“Be seated, Sir,” said I.  “It is clear to me that I must be a far happier man than I considered myself only this morning, since I find nothing in myself which, under any usage of God, could drive me on such a pursuit as yours would seem to be.  I may perhaps, without hypocrisy, thank God that I cannot understand you.  But this, at any rate, is clear—­that you seek only a private satisfaction:  and although I cannot tell you the story here and now, something I will promise.  As soon as you please I will sail with you to the greater island, and we will call together on Count Zarco.  In his keeping lies one of the two copies of Morales’ story as we took it down from his lips at Sagres, or, rather, compiled it after much questioning.  It shall be for the Count to produce or withhold it, as he may decide.  He is a just man, and neither one way nor the other will I attempt to sway him.”

Master d’Arfet considered for a while.  Then said he, “I thank you:  but will you sail with me in my pinnace or in your own?”

“In my own,” said I, “as I suspect you will choose to go in yours.  I promise we shall outsail you; but I promise also to await your arriving, and give the Count his free choice.  If you knew him,” I added, “you would know such a promise to be superfluous.”

II

My own pinnace arrived in sight of Funchal two mornings later, and a little after sunrise.  We had outsailed the Englishman, as I promised, and lay off-and-on for more than two hours before he came up with us.  I knew that Count Zarco would be sitting at this time in the sunshine before his house and above the fennel plain, hearing complaints and administering justice:  I knew, moreover, that he would recognise my pinnace at once:  and from time to time I laughed to myself to think how this behaviour of ours must be puzzling my old friend.

Therefore I was not surprised to find him already arrived at the quay when we landed; with a groom at a little distance holding his magnificent black stallion.  For I must tell you that my friend was ever, and is to this day, a big man in all his ways—­big of stature, big of voice, big of heart, and big to lordliness in his notions of becoming display.  None but Zarco would have chosen for his title, “Count of the Chamber of the Wolves,” deriving it from a cave where his men had started a herd of sea-calves on his first landing and taking seizin of the island.  And the black stallion he rode when another would have been content with a mule; and the spray of fennel in his hat; and the ribbon, without which he never appeared among his dependents; were all a part of his large nature, which was guileless and simple withal as any child’s.