ng more original than the old game of buccaneers.
Nancy had awakened to find herself neatly trussed to her bed and Joan in
an unfinished state of attire, but wearing the black velvet mask,
brandishing in her face a horse pistol, annexed from the collection of
old-fashioned weapons in the hall. Thus overpowered she had succumbed
philosophically. It was the fortune of war, and if she had thought of it
she might just as well have been kneeling on Joan's chest, as Joan was
kneeling, somewhat oppressively, on hers. Given her choice of walking
the plank from the punt on the lake or being marooned on the
rhododendron island, she had accepted the latter alternative,
stipulating for an adequate supply of food; and a truce having been
called, while pirate and victim made their toilets and raided together
for the necessary rations, she had then allowed herself to be bound and
led off to the shore where the pirate ship was beached.

All this was explained to Cicely--the search for provisions having no
particular stress laid on it--when she joined them, and she was awarded
the part of the unhappy victim's wife, who was to gaze across the water
and tear her hair in despair at being unable to go to the rescue.

"You must rend the air with your cries," Joan instructed her, "not too
loud, because we don't want any one to hear. The pirate king will then
appear on the scene, and stalking silently up behind you--well, you'll
see. I won't hurt you."

Nancy was already comfortably marooned. She could be seen relieved of
her bonds seated amongst the rhododendrons, which were in full flower on
the island and all round the lake, making her first solitary meal off
cold salmon and a macedoine of fruit, and supporting her painful
situation with fortitude.

Cicely accepted her role, but dispensed with the business of tearing her
hair. "O my husband!" she cried, stretching her arms across the water.
"Shall I never see thee more? What foul ruffian has treated thee thus?"

"Very good," said Nancy, with her mouth full--she was only twenty yards
away--"keep it up, Sis."

"I will not rest until I have discovered the miscreant and taken his
life," proceeded Cicely.

"Shed his blood," corrected Nancy. "Say something about my bones
bleaching on the shore."

"Thy bones will bleach on the shore," Cicely obeyed. "And I, a
disconsolate widow, will wander up and down this cruel strand--oh,
don't, Joan, you are hurting."

For she found herself in the g