Whereupon, soberly and plainly, like a soldier, John Scarlett told his tale. But for all the effect it had upon the listeners he might just as well have spoken it to the solan-geese diving in the bay. Wat saw the unbelief settle deeper on the face of Roger McGhie, and the very demon of jealousy and malice wink from under the eyelids of my Lady Wellwood. "I have a question to ask you, my noble captain of various services," said Barra, "a question concerning this girl and your gallant companion. What did you first think when this Marie joined you with the horses--in page's dress, as I have heard you say--and what when she told you that she had stabbed your friend's enemy and hers to the death?" "I thought what any other man would think," answered Scarlett, brusquely. "And afterwards among the sand-dunes of Lis you discovered that all this devotion arose merely from noble, pure, unselfish, platonic love?" The old soldier was more than a little perplexed by Barra's phrases, which he did not fully understand. "Yes," he answered at last, with a hesitation which told more against his story than all he had said before. Barra was quick to seize his advantage. "You see how faithfully these comrades stick to each other--how touching is such fidelity. The intention is so excellent, even when truth looks out in spite of them through the little joins in the patchwork." "God!" cried Scarlett, fiercely. "I would I had you five minutes at a rapier's end for a posturing, lying knave--a pitiful, putty-faced dog! I cannot answer your words, though I know them to be mere tongue-shuffling. But with my sword--yes, I could answer with that!" Barra pointed to his side. "Had your friend--your friend's friend, I should say--not had me at her dagger's end, I should have been most honored. But the lady has spoilt my attack and parry for many a day. Nevertheless, I suffered in a good cause. For without that our general lover had hardly been allowed to enjoy the Arcadian felicities of the sand-dunes of Lis, nor yet his more recent, and I doubt not as agreeable, retirement to the caves and sea-beaches of my poor island of Fiara." "You are the devil," cried Scarlett, writhing in fury. "But I shall live to see you damned one day!" But Barra only smiled as he turned to confer apart a while with Roger McGhie and my lady. Kate walked to the bulwarks and looked over. Wat stood his ground on the spot on which he had told his story; but Scarlett, as soon as he had finished, stalked away with as much dignity as upon short notice he could import into a pair of very untrustworthy sea-legs. When the conference was over it was Roger McGhie who spoke, very quietly and gently, as was ever his ancient wont.