“Yes, I. I have squeezed life dry, Jacquard. I have given my best in the service of honor and pride. They have given me rank and empty honors, and all the while have kept me from my dearest desire. From to-night virtue and I are things apart. I throw her from me as I would throw a sour lemon.” “A _pirato_!” Cornbury came around and placed a hand upon each of the Frenchman’s shoulders, while he looked him straight in the eyes. “Monsieur le Chevalier,” he said, soberly--“_Monsieur de Bresac_--” At the sound of that name he had staked so much to win, the Frenchman dropped his eyes before the steady gaze of the Irishman. But if his poor heart trembled, his body did not. Slowly but firmly he grasped the wrists of his friend and brought his hands down between them. “No, no, Cornbury,” he said; “it must not be. That sacred name--even _that_--will not deter me. It is done. May she who bears it find less emptiness in honor and life than I. I wish her no evil, but I pray that we may never meet, or the fate which makes men forget their manhood, as I forget mine to-night, may awake the sleeping God in me to living devil, and demand that I make of her a very living sacrifice upon its very altar--” “René, I pray you!” cried Cornbury. Mornay did not even hear him. “I yield at last. From the time I came into the world I have been the very creature of fate. I have struck my colors, Cornbury. I have hauled down my gay pennons. I have left my ship.” He leaned for a moment brokenly upon the bulkhead. But before Cornbury could speak he started up. “No, no. Vice shall command here if she will. She will be but a poor mistress can she not serve me better than Ambition and Honor. Come, Cornbury. Come to the Spanish Main. There’ll be the crash of fight once more and a dip into the wild life that brings forgetfulness. Come, Cornbury.” Jacquard, who had been listening to this mad speech with his mouth as wide agape as his eyes and ears, rose to his feet. “Monsieur,” he asked, joyfully, “you will go with us to the Spanish Main?” “Yes, yes!” “And be a common _boucanier_, a cutthroat?” said Cornbury the ironical. “Ay!” “But, man, you have no position here; ye’ll be cuffed and beaten--maybe shot by yon drunken captain--” “I’ve been beaten before--” “Monsieur,” gladly broke in Jacquard, upon whom the light had dawned at last--“monsieur, I am second in command here, and half the crew are French. I’m not without authority upon them. Set your mind at rest. With these men you shall have fair play.” He paused, scratching his head. “With the captain it is another matter--” “Bah, Jacquard! I’ve weathered worse storms. Your captain is a stubborn dog, but I’ve a fancy he barks the loudest when in drink. Come, Cornbury, I’m resolved to start from the bottom rung of the ladder once more. Will you not play at pirate for a while?”