“Dunno,” said Pain carelessly. “Give him a position in the Government, I heard.” He turned to Cammock. “One of Bill Knight’s lot was in Panama a year ago,” he continued. “He said he was got to be a big one there.” “Ah?” said Cammock. “Well. It’s right, too. There’s very good openings for a man in a Spanish town here.” “Indeed,” said Margaret. “I should have thought there was bitter feeling.” “Not a bit of it, sir. There’s only the religious trouble.” “That didn’t worry George much,” Pete said. After this the conversation died down, till Stukeley asked if a herald from a landing party ran risk of being shot. “No,” said Pain. “I done it two or three times. You go ashore under a white flag, holding up your hands, and then they come and blindfold you, and take you into the town. Then you say your piece to the Governor, and then you come back.” “Then,” said Stukeley, “you’d better prime me now in what you want said, Maggy. I must have a set speech ready for anything the old cove asks me.” “That’s quite true. I’m glad you reminded me. We’ll go into it. To-morrow morning, then, Captain Pain. But I wish you could have waited till my ship was scrubbed.” “Time enough, Mr. Margaret,” Pain answered. “We’ll careen her when we come back.” He went on deck with Cammock, leaving Margaret to instruct Stukeley in the matter of his speech to the Spanish Governor. One speech, which ran, “Your Excellency, I hold my King’s commission. If you permit me to trade here I pledge my honour to assist your King against his enemies in these seas,” seemed to Stukeley to be a pleasant jest. He repeated it, grinning, till he had it letter perfect. Then he repeated it in Spanish, and left the cabin, laughing. “Come back here a moment, Stukeley,” Margaret called. “I’ve got something I want to say to you.” “What now?” Stukeley answered. “Stukeley,” he said, “we’re going on a dangerous business to-morrow. I want you before we leave the ship to see your wife. Will you do that? I don’t want to preach. I only ask you to realize what it might be to her if anything happened to you.” “I’ll manage my own relations with my wife,” he answered. “Stukeley, she’s a long way from friends. Life isn’t very sweet to her.” “I’ll make it a good deal sourer if you come crawling round. Well, I’ll see her. Now then. No more. Good night, Captain Maggy.” The door slammed behind him with a clatter of swinging hooks. Margaret was alone, his face buried in his hands, with his world tottering about him, ready to fall. XI. THE FLAG OF TRUCE “Was it not sin enough, and wickedness, Thus like a rotten rascal to abuse The name of Heav’n, the tie of marriage, The honour of thy friends, the expectation, Of all that thought thee virtuous, with rebellion, After forgiveness, too?” _The Woman’s Prize._