Their faces touched, their chests, thighs, and legs were locked together as though with iron bonds. And St. Magil’s breath came in short, quick gasps, hot on the other’s mouth. But at last, gradually, the herculean arms closed tighter and yet tighter about their prey, until suddenly Rouse, hearing a low, cracking sound, knew that his adversary’s arms and perhaps a rib or two were broken. Then, and then only, Hugh released his grasp, and, leaving St. Magil groaning on the ground, rushed away to give Manteo the signal for a counter-attack. That moment’s delay, however, was fatal. For even now a great cry went up from the fortress, and a large force of Spaniards who had effected a landing far to the south surrounded it on every side. They had come through the southern gate, by which Eleanor long ago had gone in search of herbs for Virginia. The fort became like a thing alive. From its ramparts a volley of musket-balls rained on the steel headpieces below, while from every aperture long streaks of flame shot out venomously, and in the middle of every streak a ball. The defenders, under Dyonis Harvie, were offering a brave resistance. The Spaniards hung back behind a natural breastwork of hillocks. But suddenly a small man, unnoticed, crept close to the fort’s rear and from one side surveyed the muzzle of a culverin inquisitively. The gun roared, and then, quick as thought, before it could be recharged, the watcher whistled thrice. Instantly the aggressors sprang up from their cover and assaulted the rear entrance. But the man who had first crept forward was not content with open onslaught. In a few minutes the entire rear wall of the fort was enveloped in flames that curled up over the ramparts, and Simon Ferdinando, the incendiary, was groping in a subterranean vault. “Make haste,” said a boyishly excited voice. “I am here,” and in a moment Frazer, having been liberated by Simon, had entered the main armory. The fortress no longer belonged to England. Frazer glanced about the mess-room with a quick, searching scrutiny. It was half filled with a coarse crew of his own arquebusiers, who, bridling their ribald tongues half mockingly as he entered, awaited his commands. A number of women were cowering in one corner. Before them lay the last of their immediate defenders, lifeless or mortally wounded, Dyonis Harvie prone in the foremost line, his wife, on her knees beside him, imploring him to live. As Frazer looked at the women he bowed to two, about whom the others were gathered in despair. “The king is come, Mistress Dare, according as he promised years ago. He claims his queen.” He turned to the soldiers. “Bear these two to the hovel in which Vytal lived. Do with the others as you will. The town is ours.” CHAPTER V “Some powers divine, or else infernal, mixed Their angry seeds at thy conception.” —MARLOWE, in _Tamburlaine_.