They had traversed in safety three-fourths of their course when Jean, looking seaward, saw a dark sail bearing down on them.  One of the pirate ships, delayed by contrary winds, was hurrying homeward, the crew of five men hoping to arrive ere the feast was over.  Jean’s hope that the boat might not be discovered was soon dispelled:  the vessel altered her course slightly and hailed.  Jean made no answer.  The pirate was evidently in no mood to parley; the crew were in a fierce temper, angry and discontented at the postponement of their arrival.  She made a deliberate attempt to run the boat down.  Jean divined her object and, putting up his helm sharply at the right moment, let her shoot by him astern; he then resumed his course.  A second attempt was clumsier, and was easily evaded; the assailants were hurried and impatient; nor did they know the seamanlike qualities of the man with whom they were dealing.  But Jean saw that ultimate escape was hopeless, and this was equally apparent to Hilda who, however, though pale as death, gave a firm pressure of the hand in response to his grasp.  At this moment an object glimmered under the youth’s feet:  stooping down he touched the shell.  The hermit’s parting words flashed on his mind:  he seized on the hope of rescue, and sounded two loud and clear blasts.

The pirates now altered their tactics.  Handling their vessel with more care they succeeded, after two or three unsuccessful attempts, in ranging alongside and grappling the boat.  A man sprung on board and seized Hilda.  “A rare booty!” he cried,—­“the Gods repent of their waywardness.”  Jean was engaged with those of the crew who had seized the boat; the man laughingly gave the girl a rough embrace:  it was the last act he had to record before entering the spirit world.  Hilda drew from her bosom one of the daggers which Jean had noticed on the tower walls, whose blade, still sharp and keen, might have been forged by a Damascus smith; it struck deep to the heart of the ruffian, who fell lifeless into the waves.  Jean had now freed the craft, but the respite was short:  before she had made much progress she was again captured.  The pirates, furious at the death of their comrade, made a determined onslaught.  Jean, fighting desperately, received from behind a terrific blow which laid him senseless.  But a superstitious feeling made them hesitate before committing further outrage; they had recognized Hilda, and feared the consequence of Judith’s vengeance if she were injured.  There was no time, however, for delay; the, rude repairs, torn by the trampling feet, had given way, and the leak had re-opened:  the boat was fast sinking.  The pirates cared not for Jean’s lifeless body; that might sink or swim; but they felt they must save the girl whatever might be her future doom.  Even their hearts softened somewhat as they watched her erect in the sinking boat, her face pallid, her fair hair shining in the moonlight, but her lips set, her lovely eyes bent tearless on her prostrate lover, her right hand, holding the blood-stained dagger, hanging listlessly by her side.