cal this justice, that he looked
well enough in his splendid coat, though his carriage was too
fantastical--more of the stage player than the soldier. Lancelot,
looking down at the fellow without returning his salutation, asked him
what he wanted.

'Come, Captain Amber,' said Jensen boldly, 'you know what I want very
well. I want to come to terms. Surely two men of the world like us ought
to be able to make terms, Captain Amber.'

'I do not carry the title of Captain,' Lancelot answered, 'and I have
no more in common with you than mere life. My only terms are the
unconditional surrender of yourself and your accomplices. In their
case some allowance may be made. In yours--none!'

Jensen shrugged his shoulders and smiled with affability at Lancelot's
menaces.

'The young cock cackles louder than the old cock ever crowed,' he said;
but he said it more good-humouredly than sneeringly, and it was evident
that he was more than willing to propitiate Lancelot. 'We ought to make
terms, for we are both at a loose end here, and might at least agree not
to annoy each other. For you see, Lieutenant--if you will take that
title--that as you judge you shall be judged. If you have no terms for
us we will have no terms for you.'

It was a proof of his own vanity that he thus thrust a title upon
Lancelot, thinking to please him, for when Lancelot, calling him by his
surname, told him again that he had no terms to make with him, he drew
himself up with an offended air and said:

'I call myself Captain Jensen, if you please.'

'It does not please me,' Lancelot retorted, 'to call you anything but a
pirate and a rogue. Go back to your brother rogues at once!'

To my surprise, Jensen kept his temper, and seemed only hurt instead of
angry at Lancelot's attack.

'Hot words,' he said quietly, 'hot words. Upon my honour, you do me
wrong, Lieutenant Amber, for I persist in respecting the courtesies of
war. I wish with all my heart that we could agree, but if we cannot we
cannot, and there's an end of it. But there is another matter I wish to
speak about.' He paused, as if waiting for permission, and when Lancelot
bade him be brief, he went on: 'We have one among us who is more
inclined to your party than to mine. I mean your reverend friend Parson
Ebrow.'

For my part I was glad to hear that the poor man was still alive, for I
feared that the pirates had killed him after their first attempt. But I
saw Lancelot's face flush with anger,