oor, he opened to Sir Francis Drake, who
stood alone upon the threshold, his escort trampling down the stone
stairs to the hall beneath. Nevil uttered an exclamation, which the
other met with his bluff, short laugh.

"So you as well as I have let the jade Sleep slip by this night!" He
brushed past Nevil into the room. "I gave it up an hour agone, and am
come to take counsel before breakfast. At the nooning Carlisle and Cecil
will bring me the opinions of the captains, land and sea. I know already
their conclusion and my answer. But I deny not that 'twill be a bitter
draught." He did not take the great chair which Nevil indicated, but
kept on to the window, where with a sound, half sigh, half oath, he
flung himself down upon the broad seat.

"I' faith, John Nevil, I know not why I am here, seeing that your
counsel has been given us, unless it be that you have more wisdom than
most, and may somewhat sweeten this course which, mark you! I stand
ready to take, or sweet or bitter, if thereby the Queen is best
served.... The officer whom this Governor sent out days ago in search of
these wealthy fugitives from the town--these rich people who starve on
gold and silver dishes--hath returned with some report or other as to
the treasure. What think you if at this coming feast--"

Said Nevil abruptly: "Let us not speak of such matters here, Frank! I am
fully dressed; let us go into the air!"

Drake stared. "And be observed of all that we hold counsel together!
What's wrong with the room?" Glancing narrowly from wall to wall, he
came suddenly to a realization of the presence of a third person--a
stranger, dressed in some dark, rich stuff, who stood with folded arms
against the door which he had closed behind him. Distinction of form,
distinction of the quiet face, distinction of white hair, so incongruous
and yet, strangely enough, the last and stateliest touch of all--after a
moment of startled scrutiny Drake leaned forward, keen eyes beneath
shaggy brows, one hand tugging at his beard. "Who are you, sir?"
he asked.

Nevil interposed. "He is under my command--a volunteer for whom I alone
am responsible."

The figure against the door advanced a pace or two. "I am Mortimer
Ferne, Sir Francis Drake."

There was a pause, while Drake, staring as at one just risen from the
dead, got slowly to his feet.

"Long ago," continued the apparition, "we had some slight
acquaintance--but now 'tis natural that you know me not.... I pray