’It is no enemy: it must be a poor man whom the pirates have brought here. That is their fashion. I have heard them speak of it. They land some one who has offended them, and leave him to die alone; though often they will give him a musket and a little powder.’ ’Then I should say that poor man is mad,’ said Harry. ’If so, he may be more dangerous than a pirate. But look, Andreas; if the pirates have been once they may come again.’ ’No, not for many a long day; they must have sighted this desert island by chance, and landed this poor man here, knowing it was uninhabited.’ ’Well, I will go and see what I can make of him,’ said Harry, ’whilst you get a rest, Carlo; for you must not be ill here, and Andreas will begin unloading the boat.’ ’Take care, Harry,’ cried Carlo; ’nay, wait: I will come with you--I can’t bear you to run the risk alone.’ ’I have been through so many perilous scrapes that one more or less makes but little difference. Still, come along, Señorito, we may perhaps make the poor man forget his troubles.’ So the two walked slowly along the shore till they came within a few yards of the weird figure; and Harry, wishing to attract his attention, called out to him and asked him what he did there. Then the figure paused, and gazed at the new-comers as if they were an unfamiliar sight, and began muttering through his long grey beard Spanish words of no meaning. ’Señor Carlo, this poor fellow is a Spaniard; but I see no sign of a musket. Speak to him, and ask him where he sleeps, and why he is here.’ Carlo began very courteously to inquire how the stranger had reached the island, as no boat was in sight; but suddenly he stopped short in his sentence, and clung wildly to Harry. ’Harry, Harry Fenn, look again, that man is--can you not see? It is my father; and yet I hardly knew him. See the ring on his finger?’ Harry would certainly not have recognised the Marquis, whom he had seen but little of; but in his astonishment he called out his name. ’The Señor Estevan del Campo! Surely it cannot be! Gracious Heaven!’ ’Yes, yes,’ said the poor man, ’that is my name. Who called me? Yes, yes, Estevan del Campo!’ ’Oh, sir, here is your son,’ said Harry; and then Carlo, summoning up his courage, rushed toward his poor father and knelt by his side. ’Father, father, do you not know me? I am Carlo, your son. Forgive me if I ever spoke harshly, father.’ ’Carlo my son? No, no, I have no son, no country. Don’t let any one come here to find out my hiding-place; I warn them off. The pirates left me here; that was the kindest thing they did for me. I have no name, no titles. Don’t tell any one where I am. What do they call it?--marooning--they marooned me, left me to die alone. It was their kindness; I bear them no grudge for doing that. No name, no country!’