notice anything queer about their guest. So much did they both owe him
for his deliverance from England, that she must never by word or look
appear to be sounding the depths of his mystery.
“When I tell you that he has a mystery which is a mystery to me, I am
not boasting of any keen perception, for he did your father the honour
of his confidence. Therefore in his house it must be respected, perhaps
more than in any other.”
Like father, like daughter, she therefore showed not the slightest
interest in the ship, at least not outwardly, for this serenely
beautiful Spanish lady was middle-aged and very sensible. She had never
been married because her soldier lover had been killed in war. Grateful
to Doctor Syn for having brought her father back to her, she allowed
herself a motherly regard for him,
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and she somewhat envied her father that this attractive but mysterious
young man had chosen him instead of her as his confessor.
She heard her father say, as he in his turn looked through the
telescope, “You are right, my friend; but it will be a long time yet.
Suppose meantime we eat our meal here on the balcony. A soldier’s
instinct is to snatch what food he can before an action, and we cannot
tell when we shall eat again today. At all events, he shall not have
the satisfaction of knowing that he has inconvenienced our stomachs.”
“Just as you wish, sir,” replied Syn calmly. “We can at least watch
while we eat. But for my part, the sight of those sails is meat and
drink to me.”
Esnada gave orders to his daughter, who never questioned his reason
for thus hastening the meal, and before the incoming ship had grown
perceptibly nearer in their eyes, the three of them were served with
omlettes, bread and wine.
So obvious was it that their guest was suppressing a growing
excitement as the vessel drew slowly nearer, that the daughter thought
to put him at ease by saying;
“Can you wonder that my father used to think lovingly of this balcony
when he was in exile? You must own it is a pretty sight. Look at the
ship! I have always thought that there is a weal th of drama in a homing
voyage. How many hearts are fluttering with excitement like those
sails? It is a joyful thing to reach harbour, and home.”
“It is indeed,” replied Syn, and then he added, with a somewhat grim
significance: “Yet, however joyful t he anticipation may be, the wise
heart should prepare itself against uncertainty. For when you think of
it, what terrible surprises, what evil news may not be waiting for
someone on that ship out there? And yet I’ll wager that not one of them
is contempla ting on the possibility of such a shock.”
“Perhaps God in His mercy does not wish them to,” said the lady.
Their meal finished, and the ship growing nearer, Esnada rose and
ordered his daughter to her siesta.
“I’m taking our guest down to the harbour,” he added. “The sun will
be too hot for you, and our complexions do not matter as yours. But
first give me my sword, and our guest’s sword too, for there are
sometimes worse sharks on those ramparts than in the sea, but the mere
wearing of a sword keeps them at a distance.”
So armed for battle, the two men left the house.
But the daughter did not go to her siesta. She watched her father
and his friend striding away through the idle crowds, many of whom were
being drawn by curiosity to see the vessel come to anchorage. But these
made way for two gentlemen of such military bearing, especially when
they saw the worthy Harbourmaster saluting them with the gravest
courtesy. Indeed, this official conducted them to the very end of the
wall, ordering the loiterers back to a respectful distance, so that the
gentlemen, his friends, might not be incommoded. He then bustled off
upon his business.
“There is space enough here for a fight,” said Esnada.
Doctor Syn said nothing, but loosened his sword in the scabbard.
Amidst the bawling and the singing of the seamen, they heard the orders
given for the furling of the sails, as slowly the ship drew nearer to
the entrance.
“Will he land hereabouts?” asked Syn.
“Aye,” returned Esnada. “The Harbour -master said by those steps there.
I could wish he had not driven away the crowd, for then you could have
ambushed
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amongst them. From the height of his desk, he could spot a mouse upon
this quay, and you are so plaguy tall, my friend. Besides, the
blackness of your dress against this dazzling whiteness makes you the
more conspicuous.”
“Oh, I want him to see me,” said Syn, with a sardonic smile.
“But he’ll sulk then in his cabin, and sent others ashore about his
business,” argued Esnada.
“If so, and should my patience pass all bearing,” returned Syn, “we
could find some means of boarding her. No cabin door would keep me out,
did I once allow myself to say, ‘Now is the time’.”
Suddenly Esnada heard him draw his breath through his set teeth so
sharply that it whistled. Then, without opening his mouth, he spoke
through his throat:
“He is there upon the poop. Blue coat, gilt buttons and the white
feather in his hat. So he flaunts the badge of his cowardice, it seems.
He will do his best to avoid a fight, for there has never been a gamecock yet with a white feather. You see him?”
Esnada nodded: “He is learning against the bulwark.”
Instinctively the Spaniard loosened his scabbard, but Syn checked the
movement sharply:
“Remember this is my quarrel. You could command anything from me, but
not a drop of his blood.” He drew a brass spyglass from his pocket and
brought his enemy the nearer. “This Tappittino, or whatever he calls
himself, is a true Tappitt of Iffley, for the rascally fool is as drunk
as an owl. If his eyes are not too bleared to see me, I fancy the sight
of me will sober him.”
“Do you see a woman standing in the bows?” asked Esnada.
Round swung the spyglass to the bows. For a few tense seconds Syn
said nothing. Then he whispered, “It is she. My wife.”
Esnada wondered whether his emotion was about to get the better of
his friend, for the hands that held the glass began to shake. With the
same fear that he might lose his grim determination, Syn snapped the
glass into its sockets and thrust it in his coat. Then he said sadly:
“She is far too beautiful to have been spoiled by a devil. I never
thought she would be there amongst so many men. Well, perhaps ‘tis
better I should confront them both.”
At that instant, Imogene saw him and with a cry of terror raced for
the poop, crying aloud to Nicholas.
“He is there!” she cried. “He is waiting there to kill us! Don’t you
see? The figure in black. The figure in black. It is my husband-Christopher. I tell you it is Doctor Syn.”
Frightened by the vehemence of her terror, Nicholas jerked himself
into soberness. A cold panic drove the drink right out of him, as beads
of perspiration burst from every pore. With clenched fists she beat
against him like a terri fied child. She drove him into instant action,
for springing at his sailing -master he cried out with an oath to “Bout
ship!”
Ignorant of what dreadful catastrophe was about to fall upon them,
their panic impelled the crew into a quick and blind obedien ce. The
sharp and ringing orders were promptly answered, and the ship,