ecovered his breath the
Spaniard swooped upon the prize, and his knife completed what the dwarf
had well begun.

Then began an orgy that must render description bald and colorless.
Casks were broached by knocking out the heads; long horns of cattle were
filled to slopping over with rare wine or powerful rum; and then up
leaped Hanglip on to an unbroached cask, cup in hand, and bellowed a
toast that set the trees, the sea, the skies clamoring with rasping
applause.

"The next vessel as heaves in sight, lads! May her sails be silk, her
masts be gold, and her great cabin full o' rum, with a pretty wench
sittin' atop o' every keg!"

From the fire came the odor of roasting meat, and the black night came
down outside, making of the small circle where the pirates sprawled a
blotch of infernal light, peopled with infernal shapes. But a sprinkling
of faces a shade less evil leavened the mass; for to the feast came
trooping the women of the camp: of a kidney with the men--yet women,
with women's beguilements and softnesses.

Dolores sat alone in the great chamber, careless of the noise outside,
her beautiful face dark with somber passion. Beside her chair Milo had
placed her treasure chests; hers now, through the death of the terrible
old corsair who had amassed them. Idly she had heaped the table with a
glittering collection of gems that an empress might well have found
interest in; but Dolores frowned as at so much dross, for her thoughts
were far away. The filmiest of lace and silken shawls, jeweled
slippers, gossamer-gold head dresses, pearls and rubies from India and
Persia--all lay in confusion at her hand, and aroused no spark of joy in
her breast. From time to time her brooding eyes flashed and fastened
upon a priceless Rembrandt "Laughing Cavalier" on the wall opposite;
they flashed again when her gaze shifted to a colossal Rubens "Rape of
the Sabines"; her face lighted for an instant when her fingers in
groping closed upon a cobwebby golden net, scintillating with cunningly
wrought jeweled insects caught in the meshes, which had once graced the
all-powerful head of Pompadour.

"Where such things are, are better!" she whispered vehemently, clenching
her strong, slender hands fiercely. "Where such are fashioned and worn
there are people worthy my power. My people! Pah!" she burst out
passionately. "My people? Dogs! Cattle! Brutes without souls! There--"
she flung a hand impetuously toward the "Laughing Cavalier"--"t