At this his face brightened for a moment, and he groped in the breast of his doublet near the wound. Several fine threads of gold were woven round his fingers, but no one saw them. “Take nothing from me,” he said; and then, withdrawing his hand, smiled almost bitterly. “’Tis just as well I die, for my life, as the song saith, hath been lived to ‘please one and please all,’ everlastingly ‘please one and please all, so pipeth the crow sitting upon a wall.’ Welladay, let the crow pipe on, but Roger pipeth no longer.” His bulging eyes flashed suddenly in the cressets’ glare. “Nay, I’m no piper, but a fighting-man,” whereupon, rising once more with a great effort to one elbow, he drew his broadsword and for a moment held it aloft. Then slowly, as the flame died out of his eyes, he pointed with it toward the palisade. “Bury me over there,” he said, eagerly, “beyond the town—over there in the glade, Captain Vytal, near the western shore. ’Tis where she danced, you’ll remember, and King Lud cut capers before the Indians. There I’ll lie in peace, and think o’ the old mirthfulness, and sometimes the sound of your guns will come to remind me I’m a soldier.” He held out the heavy blade to Vytal. “Lay it unsheathed beside me, captain; also the flute and uppowac pipe.” Once again his head fell to the bearskin pillow. “You might shroud me,” he added, feebly, “with all that remains of poor King Lud.” “It shall be done as you require,” said Vytal, hoarsely. And now there was silence save for the light rustle through the forest of a new-come breeze, which fanned the tearful cheeks of the watchers and set the many torches flickering so that their light wavered uncertainly across the dying man. Roger’s eyes were closed, yet once more his lips parted. “‘Be merry, friends,’” and, with an old, familiar smile, he died. * * * * * When at last day dawned a striking scene was visible on the shore. In the prow of his long-boat, not over twenty feet from the beach, stood the Spanish admiral, while from the brink of the water Vytal spoke to him. Farther up the strand twelve musketeers were ranged in line with weapons aimed, not at the long-boat’s crew, but at a single figure that stood against the cliff. This form, slight and graceful, was nevertheless distinctly masculine in bearing. With eyes blindfolded, mouth gagged, and hands fettered behind his back, the man awaited his fate calmly. But the fate was yet unknown. The musketeers stolidly awaited the last signal from their leader, and the signal was delayed. “You perceive,” said Vytal to the admiral, “that your friend’s life is in imminent danger. At a word from me he falls, but at the word I desire from you he lives and shall be saved.”