorted Master Leigh, \"because Sir John little knows what\nit is in my power to tell him. Take me before him, I say, that he may\nhear from me the truth of certain matters ere it be too late.\"\n\n\"Be still,\" the seaman bade him, and struck him heavily across the face,\nso that he reeled and collapsed into a corner. \"Thee turn will come\nsoon. Just now our business be with this other heathen.\"\n\n\"Naught that you can say would avail,\" Sir Oliver assured him quietly.\n\"But I thank you for the thought that marks you for my friend. My hands\nare bound, Jasper. Were it otherwise I would beg leave to clasp your\nown. Fare you well!\"\n\nSir Oliver was led out into the golden sunlight which almost blinded him\nafter his long confinement in that dark hole. They were, he gathered,\nto conduct him to the cabin where a short mockery of a trial was to be\nheld. But in the waist their progress was arrested by an officer, who\nbade them wait.\n\nSir Oliver sat down upon a coil of rope, his guard about him, an object\nof curious inspection to the rude seamen. They thronged the forecastle\nand the hatchways to stare at this formidable corsair who once had been\na Cornish gentleman and who had become a renegade Muslim and a terror to\nChristianity.\n\nTruth to tell, the sometime Cornish gentleman was difficult to discern\nin him as he sat there still wearing the caftan of cloth of silver over\nhis white tunic and a turban of the same material swathed about his\nsteel headpiece that ended in a spike. Idly he swung his brown sinewy\nlegs, naked from knee to ankle, with the inscrutable calm of the\nfatalist upon his swarthy hawk face with its light agate eyes and black\nforked beard; and those callous seamen who had assembled there to jeer\nand mock him were stricken silent by the intrepidity and stoicism of his\nbearing in the face of death.\n\nIf the delay chafed him, he gave no outward sign of it. If his hard,\nlight eyes glanced hither and thither it was upon no idle quest. He was\nseeking Rosamund, hoping for a last sight of her before they launched\nhim upon his last dread voyage.\n\nBut Rosamund was not to be seen. She was in the cabin at the time. She\nhad been there for this hour past, and it was to her that the present\ndelay was due.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV. THE JUDGES\n\n\nIn the absence of any woman into whose care they might entrust her, Lord\nHenry, Sir John, and Master Tobias, the ship\'s surgeon, had amongst them\ntended Rosamund as best they could when numbed and half-dazed she was\nbrought aboard the Silver Heron.\n\nMaster Tobias had applied such rude restoratives as he commanded, and\nhaving made her as comfortable as possible upon a couch in the spacious\ncabin astern, he had suggested that she should be allowed the rest of\nwhich she appeared so sorely to stand in need. He had ushered out the\ncommander and the Queen\'s Lieutenant, and himself had gone below to a\nstill more urgent case that was demanding his attention--that of Lionel\nTressilian, who had been brought limp and unconscious from the galeasse\ntogether with some four other wounded members of the Silver Heron\'s\ncrew.\n\nAt dawn Sir John had come below, seeking news of his wounded friend. He\nfound the surgeon kneeling over Lionel.\n\nAs he entered, Master Tobias turned aside, rinsed his hands in a metal\nbasin placed upon the floor, and rose wiping them on a napkin.\n\n\"I can do no more, Sir John,\" he muttered in a desponding voice. \"He is\nsped.\"\n\n\"Dead, d\'ye mean?\" cried Sir John, a catch in his voice.\n\nThe surgeon tossed aside the napkin, and slowly drew down the upturned\nsleeves of his black doublet. \"All but dead,\" he answered. \"The wonder\nis that any spark of life should still linger in a body with that hole\nin it. He is bleeding inwardly, and his pulse is steadily weakening. It\nmust continue so until imperceptibly he passes away. You may count\nhim dead already, Sir John.\" He paused. \"A merciful, painless end,\" he\nadded, and sighed perfunctorily, his pale shaven face decently grave,\nfor all that such scenes as these were commonplaces in his life. \"Of the\nother four,\" he continued, \"Blair is dead; the other three should all\nrecover.\"\n\nBut Sir John gave little heed to the matter of those others. His grief\nand dismay at this quenching of all hope for his friend precluded any\nother consideration at the moment.\n\n\"And he will not even recover consciousness?\" he asked insisting,\nalthough already he had been answered.\n\n\"As I have said, you may count him dead already, Sir John. My skill can\ndo nothing for him.\"\n\nSir John\'s head drooped, his countenance drawn and grave. \"Nor can my\njustice,\" he added gloomily. \"Though it avenge him, it cannot give\nme back my friend.\" He looked at the surgeon. \"Vengeance, sir, is the\nhollowest of all the mockeries that go to make up life.\"\n\n\"Your task, Sir John,\" replied the surgeon, \"is one of justice, not\nvengeance.\"\n\n\"A quibble, when all is said.\" He stepped to Lionel\'s side, and looked\ndown at the pale handsome face over which the dark shadows of death\nwere already creeping. \"If he would but speak in the interests of this\njustice that is to do! If we might but have the evidence of his own\nwords, lest I should ever be asked to justify the hanging of Oliver\nTressilian.\"\n\n\"Surely, sir,\" the surgeon ventured, \"there can be no such question\never. Mistress Rosamund\'s word alone should suffice, if indeed so much\nas that even were required.\"\n\n\"Ay! His offenses against God and man are too notorious to leave grounds\nupon which any should ever question my right to deal with him out of\nhand.\"\n\nThere was a tap at the door and Sir John\'s own body servant entered with\nthe announcement that Mistress Rosamund was asking urgently to see him.\n\n\"She will be impatient for news of him,\" Sir John concluded, and he\ngroaned. \"My God! How am I to tell her? To crush her in the very hour\nof her deliverance with such news as this! Was ever irony so cruel?\"\nHe turned, and stepped heavily to the door. There he paused. \"You will\nremain by him to the end?\" he bade the surgeon interrogatively.\n\nMaster Tobias bowed. \"Of course, Sir John.\" And he added, \"\'Twill not be\nlong.\"\n\nSir John looked across at Lionel again--a glance of valediction. \"God\nrest him!\" he said hoarsely, and passed out.\n\nIn the waist he paused a moment, turned to a knot of lounging seamen,\nand bade them throw a halter over the yard-arm, and hale the renegade\nOliver Tressilian from his prison. Then with slow heavy step and heavier\nheart he went up the companion to the vessel\'s castellated poop.\n\nThe sun, new risen in a faint golden haze, shone over a sea faintly\nrippled by the fresh clean winds of dawn to which their every stitch\nof canvas was now spread. Away on the larboard quarter, a faint cloudy\noutline, was the coast of Spain.\n\nSir John\'s long sallow face was preternaturally grave when he entered\nthe cabin, where Rosamund awaited him. He bowed to her with a grave\ncourtesy, doffing his hat and casting it upon a chair. The last five\nyears had brought some strands of white into his thick black hair,\nand at the temples in particular it showed very grey, giving him an\nappearance of age to which the deep lines in his brow contributed.\n\nHe advanced towards her, as she rose to receive him. \"Rosamund, my\ndear!\" he said gently, and took both her hands. He looked with eyes of\nsorrow and concern into her white, agitated face.\n\n\"Are you sufficiently rested, child?\"\n\n\"Rested?\" she echoed on a note of wonder that he should suppose it.\n\n\"Poor lamb, poor lamb!\" he murmured, as a mother might have done, and\ndrew her towards him, stroking that gleaming auburn head. \"We\'ll speed\nus back to England with every stitch of canvas spread. Take heart then,\nand....\"\n\nBut she broke in impetuously, drawing away from him as she spoke, and\nhis heart sank with foreboding of the thing she was about to inquire.\n\n\"I overheard a sailor just now saying to another that it is your intent\nto hang Sir Oliver Tressilian out of hand--this morning.\"\n\nHe misunderstood her utterly. \"Be comforted,\" he said. \"My justice shall\nbe swift; my vengeance sure. The yard-arm is charged already with the\nrope on which he shall leap to his eternal punishment.\"\n\nShe caught her breath, and set a hand upon her bosom as if to repress\nits sudden tumult.\n\n\"And upon what grounds,\" she asked him with an air of challenge,\nsquarely facing him, \"do you intend to do this thing?\"\n\n\"Upon what grounds?\" he faltered. He stared and frowned, bewildered by\nher question and its tone. \"Upon what grounds?\" he repeated, foolishly\nalmost in the intensity of his amazement. Then he considered her more\nclosely, and the wildness of her eyes bore to him slowly an explanation\nof words that at first had seemed beyond explaining.\n\n\"I see!\" he said in a voice of infinite pity; for the conviction to\nwhich he had leapt was that her poor wits were all astray after the\nhorrors through which she had lately travelled. \"You must rest,\" he said\ngently, \"and give no thought to such matters as these. Leave them to me,\nand be very sure that I shall avenge you as is due.\"\n\n\"Sir John, you mistake me, I think. I do not desire that you avenge me.\nI have asked you upon what grounds you intend to do this thing, and you\nhave not answered me.\"\n\nIn increasing amazement he continued to stare. He had been wrong, then.\nShe was quite sane and mistress of her wits. And yet instead of the fond\ninquiries concerning Lionel which he had been dreading came this amazing\nquestioning of his grounds to hang his prisoner.\n\n\"Need I state to you--of all living folk--the offences which that\ndastard has committed?\" he asked, expressing thus the very question that\nhe was setting himself.\n\n\"You need to tell me,\" she answered, \"by what right you constitute\nyourself his judge and executioner; by what right you send him to his\ndeath in this peremptory fashion, without trial.\" Her manner was as\nstern as if she were invested with all the authority of a judge.\n\n\"But you,\" he faltered in his ever-growing bewilderment, \"you, Rosamund,\nagainst whom he has offended so grievously, surely you should be the\nlast to ask me such a question! Why, it is my intention to proceed\nwith him as is the manner of the sea with all knaves taken as Oliver\nTressilian was taken. If your mood be merciful towards him--which as God\nlives, I can scarce conceive--consider that this is the greatest mercy\nhe can look for.\"\n\n\"You speak of mercy and vengeance in a breath, Sir John.\" She was\ngrowing calm, her agitation was quieting and a grim sternness was\nreplacing it.\n\nHe made a gesture of impatience. \"What good purpose could it serve to\ntake him to England?\" he demanded. \"There he must stand his trial, and\nthe issue is foregone. It were unnecessarily to torture him.\"\n\n\"The issue may be none so foregone as you suppose,\" she replied. \"And\nthat trial is his right.\"\n\nSir John took a turn in the cabin, his wits all confused. It was\npreposterous that he should stand and argue upon such a matter with\nRosamund of all people, and yet she was compelling him to it against his\nevery inclination, against common sense itself.\n\n\"If he so urges it, we\'ll not deny him,\" he said at last, deeming it\nbest to humour her. \"We\'ll take him back to England if he demands it,\nand let him stand his trial there. But Oliver Tressilian must realize\ntoo well what is in store for him to make any such demand.\" He passed\nbefore her, and held out his hands in entreaty. \"Come, Rosamund, my\ndear! You are distraught, you....\"\n\n\"I am indeed distraught, Sir John,\" she answered, and took the hands\nthat he extended. \"Oh, have pity!\" she cried with a sudden change to\nutter intercession. \"I implore you to have pity!\"\n\n\"What pity can I show you, child? You have but to name....\"\n\n\"\'Tis not pity for me, but pity for him that I am beseeching of you.\"\n\n\"For him?\" he cried, frowning again.\n\n\"For Oliver Tressilian.\"\n\nHe dropped her hands and stood away. \"God\'s light!\" he swore. \"You sue\nfor pity for Oliver Tressilian, for that renegade, that incarnate\ndevil? Oh, you are mad!\" he stormed. \"Mad!\" and he flung away from her,\nwhirling his arms.\n\n\"I love him,\" she said simply.\n\nThat answer smote him instantly still. Under the shock of it he just\nstood and stared at her again, his jaw fallen.\n\n\"You love him!\" he said at last below his breath. \"You love him! You\nlove a man who is a pirate, a renegade, the abductor of yourself and of\nLionel, the man who murdered your brother!\"\n\n\"He did not.\" She was fierce in her denial of it. \"I have learnt the\ntruth of that matter.\"\n\n\"From his lips, I suppose?\" said Sir John, and he was unable to repress\na sneer. \"And you believed him?\"\n\n\"Had I not believed him I should not have married him.\"\n\n\"Married him?\" Sudden horror came now to temper his bewilderment. Was\nthere to be no end to these astounding revelations? Had they reached the\nclimax yet, he wondered, or was there still more to come? \"You married\nthat infamous villain?\" he asked, and his voice was expressionless.\n\n\"I did--in Algiers on the night we landed there.\" He stood gaping at her\nwhilst a man might count to a dozen, and then abruptly he exploded. \"It\nis enough!\" he roared, shaking a clenched fist at the low ceiling of the\ncabin. \"It is enough, as God\'s my Witness. If there were no other reason\nto hang him, that would be reason and to spare. You may look to me to\nmake an end of this infamous marriage within the hour.\"\n\n\"Ah, if you will but listen to me!\" she pleaded.\n\n\"Listen to you?\" He paused by the door to which he had stepped in his\nfury, intent upon giving the word that there and then should make an\nend, and summoning Oliver Tressilian before him, announce his fate to\nhim and see it executed on the spot. \"Listen to you?\" he repeated,\nscorn and anger blending in his voice. \"I have heard more than enough\nalready!\"\n\nIt was the Killigrew way, Lord Henry Goade assures us, pausing here at\nlong length for one of those digressions into the history of families\nwhose members chance to impinge upon his chronicle. \"They were,\" he\nsays, \"ever an impetuous, short-reasoning folk, honest and upright\nenough so far as their judgment carried them, but hampered by a lack of\npenetration in that judgment.\"\n\nSir John, as much in his earlier commerce with the Tressilians as in\nthis pregnant hour, certainly appears to justify his lordship of that\ncriticism. There were a score of questions a man of perspicuity would\nnot have asked, not one of which appears to have occurred to the knight\nof Arwenack. If anything arrested him upon the cabin\'s threshold,\ndelayed him in the execution of the thing he had resolved upon, no doubt\nit was sheer curiosity as to what further extravagances Rosamund might\nyet have it in her mind to utter.\n\n\"This man has suffered,\" she told him, and was not put off by the hard\nlaugh with which he mocked that statement. \"God alone knows what he has\nsuffered in body and in soul for sins which he never committed. Much\nof that suffering came to him through me. I know to-day that he did not\nmurder Peter. I know that but for a disloyal act of mine he would be in\na position incontestably to prove it without the aid of any man. I know\nthat he was carried off, kidnapped before ever he could clear himself of\nthe accusation, and that as a consequence no life remained him but the\nlife of a renegade which he chose. Mine was the chief fault. And I must\nmake amends. Spare him to me! If you love me....\"\n\nBut he had heard enough. His sallow face was flushed to a flaming\npurple.\n\n\"Not another word!\" he blazed at her. \"It is because I do love you--love\nand pity you from my heart--that I will not listen. It seems I must save\nyou not only from that knave, but from yourself. I were false to my duty\nby you, false to your dead father and murdered brother else. Anon, you\nshall thank me, Rosamund.\" And again he turned to depart.\n\n\"Thank you?\" she cried in a ringing voice. \"I shall curse you. All my\nlife I shall loathe and hate you, holding you in horror for a murderer\nif you do this thing. You fool! Can you not see? You fool!\"\n\nHe recoiled. Being a man of position and importance, quick, fearless,\nand vindictive of temperament--and also, it would seem, extremely\nfortunate--it had never happened to him in all his life to be so\nuncompromisingly and frankly judged. She was by no means the first to\naccount him a fool, but she was certainly the first to call him one to\nhis face; and whilst to the general it might have proved her extreme\nsanity, to him it was no more than the culminating proof of her mental\ndistemper.\n\n\"Pish!\" he said, between anger and pity, \"you are mad, stark mad! Your\nmind\'s unhinged, your vision\'s all distorted. This fiend incarnate is\nbecome a poor victim of the evil of others; and I am become a murderer\nin your sight--a murderer and a fool. God\'s Life! Bah! Anon when you are\nrested, when you are restored, I pray that things may once again assume\ntheir proper aspect.\"\n\nHe turned, all aquiver still with indignation, and was barely in time to\navoid being struck by the door which opened suddenly from without.\n\nLord Henry Goade, dressed--as he tells us--entirely in black, and with\nhis gold chain of office--an ominous sign could they have read it--upon\nhis broad chest, stood in the doorway, silhouetted sharply against the\nflood of morning sunlight at his back. His benign face would, no doubt,\nbe extremely grave to match the suit he had put on, but its expression\nwill have lightened somewhat when his glance fell upon Rosamund standing\nthere by the table\'s edge.\n\n\"I was overjoyed,\" he writes, \"to find her so far recovered, and seeming\nso much herself again, and I expressed my satisfaction.\"\n\n\"She were better abed,\" snapped Sir John, two hectic spots burning still\nin his sallow cheeks. \"She is distempered, quite.\"\n\n\"Sir John is mistaken, my lord,\" was her calm assurance, \"I am very far\nfrom suffering as he conceives.\"\n\n\"I rejoice therein, my dear,\" said his lordship, and I imagine his\nquesting eyes speeding from one to the other of them, and marking the\nevidences of Sir John\'s temper, wondering what could have passed. \"It\nhappens,\" he added sombrely, \"that we may require your testimony in this\ngrave matter that is toward.\" He turned to Sir John. \"I have bidden\nthem bring up the prisoner for sentence. Is the ordeal too much for you,\nRosamund?\"\n\n\"Indeed, no, my lord,\" she replied readily. \"I welcome it.\" And threw\nback her head as one who braces herself for a trial of endurance.\n\n\"No, no,\" cut in Sir John, protesting fiercely. \"Do not heed her, Harry.\nShe....\"\n\n\"Considering,\" she interrupted, \"that the chief count against the\nprisoner must concern his... his dealings with myself, surely the matter\nis one upon which I should be heard.\"\n\n\"Surely, indeed,\" Lord Henry agreed, a little bewildered, he confesses,\n\"always provided you are certain it will not overtax your endurance and\ndistress you overmuch. We could perhaps dispense with your testimony.\"\n\n\"In that, my lord, I assure you that you are mistaken,\" she answered.\n\"You cannot dispense with it.\"\n\n\"Be it so, then,\" said Sir John grimly, and he strode back to the table,\nprepared to take his place there.\n\nLord Henry\'s twinkling blue eyes were still considering Rosamund\nsomewhat searchingly, his fingers tugging thoughtfully at his short\ntuft of ashen-coloured beard. Then he turned to the door. \"Come in,\ngentlemen,\" he said, \"and bid them bring up the prisoner.\"\n\nSteps clanked upon the deck, and three of Sir John\'s officers made their\nappearance to complete the court that was to sit in judgment upon the\nrenegade corsair, a judgment whose issue was foregone.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV. THE ADVOCATE\n\n\nChairs were set at the long brown table of massive oak, and the\nofficers sat down, facing the open door and the blaze of sunshine on\nthe poop-deck, their backs to the other door and the horn windows which\nopened upon the stern-gallery. The middle place was assumed by Lord\nHenry Goade by virtue of his office of Queen\'s Lieutenant, and the\nreason for his chain of office became now apparent. He was to preside\nover this summary court. On his right sat Sir John Killigrew, and\nbeyond him an officer named Youldon. The other two, whose names have not\nsurvived, occupied his lordship\'s left.\n\nA chair had been set for Rosamund at the table\'s extreme right and\nacross the head of it, so as to detach her from the judicial bench. She\nsat there now, her elbows on the polished board, her face resting in her\nhalf-clenched hands, her eyes scrutinizing the five gentlemen who formed\nthis court.\n\nSteps rang on the companion, and a shadow fell athwart the sunlight\nbeyond the open door. From the vessel\'s waist came a murmur of voices\nand a laugh. Then Sir Oliver appeared in the doorway guarded by two\nfighting seamen in corselet and morion with drawn swords.\n\nHe paused an instant in the doorway, and his eyelids flickered as if he\nhad received a shock when his glance alighted upon Rosamund. Then under\nthe suasion of his guards he entered, and stood forward, his wrists\nstill pinioned behind him, slightly in advance of the two soldiers.\n\nHe nodded perfunctorily to the court, his face entirely calm.\n\n\"A fine morning, sirs,\" said he.\n\nThe five considered him in silence, but Lord Henry\'s glance, as it\nrested upon the corsair\'s Muslim garb, was eloquent of the scorn which\nhe tells us filled his heart.\n\n\"You are no doubt aware, sir,\" said Sir John after a long pause, \"of the\npurpose for which you have been brought hither.\"\n\n\"Scarcely,\" said the prisoner. \"But I have no doubt whatever of the\npurpose for which I shall presently be taken hence. However,\" he\ncontinued, cool and critical, \"I can guess from your judicial attitudes\nthe superfluous mockery that you intend. If it will afford you\nentertainment, faith, I do not grudge indulging you. I would observe\nonly that it might be considerate in you to spare Mistress Rosamund the\npain and weariness of the business that is before you.\"\n\n\"Mistress Rosamund herself desired to be present,\" said Sir John,\nscowling.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said Sir Oliver, \"she does not realize....\"\n\n\"I have made it abundantly plain to her,\" Sir John interrupted, almost\nvindictively.\n\nThe prisoner looked at her as if in surprise, his brows knit. Then with\na shrug he turned to his judges again.\n\n\"In that case,\" said he, \"there\'s no more to be said. But before you\nproceed, there is another matter upon which I desire an understanding.\n\n\"The terms of my surrender were that all others should be permitted to\ngo free. You will remember, Sir John, that you pledged me your knightly\nword for that. Yet I find aboard here one who was lately with me upon my\ngaleasse--a sometime English seaman, named Jasper Leigh, whom you hold a\nprisoner.\"\n\n\"He killed Master Lionel Tressilian,\" said Sir John coldly\n\n\"That may be, Sir John. But the blow was delivered before I made my\nterms with you, and you cannot violate these terms without hurt to your\nhonour.\"\n\n\"D\'ye talk of honour, sir?\" said Lord Henry.\n\n\"Of Sir John\'s honour, my lord,\" said the prisoner, with mock humility.\n\n\"You are here, sir, to take your trial,\" Sir John reminded him.\n\n\"So I had supposed. It is a privilege for which you agreed to pay\na certain price, and now it seems you have been guilty of filching\nsomething back. It seems so, I say. For I cannot think but that the\narrest was inadvertently effected, and that it will suffice that I draw\nyour attention to the matter of Master Leigh\'s detention.\"\n\nSir John considered the table. It was beyond question that he was in\nhonour bound to enlarge Master Leigh, whatever the fellow might have\ndone; and, indeed, his arrest had been made without Sir John\'s knowledge\nuntil after the event.\n\n\"What am I do with him?\" he growled sullenly.\n\n\"That is for yourself to decide, Sir John. But I can tell you what you\nmay not do with him. You may not keep him a prisoner, or carry him to\nEngland or injure him in any way. Since his arrest was a pure error,\nas I gather, you must repair that error as best you can. I am satisfied\nthat you will do so, and need say no more. Your servant, sirs,\" he added\nto intimate that he was now entirely at their disposal, and he stood\nwaiting.\n\nThere was a slight pause, and then Lord Henry, his face inscrutable, his\nglance hostile and cold, addressed the prisoner.\n\n\"We have had you brought hither to afford you an opportunity of urging\nany reasons why we should not hang you out of hand, as is our right.\"\n\nSir Oliver looked at him in almost amused surprise. \"Faith!\" he said at\nlength. \"It was never my habit to waste breath.\"\n\n\"I doubt you do not rightly apprehend me, sir,\" returned his lordship,\nand his voice was soft and silken as became his judicial position.\n\"Should you demand a formal trial, we will convey you to England that\nyou may have it.\"\n\n\"But lest you should build unduly upon that,\" cut in Sir John fiercely,\n\"let me warn you that as the offences for which you are to suffer were\nchiefly committed within Lord Henry Goade\'s own jurisdiction, your trial\nwill take place in Cornwall, where Lord Henry has the honour to be Her\nMajesty\'s Lieutenant and dispenser of justice.\"\n\n\"Her Majesty is to be congratulated,\" said Sir Oliver elaborately.\n\n\"It is for you to choose, sir,\" Sir John ran on, \"whether you will be\nhanged on sea or land.\"\n\n\"My only possible objection would be to being hanged in the air. But\nyou\'re not likely to heed that,\" was the flippant answer.\n\nLord Henry leaned forward again. \"Let me beg you, sir, in your own\ninterests to be serious,\" he admonished the prisoner.\n\n\"I confess the occasion, my lord. For if you are to sit in judgment upon\nmy piracy, I could not desire a more experienced judge of the matter on\nsea or land than Sir John Killigrew.\"\n\n\"I am glad to deserve your approval,\" Sir John replied tartly. \"Piracy,\"\nhe added, \"is but the least of the counts against you.\"\n\nSir Oliver\'s brows went up, and he stared at the row of solemn faces.\n\n\"As God\'s my life, then, your other counts must needs be sound--or else,\nif there be any justice in your methods, you are like to be disappointed\nof your hopes of seeing me swing. Proceed, sirs, to the other counts. I\nvow you become more interesting than I could have hoped.\"\n\n\"Can you deny the piracy?\" quoth Lord Henry.\n\n\"Deny it? No. But I deny your jurisdiction in the matter, or that of any\nEnglish court, since I have committed no piracy in English waters.\"\n\nLord Henry admits that the answer silenced and bewildered him, being\nutterly unexpected. Yet what the prisoner urged was a truth so obvious\nthat it was difficult to apprehend how his lordship had come to overlook\nit. I rather fear that despite his judicial office, jurisprudence was\nnot a strong point with his lordship. But Sir John, less perspicuous or\nless scrupulous in the matter, had his retort ready.\n\n\"Did you not come to Arwenack and forcibly carry off thence....\"\n\n\"Nay, now, nay, now,\" the corsair interrupted, good-humouredly. \"Go back\nto school, Sir John, to learn that abduction is not piracy.\"\n\n\"Call it abduction, if you will,\" Sir John admitted.\n\n\"Not if I will, Sir John. We\'ll call it what it is, if you please.\"\n\n\"You are trifling, sir. But we shall mend that presently,\" and Sir John\nbanged the table with his fist, his face flushing slightly in anger.\n(Lord Henry very properly deplores this show of heat at such a time.)\n\"You cannot pretend to be ignorant,\" Sir John continued, \"that abduction\nis punishable by death under the law of England.\" He turned to his\nfellow-judges. \"We will then, sirs, with your concurrence, say no more\nof the piracy.\"\n\n\"Faith,\" said Lord Henry in his gentle tones, \"in justice we cannot.\"\nAnd he shrugged the matter aside. \"The prisoner is right in what he\nclaims. We have no jurisdiction in that matter, seeing that he committed\nno piracy in English waters, nor--so far as our knowledge goes--against\nany vessel sailing under the English flag.\"\n\nRosamund stirred. Slowly she took her elbows from the table, and folded\nher arms resting them upon the edge of it. Thus leaning forward she\nlistened now with an odd brightness in her eye, a slight flush in her\ncheeks reflecting some odd excitement called into life by Lord Henry\'s\nadmission--an admission which sensibly whittled down the charges against\nthe prisoner.\n\nSir Oliver, watching her almost furtively, noted this and marvelled,\neven as he marvelled at her general composure. It was in vain that he\nsought to guess what might be her attitude of mind towards himself now\nthat she was safe again among friends and protectors.\n\nBut Sir John, intent only upon the business ahead, plunged angrily on.\n\n\"Be it so,\" he admitted impatiently. \"We will deal with him upon the\ncounts of abduction and murder. Have you anything to say?\"\n\n\"Nothing that would be like to weigh with you,\" replied Sir Oliver. And\nthen with a sudden change from his slightly derisive manner to one that\nwas charged with passion: \"Let us make an end of this comedy,\" he cried,\n\"of this pretence of judicial proceedings. Hang me, and have done,\nor set me to walk the plank. Play the pirate, for that is a trade you\nunderstand. But a\' God\'s name don\'t disgrace the Queen\'s commission by\nplaying the judge.\"\n\nSir John leapt to his feet, his face aflame. \"Now, by Heaven, you\ninsolent knave....\"\n\nBut Lord Henry checked him, placing a restraining hand upon his sleeve,\nand forcing him gently back into his seat. Himself he now addressed the\nprisoner.\n\n\"Sir, your words are unworthy one who, whatever his crimes, has earned\nthe repute of being a sturdy, valiant fighter. Your deeds are so\nnotorious--particularly that which caused you to flee from England\nand take to roving, and that of your reappearance at Arwenack and\nthe abduction of which you were then guilty--that your sentence in\nan English court is a matter foregone beyond all possible doubt.\nNevertheless, it shall be yours, as I have said, for the asking.\n\n\"Yet,\" he added, and his voice was lowered and very earnest, \"were I\nyour friend, Sir Oliver, I would advise you that you rather choose to be\ndealt with in the summary fashion of the sea.\"\n\n\"Sirs,\" replied Sir Oliver, \"your right to hang me I have not disputed,\nnor do I. I have no more to say.\"\n\n\"But I have.\"\n\nThus Rosamund at last, startling the court with her crisp, sharp\nutterance. All turned to look at her as she rose, and stood tall and\ncompelling at the table\'s end.\n\n\"Rosamund!\" cried Sir John, and rose in his turn. \"Let me implore\nyou....\"\n\nShe waved him peremptorily, almost contemptuously, into silence.\n\n\"Since in this matter of the abduction with which Sir Oliver is\ncharged,\" she said, \"I am the person said to have been abducted, it were\nperhaps well that before going further in this matter you should hear\nwhat I may hereafter have to say in an English court.\"\n\nSir John shrugged, and sat down again. She would have her way, he\nrealized; just as he knew that its only result could be to waste their\ntime and protract the agony of the doomed man.\n\nLord Henry turned to her, his manner full of deference. \"Since the\nprisoner has not denied the charge, and since wisely he refrains\nfrom demanding to be taken to trial, we need not harass you, Mistress\nRosamund. Nor will you be called upon to say anything in an English\ncourt.\"\n\n\"There you are at fault, my lord,\" she answered, her voice very level.\n\"I shall be called upon to say something when I impeach you all for\nmurder upon the high seas, as impeach you I shall if you persist in your\nintent.\"\n\n\"Rosamund!\" cried Oliver in his sudden amazement--and it was a cry of\njoy and exultation.\n\nShe looked at him, and smiled--a smile full of courage and friendliness\nand something more, a smile for which he considered that his impending\nhanging was but a little price to pay. Then she turned again to that\ncourt, into which her words had flung a sudden consternation.\n\n\"Since he disdains to deny the accusation, I must deny it for him,\" she\ninformed them. \"He did not abduct me, sirs, as is alleged. I love Oliver\nTressilian. I am of full age and mistress of my actions, and I went\nwillingly with him to Algiers where I became his wife.\"\n\nHad she flung a bomb amongst them she could hardly have made a greater\ndisorder of their wits. They sat back, and stared at her with blank\nfaces, muttering incoherencies.\n\n\"His... his wife?\" babbled Lord Henry. \"You became his....\"\n\nAnd then Sir John cut in fiercely. \"A lie! A lie to save that foul\nvillain\'s neck!\"\n\nRosamund leaned towards him, and her smile was almost a sneer. \"Your\nwits were ever sluggish, Sir John,\" she said. \"Else you would not need\nreminding that I could have no object in lying to save him if he had\ndone me the wrong that is imputed to him.\" Then she looked at the\nothers. \"I think, sirs, that in this matter my word will outweigh Sir\nJohn\'s or any man\'s in any court of justice.\"\n\n\"Faith, that\'s true enough!\" ejaculated the bewildered Lord Henry. \"A\nmoment, Killigrew!\" And again he stilled the impetuous Sir John. He\nlooked at Sir Oliver, who in truth was very far from being the least\nbewildered in that company. \"What do you say to that, sir?\" he asked.\n\n\"To that?\" echoed the almost speechless corsair. \"What is there left to\nsay?\" he evaded.\n\n\"\'Tis all false,\" cried Sir John again. \"We were witnesses of the\nevent--you and I, Harry--and we saw....\"\n\n\"You saw,\" Rosamund interrupted. \"But you did not know what had been\nconcerted.\"\n\nFor a moment that silenced them again. They were as men who stand upon\ncrumbling ground, whose every effort to win to a safer footing but\noccasioned a fresh slide of soil. Then Sir John sneered, and made his\nriposte.\n\n\"No doubt she will be prepared to swear that her betrothed, Master\nLionel Tressilian, accompanied her willingly upon that elopement.\"\n\n\"No,\" she answered. \"As for Lionel Tressilian he was carried off that\nhe might expiate his sins--sins which he had fathered upon his brother\nthere, sins which are the subject of your other count against him.\"\n\n\"Now what can you mean by that?\" asked his lordship.\n\n\"That the story that Sir Oliver killed my brother is a calumny; that the\nmurderer was Lionel Tressilian, who, to avoid detection and to complete\nhis work, caused Sir Oliver to be kidnapped that he might be sold into\nslavery.\"\n\n\"This is too much!\" roared Sir John. \"She is trifling with us, she\nmakes white black and black white. She has been bewitched by that crafty\nrogue, by Moorish arts that....\"\n\n\"Wait!\" said Lord Henry, raising his hand. \"Give me leave.\" He\nconfronted her very seriously. \"This... this is a grave statement,\nmistress. Have you any proof--anything that you conceive to be a\nproof--of what you are saying?\"\n\nBut Sir John was not to be repressed. \"\'Tis but the lying tale this\nvillain told her. He has bewitched her, I say. \'Tis plain as the\nsunlight yonder.\"\n\nSir Oliver laughed outright at that. His mood was growing exultant,\nbuoyant, and joyous, and this was the first expression of it. \"Bewitched\nher? You\'re determined never to lack for a charge. First \'twas piracy,\nthen abduction and murder, and now \'tis witchcraft!\"\n\n\"Oh, a moment, pray!\" cried Lord Henry, and he confesses to some heat\nat this point. \"Do you seriously tell us, Mistress Rosamund, that it was\nLionel Tressilian who murdered Peter Godolphin?\"\n\n\"Seriously?\" she echoed, and her lips were twisted in a little smile of\nscorn. \"I not merely tell it you, I swear it here in the sight of God.\nIt was Lionel who murdered my brother and it was Lionel who put it about\nthat the deed was Sir Oliver\'s. It was said that Sir Oliver had run away\nfrom the consequences of something discovered against him, and I to\nmy shame believed the public voice. But I have since discovered the\ntruth....\"\n\n\"The truth, do you say, mistress?\" cried the impetuous Sir John in a\nvoice of passionate contempt. \"The truth....\"\n\nAgain his Lordship was forced to intervene.\n\n\"Have patience, man,\" he admonished the knight. \"The truth will prevail\nin the end, never fear, Killigrew.\"\n\n\"Meanwhile we are wasting time,\" grumbled Sir John, and on that fell\nmoodily silent.\n\n\"Are we further to understand you to say, mistress,\" Lord Henry resumed,\n\"that the prisoner\'s disappearance from Penarrow was due not to flight,\nas was supposed, but to his having been trepanned by order of his\nbrother?\"\n\n\"That is the truth as I stand here in the sight of Heaven,\" she replied\nin a voice that rang with sincerity and carried conviction to more than\none of the officers seated at that table. \"By that act the murderer\nsought not only to save himself from exposure, but to complete his work\nby succeeding to the Tressilian estates. Sir Oliver was to have been\nsold into slavery to the Moors of Barbary. Instead the vessel upon which\nhe sailed was captured by Spaniards, and he was sent to the galleys by\nthe Inquisition. When his galley was captured by Muslim corsairs he took\nthe only way of escape that offered. He became a corsair and a leader of\ncorsairs, and then....\"\n\n\"What else he did we know,\" Lord Henry interrupted. \"And I assure you it\nwould all weigh very lightly with us or with any court if what else you\nsay is true.\"\n\n\"It is true. I swear it, my lord,\" she repeated.\n\n\"Ay,\" he answered, nodding gravely. \"But can you prove it?\"\n\n\"What better proof can I offer you than that I love him, and have\nmarried him?\"\n\n\"Bah!\" said Sir John.\n\n\"That, mistress,\" said Lord Henry, his manner extremely gentle, \"is\nproof that yourself you believe this amazing story. But it is not proof\nthat the story itself is true. You had it, I suppose,\" he continued\nsmoothly, \"from Oliver Tressilian himself?\"\n\n\"That is so; but in Lionel\'s own presence, and Lionel himself confirmed\nit--admitting its truth.\"\n\n\"You dare say that?\" cried Sir John, and stared at her in incredulous\nanger. \"My God! You dare say that?\"\n\n\"I dare and do,\" she answered him, giving him back look for look.\n\nLord Henry sat back in his chair, and tugged gently at his ashen tuft of\nbeard, his florid face overcast and thoughtful. There was something here\nhe did not understand at all. \"Mistress Rosamund,\" he said quietly, \"let\nme exhort you to consider the gravity of your words. You are virtually\naccusing one who is no longer able to defend himself; if your story\nis established, infamy will rest for ever upon the memory of Lionel\nTressilian. Let me ask you again, and let me entreat you to answer\nscrupulously. Did Lionel Tressilian admit the truth of this thing with\nwhich you say that the prisoner charged him?\"\n\n\"Once more I solemnly swear that what I have spoken is true; that Lionel\nTressilian did in my presence, when charged by Sir Oliver with the\nmurder of my brother and the kidnapping of himself, admit those charges.\nCan I make it any plainer, sirs?\"\n\nLord Henry spread his hands. \"After that, Killigrew, I do not think we\ncan go further in this matter. Sir Oliver must go with us to England,\nand there take his trial.\"\n\nBut there was one present--that officer named Youldon--whose wits, it\nseems, were of keener temper.\n\n\"By your leave, my lord,\" he now interposed, and he turned to question\nthe witness. \"What was the occasion on which Sir Oliver forced this\nadmission from his brother?\"\n\nTruthfully she answered. \"At his house in Algiers on the night he....\"\nShe checked suddenly, perceiving then the trap that had been set for\nher. And the others perceived it also. Sir John leapt into the breach\nwhich Youldon had so shrewdly made in her defences.\n\n\"Continue, pray,\" he bade her. \"On the night he....\"\n\n\"On the night we arrived there,\" she answered desperately, the colour\nnow receding slowly from her face.\n\n\"And that, of course,\" said Sir John slowly, mockingly almost, \"was\nthe first occasion on which you heard this explanation of Sir Oliver\'s\nconduct?\"\n\n\"It was,\" she faltered--perforce.\n\n\"So that,\" insisted Sir John, determined to leave her no loophole\nwhatsoever, \"so that until that night you had naturally continued to\nbelieve Sir Oliver to be the murderer of your brother?\"\n\nShe hung her head in silence, realizing that the truth could not prevail\nhere since she had hampered it with a falsehood, which was now being\ndragged into the light.\n\n\"Answer me!\" Sir John commanded.\n\n\"There is no need to answer,\" said Lord Henry slowly, in a voice of\npain, his eyes lowered to the table. \"There can, of course, be but\none answer. Mistress Rosamund has told us that he did not abduct her\nforcibly; that she went with him of her own free will and married him;\nand she has urged that circumstance as a proof of her conviction of his\ninnocence. Yet now it becomes plain that at the time she left England\nwith him she still believed him to be her brother\'s slayer. Yet she asks\nus to believe that he did not abduct her.\" He spread his hands again and\npursed his lips in a sort of grieved contempt.\n\n\"Let us make an end, a\' God\'s name!\" said Sir John, rising.\n\n\"Ah, wait!\" she cried. \"I swear that all that I have told you is\ntrue--all but the matter of the abduction. I admit that, but I condoned\nit in view of what I have since learnt.\"\n\n\"She admits it!\" mocked Sir John.\n\nBut she went on without heeding him. \"Knowing what he has suffered\nthrough the evil of others, I gladly own him my husband, hoping to make\nsome amends to him for the part I had in his wrongs. You must believe\nme, sirs. But if you will not, I ask you is his action of yesterday to\ncount for naught? Are you not to remember that but for him you would\nhave had no knowledge of my whereabouts?\"\n\nThey stared at her in fresh surprise.\n\n\"To what do you refer now, mistress? What action of his is responsible\nfor this?\"\n\n\"Do you need to ask? Are you so set on murdering him that you affect\nignorance? Surely you know that it was he dispatched Lionel to inform\nyou of my whereabouts?\"\n\nLord Henry tells us that at this he smote the table with his open palm,\ndisplaying an anger he could no longer curb. \"This is too much!\" he\ncried. \"Hitherto I have believed you sincere but misguided and mistaken.\nBut so deliberate a falsehood transcends all bounds. What has come to\nyou, girl? Why, Lionel himself told us the circumstances of his escape\nfrom the galeasse. Himself he told us how that villain had him flogged\nand then flung him into the sea for dead.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said Sir Oliver between his teeth. \"I recognize Lionel there! He\nwould be false to the end, of course. I should have thought of that.\"\n\nRosamund at bay, in a burst of regal anger leaned forward to face Lord\nHenry and the others. \"He lied, the base, treacherous dog!\" she cried.\n\n\"Madam,\" Sir John rebuked her, \"you are speaking of one who is all but\ndead.\"\n\n\"And more than damned,\" added Sir Oliver. \"Sirs,\" he cried, \"you prove\nnaught but your own stupidity when you accuse this gentle lady of\nfalsehood.\"\n\n\"We have heard enough, sir,\" Lord Henry interrupted.\n\n\"Have you so, by God!\" he roared, stung suddenly to anger. \"You shall\nhear yet a little more. The truth will prevail, you have said yourself;\nand prevail the truth shall since this sweet lady so desires it.\"\n\nHe was flushed, and his light eyes played over them like points of\nsteel, and like points of steel they carried a certain measure of\ncompulsion. He had stood before them half-mocking and indifferent,\nresigned to hang and desiring the thing might be over and ended as\nspeedily as possible. But all that was before he suspected that life\ncould still have anything to offer him, whilst he conceived that\nRosamund was definitely lost to him. True, he had the memory of a\ncertain tenderness she had shown him yesternight aboard the galley, but\nhe had deemed that tenderness to be no more than such as the situation\nitself begot. Almost he had deemed the same to be here the case until he\nhad witnessed her fierceness and despair in fighting for his life, until\nhe had heard and gauged the sincerity of her avowal that she loved him\nand desired to make some amends to him for all that he had suffered in\nthe past. That had spurred him, and had a further spur been needed, it\nwas afforded him when they branded her words with falsehood, mocked her\nto her face with what they supposed to be her lies. Anger had taken him\nat that to stiffen his resolve to make a stand against them and use the\none weapon that remained him--that a merciful chance, a just God had\nplaced within his power almost despite himself.\n\n\"I little knew, sirs,\" he said, \"that Sir John was guided by the hand\nof destiny itself when last night, in violation of the terms of my\nsurrender, he took a prisoner from my galeasse. That man is, as I have\nsaid, a sometime English seaman, named Jasper Leigh. He fell into my\nhands some months ago, and took the same road to escape from thraldom\nthat I took myself under the like circumstances. I was merciful in that\nI permitted him to do so, for he is the very skipper who was suborned by\nLionel to kidnap me and carry me into Barbary. With me he fell into the\nhands of the Spaniards. Have him brought hither, and question him.\"\n\nIn silence they all looked at him, but on more than one face he saw the\nreflection of amazement at his impudence, as they conceived it.\n\nIt was Lord Henry who spoke at last. \"Surely, sir, this is most oddly,\nmost suspiciously apt,\" he said, and there could be no doubt that he was\nfaintly sneering. \"The very man to be here aboard, and taken prisoner\nthus, almost by chance....\"\n\n\"Not quite by chance, though very nearly. He conceives that he has\na grudge against Lionel, for it was through Lionel that misfortune\novertook him. Last night when Lionel so rashly leapt aboard the galley,\nJasper Leigh saw his opportunity to settle an old score and took it. It\nwas as a consequence of that that he was arrested.\"\n\n\"Even so, the chance is still miraculous.\"\n\n\"Miracles, my lord, must happen sometimes if the truth is to prevail,\"\nSir Oliver replied with a tinge of his earlier mockery. \"Fetch him\nhither, and question him. He knows naught of what has passed here. It\nwere a madness to suppose him primed for a situation which none could\nhave foreseen. Fetch him hither, then.\"\n\nSteps sounded outside but went unheeded at the moment.\n\n\"Surely,\" said Sir John, \"we have been trifled with by liars long\nenough!\"\n\nThe door was flung open, and the lean black figure of the surgeon made\nits appearance.\n\n\"Sir John!\" he called urgently, breaking without ceremony into the\nproceedings, and never heeding Lord Henry\'s scowl. \"Master Tressilian\nhas recovered consciousness. He is asking for you and for his brother.\nQuick, sirs! He is sinking fast.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI. THE JUDGMENT\n\n\nTo that cabin below the whole company repaired in all speed in the\nsurgeon\'s wake, Sir Oliver coming last between his guards. They\nassembled about the couch where Lionel lay, leaden-hued of face, his\nbreathing laboured, his eyes dull and glazing.\n\nSir John ran to him, went down upon one knee to put loving arms about\nthat chilling clay, and very gently raised him in them, and held him so\nresting against his breast.\n\n\"Lionel!\" he cried in stricken accents. And then as if thoughts of\nvengeance were to soothe and comfort his sinking friend\'s last moments,\nhe added: \"We have the villain fast.\"\n\nVery slowly and with obvious effort Lionel turned his head to the right,\nand his dull eyes went beyond Sir John and made quest in the ranks of\nthose that stood about him.\n\n\"Oliver?\" he said in a hoarse whisper. \"Where is Oliver?\"\n\n\"There is not the need to distress you....\" Sir John was beginning, when\nLionel interrupted him.\n\n\"Wait!\" he commanded in a louder tone. \"Is Oliver safe?\"\n\n\"I am here,\" said Sir Oliver\'s deep voice, and those who stood between\nhim and his brother drew aside that they might cease from screening him.\n\nLionel looked at him for a long moment in silence, sitting up a little.\nThen he sank back again slowly against Sir John\'s breast.\n\n\"God has been merciful to me a sinner,\" he said, \"since He accords me the\nmeans to make amends, tardily though it be.\"\n\nThen he struggled up again, and held out his arms to Sir Oliver, and his\nvoice came in a great pleading cry. \"Noll! My brother! Forgive!\"\n\nOliver advanced, none hindering until, with his hands still pinioned\nbehind him he stood towering there above his brother, so tall that his\nturban brushed the low ceiling of the cabin. His countenance was stern\nand grim.\n\n\"What is it that you ask me to forgive?\" he asked. Lionel struggled to\nanswer, and sank back again into Sir John\'s arms, fighting for breath;\nthere was a trace of blood-stained foam about his lips.\n\n\"Speak! Oh, speak, in God\'s name!\" Rosamund exhorted him from the other\nside, and her voice was wrung with agony.\n\nHe looked at her, and smiled faintly. \"Never fear,\" he whispered, \"I\nshall speak. God has spared me to that end. Take your arms from me,\nKilligrew. I am the... the vilest of men. It... it was I who killed\nPeter Godolphin.\"\n\n\"My God!\" groaned Sir John, whilst Lord Henry drew a sharp breath of\ndismay and realization.\n\n\"Ah, but that is not my sin,\" Lionel continued. \"There was no sin in\nthat. We fought, and in self-defence I slew him--fighting fair. My sin\ncame afterwards. When suspicion fell on Oliver, I nourished it...Oliver\nknew the deed was mine, and kept silent that he might screen me. I\nfeared the truth might become known for all that... and... and I was\njealous of him, and... and I had him kidnapped to be sold....\"\n\nHis fading voice trailed away into silence. A cough shook him, and the\nfaint crimson foam on his lips was increased. But he rallied again, and\nlay there panting, his fingers plucking at the coverlet.\n\n\"Tell them,\" said Rosamund, who in her desperate fight for Sir Oliver\'s\nlife kept her mind cool and steady and directed towards essentials,\n\"tell them the name of the man you hired to kidnap him.\"\n\n\"Jasper Leigh, the skipper of the Swallow,\" he answered, whereupon she\nflashed upon Lord Henry a look that contained a gleam of triumph for all\nthat her face was ashen and her lips trembled.\n\nThen she turned again to the dying man, relentlessly almost in her\ndetermination to extract all vital truth from him ere he fell silent.\n\n\"Tell them,\" she bade him, \"under what circumstances Sir Oliver sent you\nlast night to the Silver Heron.\"\n\n\"Nay, there is no need to harass him,\" Lord Henry interposed. \"He has\nsaid enough already. May God forgive us our blindness, Killigrew!\"\n\nSir John bowed his head in silence over Lionel.\n\n\"Is it you, Sir John?\" whispered the dying man. \"What? Still there? Ha!\"\nhe seemed to laugh faintly, then checked. \"I am going....\" he muttered,\nand again his voice grew stronger, obeying the last flicker of his\nshrinking will. \"Noll! I am going! I...I have made reparation... all\nthat I could. Give me... give me thy hand!\" Gropingly he put forth his\nright.\n\n\"I should have given it you ere this but that my wrists are bound,\"\ncried Oliver in a sudden frenzy. And then exerting that colossal\nstrength of his, he suddenly snapped the cords that pinioned him as if\nthey had been thread. He caught his brother\'s extended hand, and dropped\nupon his knees beside him. \"Lionel...Boy!\" he cried. It was as if\nall that had befallen in the last five years had been wiped out of\nexistence. His fierce relentless hatred of his half-brother, his burning\nsense of wrong, his parching thirst for vengeance, became on the instant\nall dead, buried, and forgotten. More, it was as if they had never been.\nLionel in that moment was again the weak, comely, beloved brother whom\nhe had cherished and screened and guarded, and for whom when the hour\narrived he had sacrificed his good name, and the woman he loved, and\nplaced his life itself in jeopardy.\n\n\"Lionel, boy!\" was all that for a moment he could say. Then: \"Poor lad!\nPoor lad!\" he added. \"Temptation was too strong for thee.\" And reaching\nforth he took the other white hand that lay beyond the couch, and so\nheld both tight-clasped within his own.\n\nFrom one of the ports a ray of sunshine was creeping upwards towards the\ndying man\'s face. But the radiance that now overspread it was from an\ninward source. Feebly he returned the clasp of his brother\'s hands.\n\n\"Oliver, Oliver!\" he whispered. \"There is none like thee! I ever knew\nthee as noble as I was base. Have I said enough to make you safe? Say\nthat he will be safe now,\" he appealed to the others, \"that no....\"\n\n\"He will be safe,\" said Lord Henry stoutly. \"My word on\'t.\"\n\n\"It is well. The past is past. The future is in your hands, Oliver.\nGod\'s blessing on\'t.\" He seemed to collapse, to rally yet again. He\nsmiled pensively, his mind already wandering. \"That was a long swim last\nnight--the longest I ever swam. From Penarrow to Trefusis--a fine long\nswim. But you were with me, Noll. Had my strength given out...I could\nhave depended on you. I am still chill from it, for it was cold...\ncold... ugh!\" He shuddered, and lay still.\n\nGently Sir John lowered him to his couch. Beyond it Rosamund fell\nupon her knees and covered her face, whilst by Sir John\'s side Oliver\ncontinued to kneel, clasping in his own his brother\'s chilling hands.\n\nThere ensued a long spell of silence. Then with a heavy sigh Sir Oliver\nfolded Lionel\'s hands across his breast, and slowly, heavily rose to his\nfeet.\n\nThe others seemed to take this for a signal. It was as if they had\nbut waited mute and still out of deference to Oliver. Lord Henry moved\nsoftly round to Rosamund and touched her lightly upon the shoulder. She\nrose and went out in the wake of the others, Lord Henry following her,\nand none remaining but the surgeon.\n\nOutside in the sunshine they checked. Sir John stood with bent head and\nhunched shoulders, his eyes upon the white deck. Timidly almost--a thing\nnever seen before in this bold man--he looked at Sir Oliver.\n\n\"He was my friend,\" he said sorrowfully, and as if to excuse and explain\nhimself, \"and... and I was misled through love of him.\"\n\n\"He was my brother,\" replied Sir Oliver solemnly. \"God rest him!\"\n\nSir John, resolved, drew himself up into an attitude preparatory to\nreceiving with dignity a rebuff should it be administered him.\n\n\"Can you find it in your generosity, sir, to forgive me?\" he asked, and\nhis air was almost one of challenge.\n\nSilently Sir Oliver held out his hand. Sir John fell upon it almost in\neagerness.\n\n\"We are like to be neighbours again,\" he said, \"and I give you my word I\nshall strive to be a more neighbourly one than in the past.\"\n\n\"Then, sirs,\" said Sir Oliver, looking from Sir John to Lord Henry, \"I\nam to understand that I am no longer a prisoner.\"\n\n\"You need not hesitate to return with us to England, Sir Oliver,\"\nreplied his lordship. \"The Queen shall hear your story, and we have\nJasper Leigh to confirm it if need be, and I will go warranty for your\ncomplete reinstatement. Count me your friend, Sir Oliver, I beg.\" And\nhe, too, held out his hand. Then turning to the others: \"Come, sirs,\" he\nsaid, \"we have duties elsewhere, I think.\"\n\nThey tramped away, leaving Oliver and Rosamund alone. The twain looked\nlong each at the other. There was so much to say, so much to ask,\nso much to explain, that neither knew with what words to begin. Then\nRosamund suddenly came up to him, holding out her hands. \"Oh, my dear!\"\nshe said, and that, after all, summed up a deal.\n\nOne or two over-inquisitive seamen, lounging on the forecastle and\npeeping through the shrouds, were disgusted to see the lady of Godolphin\nCourt in the arms of a beturbaned bare-legged follower of Mahound.'"