"A little." Don Manuel frowned a warning. Beauvallet turned his head to observe the reason of this. Dominica was standing stiffly by the table. It seemed this abominable man must be everywhere at once. One's own cabin was the only safe retreat. She moved stately to the door. Bartolomeo went to open it, but was put aside by a careless hand. Sir Nicholas held the door wide, and my lady went out with a quickened step. "You, too, Bartolomeo," Don Manuel said, and lay watching Beauvallet. He fetched a stifled sigh. This handsome man with his springing step and alert carriage seemed to the sick gentleman the very embodiment of life and health. Beauvallet came to the bunk, and pulled a joint-stool forward, and sat down upon it. "You want to speak with me, señor?" "I want to speak with you." Don Manuel plucked at the sheet that covered him. "Señor, since first you brought us aboard this ship you have not again spoken of our disposal." Beauvallet raised his brows quickly. "I thought I had made myself plain, señor. I shall set you ashore on the northern coast of Spain." Don Manuel tried to read the face before him; the blue eyes looked straightly; under the neat mustachio the mouth was firm and humorous. If Beauvallet had secrets he hid them well under a frank exterior. "Am I to believe you serious, señor?" "Never more so, upon my honour. Wherefore all this pother over a very simple matter?" "Is it, then, so simple to put into a Spanish port, señor?" "To say truth, señor, your countrymen have not yet learned the trick of capturing Nick Beauvallet. God send them a better education, cry you!" Don Manuel spoke gravely. "Señor, you are an enemy--a dangerous enemy--to my country, yet, believe me, I should be sorry to see you taken." "A thousand thanks, señor. You will certainly not see it. I was born in a fortunate hour." "I have had enough of portents and omens, señor, from your servant. I make bold to say that if you set us ashore in Spain you place your life in jeopardy. And for what? It is madness! I can find no other name for it." The firm lips parted; there was a gleam of white teeth. "Call it Beauvallet's way, señor." Don Manuel said nothing, but lay still, watching his captor and host. After a minute he spoke again. "You are a strange man, señor. For many years I have heard wild tales of you, and believed, perhaps, a quarter of them. You constrain me to lend ear to the wildest of them." He paused, but Beauvallet only smiled again. "If, indeed, you speak in good faith I stand infinitely beholden to you. Yet you might act in the best of faith and fail of such a foolhardy endeavour." Sir Nicholas swung his pomander on the end of its chain. "God rest you, señor: I shall not fail." "I pray in this instance you may not. It does not need for me to tell you that my days are numbered. I would end them in Spain, señor." Beauvallet held up his hand. "My oath on it, señor. You shall end them there," he said gently.