Part 24 (2/2)

And yet she cried 'Francisco.' That was the name. Who is he? If I could find that cross. I'd know it among a thousand. Hither,” he called to the prisoners slowly approaching.

”The good sister?” queried Alvarado.

”Dead.”

As the young soldier, with an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of pity, bent forward in the moonlight to look upon the face of the dead woman, from his torn doublet a silver crucifix suddenly swung before the eyes of the old buccaneer.

”By heaven!” he cried. ”'Tis the cross.”

He stepped nearer to Alvarado, seized the carven crucifix, and lifted it to the light.

”I could swear it was the same,” he muttered. ”Senor, your name and rank?”

”I can not conceive that either concerns a bloodthirsty ruffian like----”

”Stop! Perhaps there is more in this than thou thinkest,” said Mercedes.

”Tell him, Alvarado. It can do no harm. Oh, senor, have pity on us!

Unbind me,” she added, ”I give you my word. I wish but to pay my respect to the woman yonder.”

”She gives good counsel, soldier,” answered the boatswain. ”Cut her las.h.i.+ng,” he said to the sailor who guarded them.

As the buccaneer did so, Mercedes sank on her knees by the side of the dead woman.

”Now, sir, your name?” asked Hornigold again.

”Alvarado.”

”Where got you that name?”

”It was given me by His Excellency, the Viceroy.”

”And wherefore?”

There was something so tremendous in Hornigold's interest that in spite of himself the young man felt compelled to answer.

”It was his pleasure.”

”Had you not a name of your own?”

”None that I know of.”

”What mean you?”

”I was found, a baby, outside the walls of Panama in a little village.

The Viceroy adopted me and brought me up. That is all.”

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