sharply. "Whatever
punishment you may deserve, you do not deserve to die. You know well
enough that your own word will go for nothing, and no one else can bear
witness in your favour. You will be regarded simply as a notorious
pirate. Even if some of the people whose lives you have spared while
taking their goods should turn up, their testimony could not prove that
you had not murdered others; so your fate is certain if you go to trial.
Have you any right, then, to compass your own death by thus giving
yourself up?"

"Ah! boy, your logic is not sound."

"But answer my question," said the youth, testily, "Henry, plead with me
no longer," said Gascoyne, in a deep, stern tone. "My mind is made up.
I have spent many years in dishonesty and self-deception. It is perhaps
possible that by a life devoted to doing good, I might in the long run
benefit men more than I have damaged them. This is just possible, I
say, though I doubt it; but I have _promised_ to give myself up whenever
this cruise is at an end, and I won't break the last promise I am likely
to give in this world; so do not attempt to turn me, boy."

Henry made no reply, but his knitted brows and compressed lips shewed
that a struggle was going on within him. Suddenly he stood erect, and
said firmly--

"Be it so, Gascoyne. I will hold you to your promise. You shall _not_
escape me!"

With this somewhat singular reply, Henry left his surprised companion
and mingled with the crowd of men who stood on the quarter-deck.

A light breeze had now sprung up, and the _Foam_ was gliding rapidly
towards the island. Gascoyne's deep voice was still heard at intervals
issuing a word of command; for, as he knew the reefs better than any one
else on board, Montague had intrusted him with the pilotage of the
vessel into harbour.

When they had passed the barrier-reef, and were sailing over the calm
waters of the enclosed lagoon in the direction of Sandy Cove, the young
officer went up to the pirate captain with a perplexed air and a degree
of hesitation that was very foreign to his character.

Gascoyne flushed deeply when he observed him. "I know what you would
say to me," he said, quickly. "You have a duty to perform. I am
ready."

"Gascoyne," said Montague, with deep earnestness of tone and manner, "I
would willingly spare you this, but, as you say, I have a duty to
perform. I would, with all my heart, that it had fallen to other hands.
Believe me, I appr