was a great stir in the house and the
sound of opening doors and hurrying footsteps. The unwonted noises
terrified me. I leaned against the door, with a heart beating thickly,
and I listened. What evil tidings did those sounds portend? There was a
loud outcry in a woman's voice,--the voice of Dona Orosia.

I felt that I must know what havoc Fate had wrought in the last hours. I
looked at Barbara--she slumbered peacefully on her hard pallet; the
moonlight, streaming through the barred window, showed me her withered
face relaxed in almost childlike peacefulness. I would not rouse
her,--'twas a blessed thing to sleep and forget; but _I_ dared not
sleep, for I knew not what would be the horror of my waking. With my
cheek pressed close against the door I waited a moment longer. Perhaps
only those planks intervened 'twixt me and my life's tragedy!

I laid my hand upon the latch. I feared to know the truth,--and yet, if
I did not hear it, I must die of dread. Slowly I turned the key and
raised the bars: the door swung open.

I stepped out upon the balcony that overhung the court and I looked
over. There was no one in sight; the white moonlight lay over
everything, and a strong perfume floated up from the flowers in the
garden beyond.

I crept down the stair and stood still in the centre of the empty court.
Voices sounded near me, but I knew not whence they came. Trembling
still, I moved toward the passage that led to the outer door, and I saw
that it was bright as day. The door stood ajar. Those who had last gone
out had been strangely forgetful--or greatly agitated.

Scarce knowing what I did, I crossed the threshold and hurried down the
street in the direction of the fort.

A group of three men stood upon the corner. At the sight of them I
paused and hid in the shadow of the wall; but, one of them turning his
face toward me, I recognized Captain Baulk, and, going quickly forward,
I laid my hand upon his arm.

"How is he? Where have they taken him?" I whispered.

"What! is't Mistress Tudor? Have they turned you adrift, then? Lor',
'tis a frail craft to be out o' harbour such foul weather!"

"How is he?" I repeated, tightening my grasp upon his sleeve.

"Dead as a pickled herring, poor lad!"

My head struck heavily against the wall as I fell, but I made no outcry.

"Sink me! but the poor lassie thought I meant Mr. Rivers!" I heard the
old sailor exclaim as he dropped on his knees beside me,--and the words
stayed