does not come until
it is too late, and the crime has been perpetrated, and Don Manuel's
first impulse was to muster his soldiers, follow after the Englishmen,
and slay them, if possible, before they should reach the Inquisition
building. But as he hurried toward the barracks with this fell
intention, he realised that what he meditated was impossible; before he
could muster his soldiers and put them upon the track, the Englishmen
would have reached their goal; and once within the massive walls of the
building, they would be safe. But there was no reason, he told himself,
why they should not be attacked as they came out--and here his
meditations came to a sudden halt. There _was_ a very good reason,
which was that, even if his meditated attack should prove successful,
only a paltry dozen of Englishmen would fall, and their comrades would
remain to wreak a terrible retribution, in the course of which he, among
others, would have to pay the full penalty. No, that would not do at
all; it was not that Don Manuel Rebiera was a coward; very far from it;
but with the speed of thought he pictured to himself the happenings that
must inevitably follow the perpetration of an act of such base treachery
as he meditated; he saw in imagination the execution of the hostages--
among whom, he suddenly remembered, were one or two very dear friends of
his own; the bombardment of the town, with the concomitant slaughter of
women and children as well as men; the exasperation of the citizens at
the author of the deed which had brought such a frightful calamity upon
them, and his own arrest and summary execution. No; that would not do;
he was not in the least afraid to face death in fair fight, but to be
arrested by his own countrymen, handed over by them to the hated
English, and publicly hanged by the latter from one of the yard-arms of
their ship--No; he could not face that ignominy.

Then what was to be done--for something he was determined to do? He
somehow found his way back to the private room in his quarters, and
there, flinging himself into a chair, set himself to think. And
gradually from out the chaos of his thoughts there emerged an idea, a
plan, a mad, desperate plan that, if successful, would mean the
destruction or capture of the _Nonsuch_ and every Englishman aboard her,
which was what Rebiera wanted; while, if it failed--! But it must not,
should not fail; no, he would see to that. So presently he took pen and
paper, a