d her unerringly
through the shades toward the rearward spur of the granite cliff.
Creepers and hanging mosses brushed her face and limbs; alone she might
have ignored them; but there was a quality in the sighing and rustling
about her that seemed to give voices to the ghostly fingers that
touched her, and to support her courage as well as to warn Sancho of
her coming, she thrilled forth a merry little snatch of song:

"Ho! for the Jolly Roger lads;
Ho! for the decks red-streaming.
A pirate's lass is a well-lov'd lass,
And there's gold through the red a gleaming!

"Ho! for a cask in the fire's red glow;
Ho! for the heaps of plunder.
There are showers of pearls for the pirates' girls--
The rain from the corsair's thunder!"

At the end of her song Pascherette halted, listened, then called softly:

"Sancho! Thy Pascherette calls!"

Silence prevailed for several moments, and she called again, fearing
that her voice had gone astray amid the increasing confusion of the
trees. Then came a lull in the wind, the lull that always punctuated the
gathering of such tropical storms as now threatened; and in the hush she
heard voices--uncertain, disputing. Then Sancho growled, close to her
ear:

"Art alone, jade?"

"Oh, Sancho!" she cried, darting into the gloom to the sound of his
voice and flinging her arms about him. "I have feared for thee, my
Sancho. Now I fear no more, for all is well."

"Well?" the pirate growled suspiciously. "Hast left thy hot-blood
mistress, then?"

"No, Sancho. It is better for thee even than that. I have made thy peace
with Dolores. She has forgiven thee, and wishes to tell thee so."

A fervid curse burst from some one yet invisible, and Sancho leaned back
to catch some whispered words. Then he, too, ripped out an oath, and
gripped Pascherette tightly by the arm.

"This is a trick, little devil! Don't you value that pretty little head
more than to trifle with me?"

"I trifle with thee? Thou art mad, Sancho!" she cried. "Did I lie when I
said I loved thee, then?"

"The fiend knows! I know 'tis plaguey risky for thee if thou didst!"

"Unbeliever!" whispered Pascherette with thrilling emphasis. "Shall I
tell thee again, in language even thy stubborn soul must believe?"

The girl suddenly glided inside his arms, flung up her hands, each
clutching a mass of her glossy, scented hair, and enmeshed his
disfigured face. Then, straining upward from her sma