A pale and sibilant presence rustled from the shadows of the mizzen-mast behind Bras-de-Fer. Trembling in limb and more pallid even than the white frock that enfolded her, Mistress Barbara, in a ferment of uncertainty, unattended and unguarded, had crept resolutely and with indomitable courage past the guard at the cabin door to the side of the conqueror of _San Isidro_. So frail and slender a thing she was, emerging pale and spectral into the glare of the torches, that at the touch of her halting hand upon his arm he started with a quick intaking of the breath and sought his weapon. But when the light glowed upon the brow and hair, and he saw, his hand dropped to his side and he bowed his head to hide his features. With a gesture of annoyance designed to serve the same end, he turned away towards the bulwarks. “No, no,” she began, pleadingly; “you must hear me. I am English, like the King you serve. At your hands I have every right to consideration.” “You sail in parlous times, madame,” he replied, coldly, striving to disguise his voice. “Listen, sir. I have braved danger of insult, and worse, to come hither to-night. But there is something--I cannot tell what--which says that you will deal fairly.” “Your confidence, I trust, is not ill-placed,” with averted head. “Your manner of speaking betrays that you are French. Nay, do not turn away, monsieur. If you are not English, you serve an English master, and that should be the guarantee of all honesty.” “Honesty is as honesty does,” he replied, turning with more assurance to address her. And then, “You come a cool dove of peace in time of hot war, madame. You have no place in such a scene as this.” “Give me a word, sir, and I will go.” His gaze was fixed blankly upon the starless vacancy. “I can promise nothing, madame. It is the fortune of war ... or fate.” The last he murmured half below his breath. “You will take us to Jamaica, monsieur--not the Tortugas--say it will not be the Tortugas!” “The Tortugas are the lair of the _piratos_. If I am such, it were useless further to converse. A pirate has small stomach for mercy--much for requital.” Puzzled somewhat, she grasped her wrap more closely and drew back in dismay. “What do you mean? That you will have no pity, that--” She paused as she saw his bitter smile, stepping a pace back from him in horror. But the cruel pleasure he had in torturing her, at the sight of her dread and fear was pleasure no longer. “Madame, forgive me,” he said, with a carefully studied frankness. “I have only said I can make no promises. There are two vessels, and I cannot be upon both. The wind even now is rising, and soon we must be parting company. But I will do for you and for the Spanish lady, your friend, what I may; and now”--bending over her with all his old grace--“now, if madame will permit me, I will conduct her to the cabin.”