the impact, felt his body relax and grow limp, and then, as
my grasp loosened, staggered back from a blow of his knee and saw him
leap for the lagoon. But I (being greatly minded to make an end of him
and for good reasons) set after him hot-foot and so came running hard
behind him to the reef; here, the way being difficult, I must needs
slack my pace, but he, surer footed, ran fleetly enough until he was
gotten well-nigh to the middle of the reef, there for a moment he
paused and, looking back on me where I held on in pursuit, I saw his
dark face darker for a great splash of blood; suddenly he raised one
hand aloft, shaking it to and fro, and so vanished down the rocks.
When I came there it was to behold him paddling away in a long piragua.
Panting I stood to watch (and yearning for a bow or firelock) until his
boat was hardly to be seen amid the moonlit ripples that furrowed the
placid waters, yet still I watched, but feeling at hand touch me,
turned to find my lady beside me.

"Martin," says she, looking up at me great-eyed, "O Martin, you are
wounded! Come let me cherish your hurts!"

"Why, Damaris," says I, yet panting with my running, "You said this to
me when I fought the big village boy years agone."

"Come, Martin, you are bleeding--"

"Nought to matter ... and I let him go ... to bring others like enough
... to-morrow I will make my bow ... nay ... I can walk." But now
indeed sea and rocks grew all blurred and misty on my sight, and twice
I must needs rest awhile ere we came on Deliverance Sands. And so
homewards, a weary journey whereof I remember nothing save that I fell
a-grieving that I had suffered this Indian to escape.

So came we to the plateau at last, her arm about me and mine upon her
shoulders; and, angered at my weakness, I strove to go alone yet reeled
in my gait like a drunken man, and so suffered her to get me into our
cave as she would. Being upon my bed she brings the lamp, and kneeling
by me would examine my hurt whether I would or no, and I being weak,
off came my shirt. And then I heard her give a little, gasping cry.

"Is it so bad?" says I, finding my tongue more unready than usual.

"Nay, 'tis not--not your--wound, Martin.

"Then what?"

"Your poor back--all these cruel scars! O Martin!"

"Nought but the lash! They whipped us well aboard the 'Esmeralda'
galleass." In a while I was aware of her soft, gentle hands as she
bathed me with water cool from the spring; there