as they were--stood in
such fear and dread of their leader, that they were glad to keep out of
his way. Moreover, he never boasted or made any display before them,
living on shipboard, as on shore, by himself, but always ready and
terrible when the moment came for action; treating his crew, too, with
the most rigid impartiality, adhering strictly to his promises and
compacts with them, and never overlooking an offense.

So Captain Brand left his dwelling in charge of his dumb housekeeper
Babette, and tripping down the rope ladder from the piazza in a clean
suit of brown linen and straw slippers, his beardless face shaded by his
broad-brimmed hat from the sun, and the bag of gold on his arm, he
jauntily walked toward the cove.

"Ah! good morning, my doctor! Glad to meet you! How are the sick? Doing
well, I hope!"

"Quite well, sir; but I was about to call upon you in relation to the
conversation we had last evening, and--"

"Pardon me, _Monsieur le Docteur_, but I have been very busy this morning,
and am now going to see Don Ignacio on matters of importance"--here the
elegant pirate took the cigar from his thin lips and held it daintily
between his thumb and fore finger in the air--"and really, monsieur, I am
very sorry to miss your visit. But," he added, with one of his usual
smiles, "I shall be at leisure this afternoon, and in the cool of the
evening we can take a stroll. What say you?"

The doctor nodded.

"Apropos, _docteur_, suppose we have a little game of _monte_ afterward
at your quarters. I never permit gaming in mine, you know. The padre
will not object; and I am confident our _compadre_, the Tuerto, will be
delighted."

"As you please, captain," replied the medico, with a cold, indifferent
air and averted face. "I will join you in the promenade, and I shall be
ready to receive you in the evening."

"_Hasta huego, amigo!_" said Captain Brand, as he again stuck his cigar
between his teeth, waved his hand in adieu, and walked to his boat.

"You don't love me, doctor," thought the pirate. "I don't fear you,
captain," thought the doctor.

It was a touch of high art the way this notorious pirate pitched the bag
of gold toward his coxswain, crying, "Catch that, Pedillo!" and then the
almost girlish manner in which he pattered about the beach and held up
his trowsers, so that he might not even get his slippers damp. Had that
salt water been red blood, he would not have cared if his feet had been
soaked i