would join them.

He came, and it was Pedro Mexia. From Nevil and Arden and several of Sir
John's old officers of the _Mere Honour_ burst more or less suppressed
exclamations. Nevil, from his vantage-point, sent a lightning glance far
down the table, where were gathered those whose rank or station barely
brought them within this hall, but what with the massed fruit, the
candles, this or that outstretched hand and shoulder, he could not see
to the lowest at the table, and he heard no sound to match his own or
Arden's ejaculation. Mexia, who had lingered with his own wine-cup and
associates, now, after the moment of general welcome, seated himself
heavily. His first gaze had been naturally for Francis Drake, the man
whose name was waxing ever louder in Spanish ears, but now in the act of
raising his tankard his eyes and those of the sometime conqueror of
Nueva Cordoba came together. For a second his hand shook, then he tossed
off the wine, and putting down his tankard with some noise, leaned
half-way across the table.

"Ha! we meet again, Sir John Nevil--and after four years of mortal life
we be a-ransoming yet! You see I have not lost your tongue--although I
lost my teachers!" He laughed at the tag to his speech, being drunk
enough to make utter mischief, out of sheer good nature.

"Doth Master Francis Sark still teach you English?" asked Nevil, coldly.

"Francis Sark--who is Francis Sark?" maundered the fuddled envoy. "There
was the fool Desmond, who overreached himself trying to bargain with
Luiz de Guardiola. Those who do that have strange fates!"

Arden from a place or two below put in lightly: "Well, our Sark equals
your Desmond. And so he bargained with Don Luiz de Guardiola?"

Mexia's eyes wandered to the other's face. "Ha, senor! I remember your
face at Nueva Cordoba! Have we here more of our conquered?" His speech
began with the pomp of the frog in the fable, but at this point became
maudlin again and returned to the one-time Governor of Nueva Cordoba's
dealings with his creatures. "Why, Desmond was a fool to name such a
price. One hundred pesos, perhaps--but four thousand! But Don Luiz
smiled and paid down the silver, and the fool that was traitor to us and
traitor to you and traitor to himself told all things and was hanged for
his pains." Up went his tankard to his lips, and as it descended wine
was spilt upon his neighbor's sleeve. The victim drew away with a
smothered oath, and Brava eyed with displea