er.

The master at arms held up the lantern he carried, and as its light fell
on the countenance of the person who had addressed him, Morton
recognised the old white-bearded captain who had made so desperate a
resistance when his vessel was attacked. He had been lying at his
length on some straw on the deck. He was now supporting himself on one
arm that he might have a better look at the lieutenant as he passed.

"What would you say to me?" asked Morton.

"Many things, if you will listen to me," answered the old pirate. "I
overheard part of your conversation with the priest. I know more about
you than you suppose."

"What can you know about me?" asked Morton, very much surprised. "Here
are two persons I fall in with unexpectedly and both assert they know
more about me than I do myself," he thought.

"If you will have me removed out of earshot of my comrades, I will tell
you," replied the old pirate. "We cannot speak in a language which some
of them do not understand."

Morton ordered the old man to be unshackled, and to be conducted to
another part of the deck. After he had gone his rounds, he returned and
took a seat on a bucket by his side.

"Thanks, sir, for this kindness," said the old pirate; though as he
spoke Ronald rather doubted his sincerity. "It is not thrown away. You
see before you a victim to circumstances. I have done many evil deeds--
many things of which I repent--but necessity drove me to commit them;
poverty, that stern task-master, urged me on--not inclination, believe
me. I say this that you may not look at me with the disgust that you
might otherwise do. However, I am not now going to give an account of
my life--I may some day, if you desire it; simply I will tell you who I
am. You know already who the old man is whom I took prisoner."

"I should like to know who you are," said Ronald.

"I am, then, the celebrated Don Annibal Tacon," said the old man, in a
tone of no little conceit. "I have made my name famous in most parts of
the world. For some reason or other, however, my enterprises have not
been as successful as they ought, and I have continued in the same state
of poverty in which I began life. I say this as an excuse for myself,
and to excite your compassion. It is not the matter on which I wish to
speak to you. I have, since my early days, been acquainted with the
Marquis de Medea. He, too, led a wild life in his youth; and there are
many things he did which he