matter to get you safe away, Martin."

"Howbeit, I stay here!" says I, mighty determined. "I'm no murderer!"

"But you're a man to hang and hanged you'll be and you can lay to that,
d'ye see?"

"So be it!" says I.

"Very fine, shipmate, but as I was saying the long-boat is towing
astern, a good boat and well stored. The moon will be down in an
hour--"

"And what of it?" I demanded.

"'Twill be easy for you to slip down from the stern gallery."

"Never in the world!" quoth I.

"And as luck will have it, Martin, Bartlemy's Island--our island--lieth
scarce eighty miles south-westerly. Being thither you shall come on
our treasure by the aid of the chart I shall give you, and leaving the
gold, take only the four coffers of jewels--"

"You waste your breath, Adam!"

"Then, shipmate, with these jewels aboard you shall stand away for
another island that beareth south a day's sail--"

"Look you, Adam," says I, clenching my fists, "once and for all, I do
not leave this ship, happen what may."

"Aye, but you will, shipmate."

"Ha, d'ye think to force me, then?"

"Not I, Martin, but circumstances shall."

"What circumstances?"

Here and all at once Adam started up as again there came a soft
knocking at the door. "Who's there?" he cried. And then in my ear,
"'Tis she, Martin, as I guess, though sooner than I had expected--into
the bilboes with you." Thus whispering and with action incredibly
quick, he clapped and locked me back in my shackles, whisked food,
platter and bottle into a dark corner and crossed to the door. "Who's
there?" he demanded gruffly. Ensued a murmur whereupon he turned the
key, set wide the door and fell back bowing, bonnet in hand, all in a
moment.

"Good Master Adam!" says she gently, "Pray you leave us awhile and let
none intrude on us." At this Adam bows again very low with a whimsical
glance at me, and goes out closing the door behind him.

CHAPTER XIX

CONCERNING THE PRINCESS DAMARIS

For a while she stood looking down on me, and I, meeting that look,
glanced otherwhere yet, conscious of her regard, stirred uneasily so
that my irons rattled dismally.

"Sir," says she at last, but there I stayed her.

"Madam, once and for all, I am no 'sir!'"

"Martin Conisby," she amended in the same gentle voice, "Master
Penfeather telleth you refused the honourable service I offered--I pray
you wherefore?"

"Because I've no mind to serve a Brandon."

"Yet you steal aboard