I found him sitting up in bed and nursing his leg, the wound of which appeared red and angry at the edges.  I sent, therefore, for a fomentation, and while applying it thought no harm to tell him the report from the Cove.  To my astonishment it threw him into a transport, though whether of rage or horror I could not at first tell.  But he jerked his leg from my grasp, and beating the straw with both fists he cried out—­

“I knew it!  I knew it would be so!  She is a witch—­a daughter of Satan, or his leman!  It is her doing, I tell you.  It is she who has killed that fool Affonzo.  She is a witch!” He fell back on the straw, his strength spent, but still beat weakly with his fists, gasping “Witch—­witch!”

“Hush!” said I.  “You are light-headed with your hurt.  Lie quiet and let me tend it.”

“As for my hurt,” he answered, “your tending it will do no good.  The poison of that hound of hell is in me, and nothing for me but to say my prayers.  But listen you”—­here he sat up again and plucked me by the shoulder as I bent over his leg.  “The freight is not gone, and good reason for why:  it was never landed!”

“Hey?” said I, incredulous.

“It was never landed.  The men toiled as she ordered—­Lord, how they toiled!  Without witch-craft they had never done the half of it.  I tell you they handled moonshine—­wove sand.  The riches they brought ashore were emptiness; vain shows that already have turned to chips and straw and rubbish.  Nay, sir”—­for I drew back before these ravings—­“listen for the love of God, before the poison gets hold of me!  Soon it will be too late. . . .  The evening before we sailed from Dunquerque, we were anchored out in the tide.  It was my watch.  I was leaning on the rail of the poop when I caught sight of her first.  She was running for her life across the dunes—­running for the waterside—­she and her hound beside her.  Away behind her, like ants dotted over the rises of the sand, were little figures running and pursuing.  Down by the waterside one boat was waiting, with a man in it—­or the Devil belike—­leaning on his oars.  She whistled; he pulled close in shore.  She leapt into the boat with the dog at her heels, and was half-way across towards our ship before the first of those after her reached the water’s edge.  When she hailed us I ran and fetched Affonzo the master.  The rest I charge to his folly.  It was he who handed her up the ship’s side.  How the dog came on board I know not:  only that I leaned over the bulwarks to have a look at him, but heard a pattering noise, and there he was on deck behind me and close beside his mistress.  The boat and rower had vanished—­under the ship’s stern, as I supposed, but now I have my doubts.  I saw no more of them, anyhow.

“By this time Affonzo was reading her letter.  The crowd by the water’s edge had found a boat at length—­how, I know not; but it was a very little one, holding but six men besides the one rower, and then over-laden.  They pulled towards us and hailed just as the lady took the master’s promise and went down to seek her cabin:  and one of the men stood up, a tall gentleman with a chain about his neck.  Affonzo went to the side to parley with him.