“Why,” she exclaimed--and now began one of those brief conversations which I am forced to put into plain English for reasons I have given you--“why, Señor Fielding, do not you lock away those swords and firearms?” “Why should I lock them away?” “The crew may take them.” “What then?” said I, “we should be no worse off. I am alone: forward are ten stout, determined men; armed or unarmed, ’tis all one.” “There are two,” said she. “Yes, Jimmy is a strong lad, and might be useful, and I dare say he is on our side at heart, but he is wanting,” said I, touching my head. “I dare not trust him.” She smiled and said, “I did not mean the youth. I am the other.” I asked her to explain. She rose and seated herself beside me. The skylight was partially covered with tarpaulin, and what was visible of the glass was blank as mist with wet. The brig was full of noises. She was rolling and pitching very heavily, and the thunder of seas bursting back in heavy hills of foam from her weather side trembled like discharges of cannon through the length of her. Nevertheless the señorita came and sat by my side, and put her lips close to my ear, though had she shrieked her ideas from the extreme end of the cabin, or even up through the hatch, nobody on deck would have heard her. Her manner was tragic and mysterious. It was not put on. The thoughts in her bred the air, and she had the face and figure for a very curious high dramatic expression of emotion of any sort. “Why,” said she, speaking so close that I felt the heat of her face, “do not we kill the men who are robbing you and carrying me away?” “All of them?” said I. “Not Jimmy, and not my two countrymen. Look! suppose I bring Antonio here and tell him that he and Jorge are in danger of their lives, and that they must fight with us and kill the crew. There are you, me, my two countrymen: there is Jimmy,” she held up her fingers. “Five to ten, and everything is ready,” said she, pointing to the muskets. “I would not trust your two countrymen. They are cowards. I would not risk such a business for your sake. Failure would mean my being killed: that _must_ be; and how would the men whom _we_ did not kill deal with you?” “All could be killed,” said she. “I myself will kill in this cabin that great Jean Bol, as you talk to him. I will creep behind and stab him. Send for Galen; I will kill him too; then Teach. Three then are _gastados!_ [expended!] For the rest----” She shrugged her shoulders and leaned back to observe the impression produced upon me by her talk. “Madam,” said I, looking at her eyes, which were all on fire, and her cheeks, which were colored, hot with the devilish fancies which worked in her, “your spirit is fine, but somewhat too deadly for one of my cautious character.”