my left and hard beside these bush-girt
rocks was a great and lofty tree.

Now observing this tree more closely, its mighty writhen branches and
gnarled roots, and how it stood close against the opening in the cliff,
an uneasy feeling possessed me that this tree and its immediate
surroundings were all familiar, almost as I had seen it before, though
I knew this could not be. So stood I chin in hand, staring about me
and ever my unease grew; and then:

"So that night, Martin, the moon being high and bright, I came to that
stretch of silver sand where they lay together rigid and pale, and
though I had no tool but his dagger and a piece of driftwood, I
contrived to bury them 'neath the great pimento tree that stood beside
the rock-cleft, and both in the same grave."

It was, for all the world, as though Adam had repeated the words in my
ear, insomuch that I glanced round as almost expecting to see him. So
then it was here Black Bartlemy had died at the hands of the poor,
tortured Spanish lady; and here they lay buried, their bones mouldering
together within a yard of me. And standing in this dismal spot I must
needs mind Adam's narrative and great was my pity for this poor Spanish
lady.

In a while I got me back to the fire and, lying down, fain would have
slept, but my mind was full of Adam's story. Howbeit after some while,
what with fatigue and the warmth of the fire, slumber took me.

But in my sleep the dead arose and stood fronting each other beneath a
pallid moon, Bartlemy in all the bravery of velvet and lace and flowing
periwig, and the Spanish lady tall and proud and deadly pale. And now
as she shrank from his evil touch, I saw that her face was the face of
Joan Brandon. Sweating in dumb anguish I watched Bartlemy grip her in
cruel hands and bend her backward across his knee, while she stared up
at him with eyes of horror, her lips moving in passionate entreaty.
But, as he bent over her, was a flash of steel, and deep-smitten he
staggered back to the great tree and, leaning there, fell into a fit of
wild laughter so that the silver dagger-hilt that was shaped like a
woman seemed to dance and leap upon his quick-heaving breast; then as
he swayed there laughing his life out, he raised his face to the pale
moon, and I saw that the face of Black Bartlemy was my own.

CHAPTER XXVI

WE COME UPON GRIM EVIDENCES OF ADAM PENFEATHER

Waking to a glory of sun, I found my companion looking down on me all