“They are pirates, Judith. Now compose yourself, my good girl. And, dear Britomarte, attend. You must take Judith with you and leave this grotto. You must both go up the mountain to my hole in the rock, which is the safest hiding place on the whole island. You must conceal yourselves there until these men have finally left the island and their ship has sailed. If they do not see you again they may not think of you. Or even if they do think of you, they will never be able to find you in that secure retreat. Go at once!” “But you, Justin—but you,” exclaimed Miss Conyers, anxiously. “I can take care of myself.” “Oh, how? Oh, how? Think of the fury of that wretch when he recovers his senses, and remembers the punishment you inflicted on him. Think of the vengeance of his crew. What could you, one man, do against the pirate and all his band?” “Britomarte, you who have no fears for yourself, should have none for me. Only death can come to me. Worse, infinitely worse, might reach you. Go, dear Britomarte. Go at once. These miscreants may be even now on their way here,” he urged. “Justin, once before I was forced from your side in an hour of deadly peril. I will not be so again,” she replied, looking white, and firm as marble. “Dear Britomarte, you shall be forced to nothing, but you shall be convinced of the necessity of following my advice. The peril you dread for me is nothing—nothing. That drunken brute whose recovery you dread so much, will not come to his senses for many hours. His men, when they come for him, will have to carry him off in his present state of unconsciousness. And even when he does recover, it is not likely that he will remember anything about the choking he got from me. As to the crew, I have treated them kindly. They will be contented with helping themselves to everything they want, and they will leave me in peace. It is you and Judith only who will be in peril from them—in awful peril, if they see you. Go, Britomarte. Oh, dear Britomarte, hasten!” “I cannot bear to leave you alone to meet that desperate band!” she cried. “Britomarte! I can take care of myself by staying here, but I can only take care of you by concealing you in the cavern. Britomarte, listen. In that horrible Sepoy insurrection in India a few years ago, when the banded fiends invested the Tower of Djel and carried it by storm, the young English officer commanding the place shot his young bride through the brain, to save her from falling into the hands of those demons! Britomarte, if you do not follow my counsel and conceal yourself in the cavern, that may be the only means left me to save you from worse than death!” Still she hesitated. “I would rather fall by your hand than be forced to leave you in an hour of danger!” she said. “Britomarte, I repeat you shall be forced to do nothing—not even to save yourself; but if you persist in remaining here, you will drive me mad!” he exclaimed. “I will go, then,” she answered, reluctantly.