my failing senses.

"Whom did you mean?" I gasped.

"Young Poole has been done to death, Mistress Margaret. As honest a lad
as ever lived, too,--more's the pity!"

I struggled to raise myself, crying: "What do you tell me? Have they
killed the lad in pure spite against his master? And where is Mr.
Rivers?"

They made me no answer.

"He is dead, then! I knew it, my heart told me so!"

"Eh! poor lass! 'Tis not so bad as that--yet bad enough. They've hung
chains enough upon him to anchor a man-o'-war, and moored him fast in
the dungeon of the fort. D--n 'em for a crew o' dastard furriners!--an'
he own cousin to an English earl!"

"Can you not tell me a straight tale?" I cried. "What has he done to be
so ill served? And whose the enmity behind it all,--Melinza's, or the
Governor's?"

"Lor'!" exclaimed one of the sailors, "the young Don is past revenge,
mistress. If he lives out the night 'tis more than I look to see."

"Here, now, let me tell the tale, lad," the old captain interposed.
"'Twas a duel began it, Mistress Tudor. The young bloods were so keen
after fighting they could not wait for sunrise, but must needs have it
out by moonlight on the beach. 'Twas over yonder, in the lee of the
castle walls."

"Mr. Rivers and Don Pedro?"

"Aye, mistress. The Governor was not by,--'tis likely he knew naught of
it."

"Not so!" I cried, "he had his share in the quarrel, and they left the
house in company."

"Mayhap," said Captain Baulk, "I'd not gainsay it--for I trust no one o'
them; but he chose to go with his weather eye shut rather than take
precaution 'gainst the squall. So they had it out all by their
selves,--and none of us a whit the wiser, saving young Poole, who had
guessed somewhat was amiss and followed his master."

"What then? Speak quickly! Was Mr. Rivers wounded?"

"Not he! That's to say, not by any thrust of the Don's. Lor', but it
must ha' been a pretty fight! Pity no man saw it that lives to tell!"

"In the name of mercy, sir, speak plainly!"

"Aye, my young mistress, but give me time an' I will. Mr. Rivers ere
long did get in such a thrust that the Don went down before it as
suddenly as a ship with all her hull stove in. He lay stranded, with the
blood flowing away in a dark stream over the white sands. Our young
gentleman, gallant heart, did throw away his sword and fall down beside
the Spaniard and strive to staunch his wounds, crying aloud most lustily
for aid. Who should hear him but