ing in his voice, with not the faintest note of
merriment to relieve it, that his listeners looked aghast upon him.

"His mother?" cried Morgan. "Then this is----"

He paused. The assembled cavaliers, Mercedes, and Alvarado stood with
bated breath waiting for the terrible boatswain's answer.

"The boy I took into Cuchillo when we were at Panama," said Hornigold in
triumph.

"And my son!" cried the old buccaneer with malignant joy.

A great cry of repudiation and horror burst from the lips of Alvarado.
The others stared with astonishment and incredulity written on their
faces. Mercedes moved closer to her lover and strove to take his hand.

"My lords and gentlemen, hear me," continued the buccaneer, the words
rushing from his lips in his excitement, for in the new relationship he
so promptly and boldly affirmed, he thought he saw a way of escape from
his imminent peril. "There lived in Maracaibo a Spanish woman, Maria
Zerega, who loved me. By her there was a child--mine--a boy. I took them
with me to Panama. The pestilence raged there after the sack. She fell
ill, and as she lay dying besought me to save the boy. I sent Hornigold
to her with instructions to do her will, and he carried the baby to the
village of Cuchillo with that cross upon his breast and left him. We
lost sight of him. There, the next day, you found him. He has English
blood in his veins. He is my son, sirs, a noble youth," sneered the old
man. "Now you have given me to him. 'Tis not meet that the father should
suffer at the hands of the son. You shall set me free," added the man,
turning to Alvarado.

"Rather than that--" cried Hornigold, viciously springing forward knife
in hand.

He was greatly surprised at the bold yet cunning appeal of his former
captain.

"Back, man!" interposed the Viceroy. "And were you a thousand times his
father, were you my brother, my own father, you should, nevertheless,
die, as it hath been appointed."

"Can this be true?" groaned Alvarado, turning savagely to Hornigold.

"I believe it to be."

"Why not kill me last night then?"

"I wanted you for this minute. 'Tis a small part of my revenge. To see
him die and by his son's hand--A worthy father, noble son----"

"Silence!" shouted de Lara. "Art thou without bowels of compassion, man!
Alvarado, I pity thee, but this makes the promise of the hour void. Nay,
my daughter"--as Mercedes came forward to entreat him--"I'd rather slay
thee with my own hand than wed