Part 24 (1/2)
”There is none here,” answered the boatswain. ”Fra Antonio--he absolved you.”
”Where is he?”
”Dead, yonder.”
”But I must confess.”
”Confess to me,” chuckled the old man in ghastly mockery. ”Many a woman has done so and----”
”Art in Holy Orders, senor?” muttered the woman.
[Ill.u.s.tration: The moonlight shone full upon her face, and as he stooped over he scanned it with his one eye.]
”Holy enough for you. Say on.”
”Fra Antonio, now,” she continued, vacantly lapsing into semi-delirium, ”he married us--'twas a secret--his rank was so great. He was rich, I poor--humble. The marriage lines--in the cross. There was a--What's that? A shot? The buccaneers. They are coming! Go not, Francisco!”
Hornigold, bending an attentive ear to these broken sentences lost not a word.
”Go not,” she whispered, striving to lift an arm, ”they will kill thee!
Thou shalt not leave me alone, my Francisco--The boy--in Panama----”
It was evident to the sailor that the poor woman's mind had gone back to the dreadful days of the sack of Panama. He was right then, it was she.
”The boy--save him, save him!” she cried suddenly with astonis.h.i.+ng vigor. The sound of her own voice seemed to recall her to herself. She stopped, her eyes lost their wild glare and fixed themselves upon the man above her, his own face in the shadow as hers was in the light.
”Is it Panama?” she asked. ”Those screams--the shots--” She turned her head toward the city. ”The flames--is it Panama?”
”Nay,” answered the one-eyed fiercely. ”'Tis twenty-five years since then, and more. Yonder city is La Guayra. This is the coast of Venezuela.”
”Oh--the doomed town--I remember--now--I stabbed myself rather than--place the ladders. Who art thou, senor?”
”Benjamin Hornigold!” cried the man fiercely, bending his face to hers.
For a second the woman stared at him. Then, recognizing him, she screamed horribly, raising herself upon her arm.
”Hornigold!” she cried. ”What have you done with the child?”
”I left him at Cuchillo, outside the walls,” answered the man.
”And the cross?”
”On his breast. The Captain----”
”The marriage lines were there. You betrayed me. May G.o.d's curse--nay, I die. For Christ's sake--I forgive--Francisco, Francisco.”
She fell back gasping on the sand. He tore the enclosing coif from her face. In a vain effort to hold back death's hand for another second, Hornigold s.n.a.t.c.hed a spirit flask from his belt and strove to force a drop between her lips. It was too late. She was gone. He knew the signs too well. He laid her back on the sand, exclaiming:
”Curse her! Why couldn't she have lived a moment longer? The Captain's brat--and she might have told me. Bring up the prisoners!” he cried to the guards, who had moved them out of earshot of this strange conversation.
”The cross,” he muttered, ”the marriage lines therein. The only clew.