“Yes.” Her look had a strange penitence in it and no triumph. He dimly understood the reason, and an expression of pain crossed his own features. But there was not a trace of condemnation in the deep-set eyes, his faith being perfect. “Yes,” she added, in a whisper, as though half to herself, “’twas for our colony I led him on. But oh, if by any chance he should escape—” “It would matter little,” broke in Vytal. “How so?” “He has failed. You have frustrated his plan to estimate our strength. Even were he to return, he could impart naught of value to the others. But stay, in what room have you imprisoned him?” “In the main cabin.” “That is well. His knowledge of the fortress would avail them nothing. St. Magil, I doubt not, knows the force and number of our arms. ’Tis mainly my new arrangement of the ships that holds the key to our defence. Thus, Mistress Dare, even should he escape, which he must not, you have accomplished that which I had not supposed within a woman’s range to compass. I thank you—deeply.” Her face brightened for the instant, but, as he walked away, she returned to her home sadly, as though even the skilful winning of her first play had brought only an ephemeral gladness. Vytal had but just crossed the square when Marlowe, having entered the town from the north, joined him. The poet was dishevelled from his hasty pursuit through the forest and extremely agitated. “Gyll Croyden has been captured by the Indians!” “Who told you that?” “Our guest.” “And so you went in search of her?” “Most naturally, for though she and I are naught save comrades, comrades we shall be to the end.” Vytal studied his face. “Our guest’s name, Kyt, is Frazer.” “Frazer!” The poet started. “We are tricked. Tricked by a boy! Forgive me. You must leave another to defend the fortress,” and Marlowe, drawing his sword, held it out to the soldier. “Leave me the pen only, for I am not worthy of this.” But Vytal laid a hand on his shoulder kindly. “I was befooled myself.” “Let us go to him,” suggested Christopher. “Nay, I have just sent Hugh Rouse, who returned with me from his picket duty. He will bring the fellow to the fort.” “Let us wait in the armory, then. I long to see that bantering actor pleading for our mercy. He would play excellent well upon the stage, with his tales of torture and feigned idiocy.” So they waited, waited long, and still Hugh Rouse did not return. The cause of this delay is briefly told. Hugh, having stepped into a canoe, had, with a few long sweeps of his paddle, come to the _Admiral_; and the captive heard voices approaching the cabin door. At this he rose from the table, and, with an air still somewhat careless, yet of definite purpose, concealed himself behind the arras with which the walls were hung.