The Rafael Sabatini Megapack. Rafael Sabatini

two spectators on the poop, and increased the admiring wonder in which Lord Julian had observed the man’s approach.

      “We meet again at last, Don Miguel,” it said. “I hope you are satisfied. Although the meeting may not be exactly as you pictured it, at least it has been very ardently sought and desired by you.”

      Speechless, livid of face, his mouth distorted and his breathing laboured, Don Miguel de Espinosa received the irony of that man to whom he attributed his ruin and more beside. Then he uttered an inarticulate cry of rage, and his hand swept to his sword. But even as his fingers closed upon the hilt, the other’s closed upon his wrist to arrest the action.

      “Calm, Don Miguel!” he was quietly but firmly enjoined. “Do not recklessly invite the ugly extremes such as you would, yourself, have practised had the situation been reversed.”

      A moment they stood looking into each other’s eyes.

      “What do you intend by me?” the Spaniard enquired at last, his voice hoarse.

      Captain Blood shrugged. The firm lips smiled a little. “All that I intend has been already accomplished. And lest it increase your rancour, I beg you to observe that you have brought it entirely upon yourself. You would have it so.” He turned and pointed to the boats, which his men were heaving from the boom amidships. “Your boats are being launched. You are at liberty to embark in them with your men before we scuttle this ship. Yonder are the shores of Hispaniola. You should make them safely. And if you’ll take my advice, sir, you’ll not hunt me again. I think I am unlucky to you. Get you home to Spain, Don Miguel, and to concerns that you understand better than this trade of the sea.”

      For a long moment the defeated Admiral continued to stare his hatred in silence, then, still without speaking, he went down the companion, staggering like a drunken man, his useless rapier clattering behind him. His conqueror, who had not even troubled to disarm him, watched him go, then turned and faced those two immediately above him on the poop. Lord Julian might have observed, had he been less taken up with other things, that the fellow seemed suddenly to stiffen, and that he turned pale under his deep tan. A moment he stood at gaze; then suddenly and swiftly he came up the steps. Lord Julian stood forward to meet him.

      “Ye don’t mean, sir, that you’ll let that Spanish scoundrel go free?” he cried.

      The gentleman in the black corselet appeared to become aware of his lordship for the first time.

      “And who the devil may you be?” he asked, with a marked Irish accent. “And what business may it be of yours, at all?”

      His lordship conceived that the fellow’s truculence and utter lack of proper deference must be corrected. “I am Lord Julian Wade,” he announced, with that object.

      Apparently the announcement made no impression.

      “Are you, indeed! Then perhaps ye’ll explain what the plague you’re doing aboard this ship?”

      Lord Julian controlled himself to afford the desired explanation. He did so shortly and impatiently.

      “He took you prisoner, did he—along with Miss Bishop there?”

      “You are acquainted with Miss Bishop?” cried his lordship, passing from surprise to surprise.

      But this mannerless fellow had stepped past him, and was making a leg to the lady, who on her side remained unresponsive and forbidding to the point of scorn. Observing this, he turned to answer Lord Julian’s question.

      “I had that honour once,” said he. “But it seems that Miss Bishop has a shorter memory.”

      His lips were twisted into a wry smile, and there was pain in the blue eyes that gleamed so vividly under his black brows, pain blending with the mockery of his voice. But of all this it was the mockery alone that was perceived by Miss Bishop; she resented it.

      “I do not number thieves and pirates among my acquaintance, Captain Blood,” said she; whereupon his lordship exploded in excitement.

      “Captain Blood!” he cried. “Are you Captain Blood?”

      “What else were ye supposing?”

      Blood asked the question wearily, his mind on other things. “I do not number thieves and pirates among my acquaintance.” The cruel phrase filled his brain, reechoing and reverberating there.

      But Lord Julian would not be denied. He caught him by the sleeve with one hand, whilst with the other he pointed after the retreating, dejected figure of Don Miguel.

      “Do I understand that ye’re not going to hang that Spanish scoundrel?”

      “What for should I be hanging him?”

      “Because he’s just a damned pirate, as I can prove, as I have proved already.”

      “Ah!” said Blood, and Lord Julian marvelled at the sudden haggardness of a countenance that had been so devil-may-care but a few moments since. “I am a damned pirate, myself; and so I am merciful with my kind. Don Miguel goes free.”

      Lord Julian gasped. “After what I’ve told you that he has done? After his sinking of the Royal Mary? After his treatment of me—of us?” Lord Julian protested indignantly.

      “I am not in the service of England, or of any nation, sir. And I am not concerned with any wrongs her flag may suffer.”

      His lordship recoiled before the furious glance that blazed at him out of Blood’s haggard face. But the passion faded as swiftly as it had arisen. It was in a level voice that the Captain added:

      “If you’ll escort Miss Bishop aboard my ship, I shall be obliged to you. I beg that you’ll make haste. We are about to scuttle this hulk.”

      He turned slowly to depart. But again Lord Julian interposed. Containing his indignant amazement, his lordship delivered himself coldly. “Captain Blood, you disappoint me. I had hopes of great things for you.”

      “Go to the devil,” said Captain Blood, turning on his heel, and so departed.

      CHAPTER XX

      THIEF AND PIRATE

      Captain Blood paced the poop of his ship alone in the tepid dusk, and the growing golden radiance of the great poop lantern in which a seaman had just lighted the three lamps. About him all was peace. The signs of the day’s battle had been effaced, the decks had been swabbed, and order was restored above and below. A group of men squatting about the main hatch were drowsily chanting, their hardened natures softened, perhaps, by the calm and beauty of the night. They were the men of the larboard watch, waiting for eight bells which was imminent.

      Captain Blood did not hear them; he did not hear anything save the echo of those cruel words which had dubbed him thief and pirate.

      Thief and pirate!

      It is an odd fact of human nature that a man may for years possess the knowledge that a certain thing must be of a certain fashion, and yet be shocked to discover through his own senses that the fact is in perfect harmony with his beliefs. When first, three years ago, at Tortuga he had been urged upon the adventurer’s course which he had followed ever since, he had known in what opinion Arabella Bishop must hold him if he succumbed. Only the conviction that already she was for ever lost to him, by introducing a certain desperate recklessness into his soul had supplied the final impulse to drive him upon his rover’s course.

      That he should ever meet her again had not entered his calculations, had found no place in his dreams. They were, he conceived, irrevocably and for ever parted. Yet, in spite of this, in spite even of the persuasion that to her this reflection that was his torment could bring no regrets, he had kept the thought of her ever before him in all those wild years of filibustering. He had used it as a curb not only upon himself, but also upon those who followed him. Never had buccaneers been so rigidly held in hand, never had they been so firmly restrained, never so debarred from the excesses of rapine and lust that were usual in their kind as those who sailed with Captain Blood. It was, you will remember, stipulated in their articles that