ylike French
octoroon, dainty as a golden thistledown; her full red lips were parted
in eager inquisitiveness, and her slim, small body leaned forward, as if
to catch every word; but at sight of her Dolores burst into knowing
merriment, for the girl's eyes told her story. They were fastened in
intense, burning adoration, not on the mistress but on Milo, the giant
slave.

"La-la, chit!" Dolores cried; "keep thy black eyes from my property."
But more weighty matters than a maid's fluttering bosom demanded her
attention, and she commanded sharply: "Milo, summon the men to the
council hall at once. Let none be absent. Go swiftly!" Milo went, and
Dolores flashed around on Pascherette again: "And thou, hussy, take this
clinging frippery from me and give me my tunic. And, mark me, girl, thy
eyes and ears belong to me. Thy tongue, too. Let that tongue utter one
word of what those eyes see, those ears hear, and it shall be plucked
from thy pretty mouth with hot pincers. Remember!"

Dolores put on her tunic and swept out to steal a long look at the white
schooner before entering the hall.

Into the council hall the pirates came trooping, tarry, wet, soiled with
the estuary mud as they were, and stood in a milling mob awaiting speech
from Dolores, who entered from the rear and scanned their faces closely.
Shuffling feet and whistling breath would not be stilled, even in her
presence, for their appetites were already whetted for a victim, and the
fumes of the previous night's debauch lingered. They glared at the girl
and cursed impatiently.

"Hear!" commanded Dolores with an imperious gesture, and every sound was
muffled, not stilled. "Hear, my brave jackals! For long ye have hungered
for employment fit for the royal corsairs ye are. Now the meal is to
hand." The hall reverberated with the clamor that went up. Cutlases
scraped from their scabbards and swished aloft; bold Spotted Dog
snatched out his great horse-pistol and blazed into the floor, filling
the place with acrid smoke and noise. Dolores's eyes flashed angrily;
she governed her fury, and went on when the uproar subsided: "Your boats
are ready?"

"Ready and rotting wi' idleness!" roared Hanglip.

"And ye purpose wasting powder and shot on some paltry craft of the
islands! Wait, my brave lads, I have better game at hand!"

Now the crowd was hushed in earnest, for none of them saw more than a
frolic coming from such a small craft as the schooner. The girl went on
to