How was it that the thread of this woman’s life had become entangled again with his? Could it be that the hand which controlled his destiny had wrought these miracles in his strange career in a mere sport or purposeless plan? Could it be that, two grains of sand afloat on the winds of life’s desert, they had met, parted, and come together again? In the infinity of wide ocean he had gone adrift upon the tide of another life with nothing but his memories to bind him to the old. But sure as metal to its loadstone his vessel had been driven, in spite of wind and the raging of the sea, with an unerring certainty into the very path of the _San Isidro_. How was she, the toast of London, the bright particular planet in that bright firmament, divested of all the bright luster of her constellation, alone and all but friendless, adrift in these wild waters? How came this gay paradise bird, despoiled of its plumage, in so foreign a clime? Why had she left London? Had some convulsion of her starry sky cast her down from her high seat? Where was Captain Ferrers? Were they become estranged? What had come of the papers? The enigma grew in complexity. Her speech had puzzled him. Why had she been thankful to have found him? Was it the joy of learning that her captor was one who had not sunk so low that he could do the vile deeds she had feared of him? What atonement was it she offered? And for what? His heart leaped wildly, only to shrink again to a dull, drowsy beat. What did it mean? Nothing, or anything; conciliation, mock humility--a sop to Cerberus. Bah! He was done with hope. There, a shadow of disconsolation, he stood, fixed and nerveless, struggling against the soft, cajoling hand-maidens of Virtue--Gentleness, Beauty, Reverence, Love--personified in this woman, whom, try as he might, he could not pluck from his life. The pale light of dawn found him where he watched until the transshipping was done, and the cases of coin, the silks and plate, were stowed safely below. The fitful wind, which had tossed up a restless sea, was now become so boisterous that the grappling irons were cast off and the _Saucy Sally_ drifted away from the Spaniard and hung with a backed mainsail a half-cable’s length under her lee. The prisoners of the _San Isidro_ had been carefully secured below and a prize crew of Jacquard, Cornbury, and thirty men had been placed upon her to bring the wreck into port. She was sound enough below. But the rigging, in spite of all their endeavors, was still a mere tangle of useless gearing. The sails drew on the jury-masts, and together, with gathering impetus, the two vessels moved slowly out into the growing light of the East.