uffer."

His lordship recoiled before the furious glance that blazed at him out
of Blood's haggard face. But the passion faded as swiftly as it had
arisen. It was in a level voice that the Captain added:

"If you'll escort Miss Bishop aboard my ship, I shall be obliged to you.
I beg that you'll make haste. We are about to scuttle this hulk."

He turned slowly to depart. But again Lord Julian interposed. Containing
his indignant amazement, his lordship delivered himself coldly. "Captain
Blood, you disappoint me. I had hopes of great things for you."

"Go to the devil," said Captain Blood, turning on his heel, and so
departed.

CHAPTER XX. THIEF AND PIRATE

Captain Blood paced the poop of his ship alone in the tepid dusk, and
the growing golden radiance of the great poop lantern in which a seaman
had just lighted the three lamps. About him all was peace. The signs of
the day's battle had been effaced, the decks had been swabbed, and order
was restored above and below. A group of men squatting about the main
hatch were drowsily chanting, their hardened natures softened, perhaps,
by the calm and beauty of the night. They were the men of the larboard
watch, waiting for eight bells which was imminent.

Captain Blood did not hear them; he did not hear anything save the echo
of those cruel words which had dubbed him thief and pirate.

Thief and pirate!

It is an odd fact of human nature that a man may for years possess the
knowledge that a certain thing must be of a certain fashion, and yet be
shocked to discover through his own senses that the fact is in perfect
harmony with his beliefs. When first, three years ago, at Tortuga he
had been urged upon the adventurer's course which he had followed ever
since, he had known in what opinion Arabella Bishop must hold him if
he succumbed. Only the conviction that already she was for ever lost to
him, by introducing a certain desperate recklessness into his soul had
supplied the final impulse to drive him upon his rover's course.

That he should ever meet her again had not entered his calculations, had
found no place in his dreams. They were, he conceived, irrevocably and
for ever parted. Yet, in spite of this, in spite even of the persuasion
that to her this reflection that was his torment could bring no regrets,
he had kept the thought of her ever before him in all those wild years
of filibustering. He had used it as a curb not only upon himself, but
also upon those