“When you left England your cause was just,” said Nevil, with emotion.

“Ay, I think it was so,” Sir Mortimer replied.  “At home I was forever naught; on these seas I might yet serve my Queen, though with a shrunken arm.  And Robert Baldry with many another whom I had betrayed might yet languish in miserable life.  God knows! perhaps I thought that God might work a miracle....  But at Margarita—­”

“I know—­I know,” interrupted Nevil.  “Robin told us.”

“Then at Margarita,” continued the other, “I forgot all else but my revenge upon the man who had wrought disaster to my soul, who had dashed from my hand even that poor salve which might and might not have somewhat eased my mortal wound.  Was he at Panama?  Then to Panama would I go.  In Ultima Thule?  Then in Ultima Thule he should not escape me....  I bent the mariners and soldiers of the Sea Wraith to my will.  I promised them gold; I promised them joyous life and an easy task—­I know not what I promised them, for my heart was a hot coal within my breast, and there seemed no desirable thing under the sun other than a shortened sword and my hand upon the throat of Don Luiz de Guardiola.  They went with me upon my private quarrel, and they died.  Ah, well!  It has been long ago!” His breath came in a heavy sigh.  “I am not now so keen a hunter for my own.  In God’s hands is justice as well as mercy, and when death throws down the warder I shall understand.  In the mean while I await—­I that speak to you now and I that betrayed you four years agone.”

He turned from the window, and the two again stood face to face.

“I am a child at school,” said Ferne.  “There was a time when I thought to keep for bed-fellow pride as well as shame; when I said, ’I am coward, I am traitor,’ and put to my lips the cup of gall, but yet I drank it not with humility and a bowed heart....  I do not think, John, that I ever asked you to forgive me....  Forgive me!”

On the part of each man there was an involuntary movement, ending in a long and mute embrace.  Each touched with his lips the other’s cheek, then they sat with clasped hands in eloquent silence, while the candles paled in the approaching dawn.  At last Sir Mortimer spoke: 

“You will let me go now, John?  There are many sick men down by the sea, and Robin will grow restless—­perhaps will call my name aloud.”

Arising from the window-seat, Nevil paced the room, then returned to the sometime Captain of the Cygnet.  “Two things and I will let you go where you do the Queen and Francis Drake yeoman service.  You will not slip a silken leash, but will abide with us in this town?”

“Ay,” was the answer, “until your sick are recovered and your mariners are making sail I will stay.”

Nevil hesitated.  “For the present I accept your ‘until.’  And now I ask you to throw off this disguise.  We are men of a like height and make.  Yonder within the chamber are suits from which you may choose.  Pray you dress at once.”