But Don Diego had not observed a dark wherry in which three men were seated, passing slowly up-stream. He had not marked when the two oarsmen therein had thrust their boat under the shadow of the bank fifty feet higher up, nor did he see them land stealthily and creep silently into his rear as he sat on a bench on the top of the terrace. Suddenly, and ere he could utter a cry for help, a shawl was thrown over his head, a gag was thrust into his mouth, a cord bound his arms to his side. Then he found himself lifted aloft by sturdy arms, and, despite his furious efforts, he was thrown violently into the boat, which at once pushed into the stream. One of the oarsmen propelled the boat rapidly in the direction of London Bridge; his companions proceeded to further secure their captive with strong ropes, binding both hands and feet. "That was a good haul, Bill," said one of the ruffians; "he is a fine bird, and will make good picking!" "Stop your gab, you fool, till we get aboard the hulk, there are too many boats about," muttered his companion savagely. The boat sped rapidly past Whitehall, where the lights were gleaming, and whence sounds of sweet music arose. They reached the ears of the poor prisoner as he lay at the mercy of his captors in the bottom of the boat, and they filled his heart with bitterness. Should he ever hear those sounds again—would his eyes ever look again upon the fair scenes of earth? Such were the thoughts that filled Don Diego's soul; he knew that he had fallen into the hands of merciless Thames pirates. The boat was now rapidly nearing London Bridge, and the oarsmen prepared to shoot one of its narrow arches. The unfortunate captive had struggled desperately to loose the cords which bound his hands and feet; alas! all his efforts were in vain—he had been too securely bound by practised hands. Yet he found it possible, by rubbing his head against the side of the boat, to disengage the gag which had almost suffocated him. Then, collecting all his strength, he shrieked forth piercing cries for "help" until his captors had sprung upon him and had replaced the gag. But his cries were not unheard, though he knew it not! In the afternoon of that day William and Ralph Jefferay had gone down- stream to Greenwich Park, and had strolled awhile beneath the majestic elms and oaks which begirt the royal palace. As evening fell they betook themselves to their light boat, and, being dexterous oarsmen, they made rapid progress against the swift-flowing tide, now on the ebb. They had no time to spare, for both the young men had accepted invitations to the Queen's Revel at Whitehall, and they must needs go first to Gray's Inn. They passed London Bridge beneath its widest arch, the central one, and were now opposite St. Paul's Wharf.