The Spaniard bowed haughtily. “Name your conditions,” and with a sweep of their oars the rowers drew nearer to the shore. Vytal turned and glanced upward at the headland, from which the colonists were looking down in silent curiosity. Foremost of all stood Eleanor Dare watching him. He faced about again to address the admiral. “The condition is this: that you abandon to us the _Madre de Dios_ in exchange for the prisoner. Your spy hath broken our truce. There are but two available indemnities—the one your ship, the other his life as forfeit. I bid you choose.” An ironical smile crossed the Spaniard’s face. “Do you consider his life of so great value?” he asked, banteringly. “Nay,” said Vytal, “I but seek to estimate your own valuation. This fellow hath boasted of a royal guardian—even the King of Spain.” The admiral bit his lip. “But how am I to make certain that you act in good faith?” Vytal turned sharply to the musketeers and raised his hand, while his lips parted. The marksmen’s eyes came down closer to their aim, and there was a concerted click. “Stay!” cried the Spaniard, in alarm. “I agree to your proviso.” Vytal’s hand fell, and the sharp-shooters stood at rest. “To-night,” said the soldier, “we shall be ready to man your vessel.” Slowly the long-boat withdrew, and now Eleanor, having come down from the headland, stood at Vytal’s side. Her face was flushed with excited hope and admiration. “You have worked our salvation, captain.” “Nay,” he returned, harshly, “not yet.” CHAPTER IV “This fear is that which makes me tremble thus.” —MARLOWE, in _Edward the Second_. The stern discipline of that evening was broken by one of the colonists, who, having earlier entered the town from the western wood, now reeled through the streets, crazed by inebriety and fear. As the gates were not yet closed, he was permitted once more to leave the enclosure, which he did by the eastern entrance. Beyond the palisade he paused for a moment, swaying heavily, and gazed down at the shore. The moon, in its first quarter, was sinking behind a film of gray clouds. A few traders, Spanish and English, stood bargaining on the beach. The two vessels, without lights, lay motionless at anchor. A number of canoes were hauled up on the sand, their birch-bark sides shining like silver in the moonlight. The man, looking up and down the coast, recognized Vytal’s gaunt figure in the distance, and he realized hazily that the soldier was inspecting the coast-guard before returning to the town. But the blear eyes wandered back to that line of silver craft, and now, with uncertain gait, the lonely man descended from the headland. Then, with a wave of his hand to the contemptuous traders, he stepped into one of the canoes, and, unsteadily seating himself, made his way along the coast with wavering sweeps of his paddle.