m
universally admired--with a parched throat, Senor. I could compose
a song that would make a priest weep.... A greatly parched throat,
Senor," he added piteously.

I could not help turning my head. I had not been used half as hard
as he. It was enough to look at him to believe in the dryness of his
throat. Under the matted mass of his hair, he was grinning in amiable
agony, and his globular eyes yearned upon me with a motionless and
glassy lustre.

"You have not forgotten me, Senor? Forget Manuel! Impossible! Manuel,
Senor. For the love of God. Manuel. Manuel-del-Popolo. I did sing, deign
to remember. I offered you my fidelity, Senor. As you are a _caballero_,
I charge you to remember. Save me, Senor. Speak to those men.... For the
sake of your honour, Senor."

His voice was extraordinarily harsh--not his own. Apparently, he
believed that he was going to be cut to pieces there and then by the
sailors. He seemed to read it in their faces, shuddering and shrinking
whenever he raised his eyes. But all these faces gaped with good-natured
wonder, except the faces of his two guardians, and these expressed a
state of conscientious worry. They were ridiculously anxious to suppress
his sudden contortions, as one would some gross indecency. In the
scuffle they hissed and swore under their breath. They were scandalized
and made unhappy by his behaviour.

"Are you ready down there?" roared the bo'sun in the waist.

"Olla raight! Olla raight! Waita a leetle," I heard Castro's voice
coming, as if from under the ship. I said coldly a few words about the
certain punishment awaiting a pirate in Havana, and got on to my feet
stiffly. But Manuel was too terrified to understand what I meant. He
attempted to snatch at me with his imprisoned hands, and got for his
pains a severe jerking, which made his head roll about his shoulders
weirdly.

"Pity, Senor!" he screamed. And then, with low fervour, "Don't go away.
Listen! I am profound. Perhaps the Senor did not know that? Mercy! I
am a man of intrigue. A _politico_. You have escaped, and I rejoice at
it."... He bared his fangs, and frothed like a mad dog.... "Senor, I am
made happy because of the love I bore you from the first--and Domingo,
who let you slip out of the Casa, is doomed. He is doomed. Thou art
doomed, Domingo! But the excessive affection for your noble person
inspires my intellect with a salutary combination. Wait, Senor! A
moment! An instant!... A combination!..."

H