efore, to the wine and the riot, shouting and
roaring with his boon companions. All three were flushed and mad, ripe
for any devilment, when the thought of the woman crossed the pirate's
evil mind. He yelled to the negro steward that he should bring her on
the instant.

Inez Ramirez had now realized it all--the death of her father and
mother, and her own position in the hands of their murderers. Yet
calmness had come with the knowledge, and there was no sign of terror
in her proud, dark face as she was led into the cabin, but rather a
strange, firm set of the mouth and an exultant gleam of the eyes, like
one who sees great hopes in the future. She smiled at the pirate captain
as he rose and seized her by the waist.

"'Fore God! this is a lass of spirit," cried Sharkey, passing his arm
round her. "She was born to be a Rover's bride. Come, my bird, and drink
to our better friendship."

"Article Six!" hiccoughed the doctor. "All _bona robas_ in common."

"Aye! we hold you to that, Captain Sharkey," said Galloway. "It is so
writ in Article Six."

"I will cut the man into ounces who comes betwixt us!" cried Sharkey, as
he turned his fish-like eyes from one to the other. "Nay, lass, the man
is not born that will take you from John Sharkey. Sit here upon my knee,
and place your arm round me so. Sink me, if she has not learned to love
me at sight! Tell me, my pretty, why you were so mishandled and laid in
the bilboes aboard yonder craft?"

The woman shook her head and smiled. "No Inglese--no Inglese," she
lisped. She had drunk off the bumper of wine which Sharkey held to
her, and her dark eyes gleamed more brightly than before. Sitting on
Sharkey's knee, her arm encircled his neck, and her hand toyed with
his hair, his ear, his cheek. Even the strange quartermaster and the
hardened surgeon felt a horror as they watched her, but Sharkey laughed
in his joy. "Curse me, if she is not a lass of metal!" he cried, as he
pressed her to him and kissed her unresisting lips.

But a strange intent look of interest had come into the surgeon's eyes
as he watched her, and his face set rigidly, as if a fearsome thought
had entered his mind. There stole a grey pallor over his bull face,
mottling all the red of the tropics and the flush of the wine.

"Look at her hand, Captain Sharkey!" he cried. "For the Lord's sake,
look at her hand!"

Sharkey stared down at the hand which had fondled him. It was of a
strange dead pallor, with a yel