ory. Sister Maria Christina--Isabella that was--thou were brave and
thou wert beautiful; thou hast served our Holy Church long and well. If
I could only lay thee in some consecrated ground--but soul like to thine
makes holy e'en the sea which shall bear thee away. Shriven thou wert,
buried thou shalt be."

The man struggled to his knees, clasped his hands before him, and began
the burial service of his ancient Church.

"We therefore commit her body into the great deep," he said, "looking
for the general resurrection in the last day, and the life of the world
to come----"

The water was washing around him ere he finished his mournful task, and
with one long look of benison and farewell he rose to his feet and
staggered along the road down the beach. Slowly he went, but presently
he reached the turn where began the ascent of the mountain. Before he
proceeded he halted and looked long toward the flaming, shrieking,
ruined town. The flooding tide was in now and the breakers were beating
and thundering far across the sands. The body of the abbess was gone.

The old man drew himself up, lifted his trembling hands and prayed; he
prayed again for the soul of the woman; he prayed for the young man,
that he might learn the truth; he prayed for the beautiful damsel who
loved him; he prayed for the people, the hapless people of the doomed
town, the helpless, outraged women, the bereft mothers, the tortured
men, the murdered children, and as he prayed he called down the curse of
God upon those who had wrought such ruin.

"Slay them, O God! Strike and spare not! Cut them off root and branch
who have despoiled thy people Israel. They have taken the sword and may
they perish by it as was promised of old!"

A gray, grim, gaunt figure, bloodstained, pale, he stood there in that
ghastly light, invoking the judgment of God upon Morgan and his men ere
he turned away and was lost in the darkness of the mountain.

CHAPTER XVII

WHICH DESCRIBES AN AUDIENCE WITH SIR HENRY MORGAN AND THE TREACHERY BY
WHICH CAPTAIN ALVARADO IS BENEFITED

[Illustration]

The clock on the wall was striking eleven as Hornigold forced his
prisoners into the guardroom of the first fort that had been captured,
which, as it was the larger of the two, Morgan had selected as his head
quarters. Mercedes' soul had turned to stone at the sights and sounds
which met her as she passed through the town where the hellish revelry
was now in full blast. The thi