“Why?  What is it to me?”

“Because she is of your line—­do you know her now?” “No; nor believe it true.”

“Then I will make you; ’tis naught to me anymore; for I am dead within the hour.  You go back to England, and tell him; tell the Duke of Bucclough how his precious sister died.”

“His sister!  Good God, you cannot mean that woman was Lady Sara Carlyle?”

“Who should know better than I?” sneeringly.  “Once I was called in England, Sir John Collinswood.”

He sank back, exhausted, struggling for breath, but with eyes glowing hatred.  I knew it all now, the dimly remembered story coming vividly back to memory.  Here then was the ending of the one black stain on the family honor of our race.  On this strange coast, three thousand miles from its beginning, the final curtain was being rung down, the drama finished.  The story had come to me in whispers from others, never even spoken about by those of our race—­a wild, headstrong girl, a secret marriage, a duel in the park, her brother desperately wounded, and then the disappearance of the pair.  Ten days later it was known that Sir John Collinswood had defaulted in a large sum—­but, from that hour, England knew him no more.  As though the sea had swallowed them both, man and woman disappeared, leaving no trace behind.

The face I gazed dumbly into was drawn, and white with pain, yet the thin lips grinned back at me in savage derision.

“You remember, I see,” he snarled.  “Then to hell with you out of here, Geoffry Carlyle.  Leave me to die in peace.  The gold is there; take it, and my curse upon it.  Hurry now—­do you hear the bark grate on the rocks; it’s near the end.”

CHAPTER XXXIII

BEFORE THE GOVERNOR

The sound startled me; I imagined I heard the keel slipping, yet before we had reached the door opening on deck, the slight movement ceased.  My hand gripped the frightened Haines.

“Tell them in the boat to do as I said; then come back here.”

“My God, sir, she’s a goin’ down.”

“Not for some minutes yet.  There are thousands of pounds in that chest; you’ve risked life for less many a time.  Jump, my man!”

The boat lay in close, bobbing up and down dangerously, yet held firmly beneath the opened port.  Pierre warped her in with a rope’s end, leaving the other two free to receive the box, as we cautiously passed it out within grasp of their hands.  It was heavy enough to tax the strength of two men to handle it, but of a size and shape permitting its passage.  Sanchez had raised himself again, and clung there to the edge of the bunk watching us.  Even in the darkness caused by the chest obscuring the port, I felt the insane glare of his eyes fastened upon me.  Once he attempted to speak, but his voice failed him.

“Now let down easy, lads,” I called.  “No, place it amidships; get it even, or you go over.  Wrap your line about the thwart, Pierre, and take a hand.  Ay! that’s better.  Watch out now; we’ll drop this end—­Lord, but I thought it was gone!  Fix it to ride steady, and stand by—­we’ll pass a wounded man out to you!”