the Indians and proposes himself to hold us prisoners, awaiting the decision of the Governor at San Augustin."

As I look back now, it seems to me that in those first hours of our captivity I grew older by many years. That gladsome morning, with its wilful moods and joyous daring, fell away back into the past, and seemed as unreal as the day-dreams of my childhood.

We slept that night, Dame Barbara and I, upon a soft and springy couch of moss piled in the little inner room. That is to say, we lay there silently; but I think I scarce closed my eyes.

The wind, drifting through the gaping thatch, caught the loose corner of a shrivelled strip of hide dangling on the rude partition wall, and kept it swinging back and forth, with a faint tap-tap, tap-tap, the whole night long. As it swung outward I could catch fleeting glimpses of the little group huddled about the dying fire; and for hours I lay and listened to the low murmur of their voices and the heavy clank and rattle of their chains.

Old Captain Baulk was in a garrulous mood, and he poured into the sailors' ears a horrid tale of how the Spaniards had massacred the first French settlers on this coast.

"'Twas just about one hundred years ago," he droned in a gruesome whisper. "Ribault's settlement was on the River May, somewhere in these latitudes. There were about nine hundred of them in all, 'tis said, counting the women and children; and not one of them escaped. The bodies of dead and wounded were alike hung upon a tree for the crows——"

"In God's name, hold your croaking tongue!" Mr. Rivers broke in angrily. "'Tis bad enough for the women as things are, and if they overhear these old wives' tales, think you it will make them rest easier?"

"Not old wives' tales, Mr. Rivers, but the fact, sir,—the bloody fact."

"Silence!" whispered my betrothed, in a voice that made me tremble,—for he hath a hot temper when it is roused. "Unless thou canst hold that ill-omened tongue of thine, there presently will be another bloody fact between thy teeth!"

A sudden silence fell. 'Twas broken finally by my dear love, whose generous nature soon repented of a harshly spoken word.

"I was over-hasty, my good Baulk; but I would not for the world have Mistress Tudor hear aught of those horrors. And times have changed greatly in an hundred years. But this inaction, this inaction! 'Tis terrible upon a man!"

A suppressed groan accompanied the exclamation, and my heart ached for him. It must indeed be hard for men—who are used to carving their own fates and wresting from fortune their desires—suddenly to be forced to play the woman's part of patient waiting.

The next day brought no relief.

From the windowless hut we could see naught of what passed without; but about an hour before noon we heard a drum beat in the village. The sound grew ever fainter, as though receding; then came the distant report of musketry, and we grew anxious for our people on the sloop. Hours passed by, and again came the sound of heavy firing, which gradually died away as before.

Late in the afternoon we were joined by another prisoner, whom—from his dress of skins—we mistook at first sight for a young Indian; but 'twas no other than the lad Poole, who was in Mr. Rivers's service and most loyally attached to his master.

From him we learned that the Indians and some Spaniards had been parleying with our men all day. He had swum ashore with a letter to the friar, and had been received with kindness by the savages, who clad him after their own fashion. The friar, however, vouchsafed him no reply; and after a time gave a signal to his men to fire on the sloop. The arrows of the Indians and the muskets of the Spaniards had finally compelled the Three Brothers to weigh anchor and put out to sea.

CHAPTER IV.

Day after day dragged by. We grew aweary of discussing the possibilities of our escape and fell gradually into silence.

It was on the first day of June that Don Pedro de Melinza arrived in the galley from San Augustin, and our captivity took on a new phase.

He is a handsome man, this Spanish Don, and he bears himself with the airs of a courtier—when it so pleases him. As he stood that day at the open door of our hut prison, in the full glow of the summer morning, he was a goodly sight. His thick black hair was worn in a fringe of wavy locks that rested lightly on his flaring collar. His leathern doublet fitted close to his slight, strong figure, and through its slashed sleeves there was a shimmer of fine silk. In his right hand he held his plumed sombrero against his breast; his left rested carelessly on the hilt of his sword.

I could find no flaw in his courteous greetings; but I looked into his countenance and liked it not.

The nose was straight and high, the keen dark eyes set deep in the olive face; but beneath the short, curled moustache projected a full, red under lip.

Show me, in a man, an open brow, a clear eye, a firm-set mouth, and a chin that neither aims to meet the nose nor lags back upon the breast; and I will dub him honest, and brave, and clean-minded. But if his forehead skulks backward, his chin recedes, and his nether lip curls over redly—though the other traits be handsome, and the figure full of grace and strength controlled—trust that man I never could! Such an one I saw once in my early childhood. My mother pointed him out to me and bade me note him well.

"That man," she said, "was once your father's friend and close comrade; yet now he walks free and lives in ease, while my poor husband is in slavery. Why is it thus? Because he over yonder was false to his oath, to his friends, and to his king. He sold them all, like Esau, for a mess of pottage. Mark him well, my child, and beware of his like; for in these days they are not a few, and woe to any who trust in them!"

I remembered those words of my mother when the Señor Don Pedro de Melinza y de Colis made his bow to us that summer's day. The meaning of his courtly phrases was lost upon me; but I gathered from his manner that he had come in the guise of a friend,—and I trembled at the prospect of such friendship.

Nevertheless I was right glad when the fetters were struck from my dear love and his companions, and we were taken upon the Spanish galley and served like Christians.

At the earliest opportunity Mr. Rivers hastened to make things clear to me. "Our deliverer"—so he termed him, whereat I marvelled somewhat,—"our deliverer assures me that Padre Ignacio's action is condemned greatly by his uncle, Señor de Colis, the Governor and Captain-General at San Augustin. Don Pedro has been sent to transport us thither, where we will be entertained with some fitness until we can communicate with our friends."

"Says he so? 'Twill be well if he keeps his word; but to my thinking he has not the face of an honest man."

Mr. Rivers looked at me gravely. "That is a hard speech from such gentle lips," he said. "Don Pedro is a Spanish gentleman of high lineage. His uncle, Señor de Colis, is a knight of the Order of St. James. Such hold their honour dear. Until he gives us cause to distrust him, let us have the grace to believe that he is an honest man."

I looked back into the frank gray eyes of my true and gallant love, and I felt rebuked. 'Twas a woman's instinct, only, that made me doubt the Spaniard; and this simple trust of a noble nature in the integrity of his fellow man seemed a vastly finer instinct than my own.

From that moment I laid by my suspicions,