Again the white cloud of smoke on the schooner's decks, and once more the iron messenger came flying over the wave on its deadly mission. The ball struck the brig's quarter, and glancing upwards, broke its way through the deck, covering it with splinters. The man, Adams, was at the helm, and the spokes flew through his hands as he tottered for a moment, and then fell heavily forward. The mate sprang to his place, and, seizing the wheel, brought the brig rapidly on to her course, while two seamen hurrying aft bore away the wounded man, a dark stain on the white deck marking the spot where he had fallen, a large splinter having struck him on the temple. "We must think of your daughter, Dom Maxara," said Captain Weber. "The brig is utterly powerless; but it is better that these fellows sink us, than that they put foot on her decks." Dona Isabel sat in the cabin, where the breakfast things yet lay on the table, while beside her was Captain Hughes, his arm passed round her waist. The tears were standing in her eyes, and her cheek was pale, for the soldier had been telling her what sort of people the schooner's crew were, and what fate would be theirs if captured. The tale had been as delicately worded as possible, for it was a hard one even from a lover's mouth. "Cheer up, Isabel," he continued; "there is always hope so long as we keep the Malays at a distance; and if we could only have wind we might yet escape." "I had hoped to have lived for you, Enrico," replied Isabel, her head resting on her lover's shoulder. "I can, at least, die with you." Dom Maxara entered the cabin, seating himself beside his daughter. Placing her hand in his, she repeated-- "We can at least die together." "There is still a little hope," said the anxious father; "the breeze is freshening, and with it the sea is getting up, disturbing the schooner's aim. The wind may yet save us. Should it fail us, there is one thing remaining." "And what is that, father?" "As you said, to die together, Isabel, sooner than that a daughter of the Guzmans of Castillo should become the cast-off slave of a Malay pirate." The tears had been standing in Isabel's eyes, and as she now turned them on her lover, there was a look of ineffable tenderness in the large black orbs. "A strange meeting ours has been, Enrico; a strange life we have led together, living years in weeks; but you were quite as near death, my promised husband, when first we met, and yet you stand here by my side." "There is still hope, Isabel; every moment it increases with the rising sea," replied Hughes. "Hope or not," continued the excited Isabel, speaking hysterically, "they shall see that the daughter of sunny Portugal knows how to die. We shall never tread our dear land again." The loud thud of the pirate's long eighteen-pounder was here heard, and all held their breath, listening for the crashing of the timbers, but no such sound followed.