’Twas all prearranged; for when the ensign had saluted he marched his men a little way apart and drew them up in line with muskets ported.  But at a sign from Falconnet, two of the men broke ranks and came to strap me helpless with their belts.  I smiled at that, and would not miss the chance to jeer.

“You are a sorry coward, Captain Falconnet, as bullies ever are,” I said.  “Would not your sword suffice against a man with empty hands?”

He passed the taunt in silence, and when the men had left me, said:  “I have come to speed your parting, Captain Ireton.  You are a thick-headed, witless fool, as you have always been; yet since you’ve blundered into serving me, I would not grudge the time to come and thank you.”

“I serve you?” I cried.  “God knows I’d serve you up in collops at the table of your master, the devil, could I but stand before you with a carving tool!”

He laughed softly.  “Always vengeful and vindictive, and always because you must ever mess and meddle with other men’s concerns,” he retorted.  “And yet I say you’ve served me.”

“Tell me how, in God’s name, that I may not die with that sin unrepented of.”

“Oh, in many small ways, but chiefly in this affair with the little lady of Appleby.”

“Never!” I denied.  “So far as decent speech could compass it, I have ever sought to tell her what a conscienceless villain you are.”

He laughed again at that.

“You know women but indifferently, my Captain, if you think to breach a love affair by a cannonade of hard words.  But I am in no humor to dispute with you.  You have lost, and I have won; and, were I not here to come between, you’d look your last upon the things of earth in shortest order, I do assure you.”

“You?—­you come between?” I scoffed.  “You are all kinds of a knave, Sir Francis, but your worst enemy never accused you of being a fool!”

There was a look in his eyes that I could never fathom.

“You are bitter hard, John Ireton—­bitter and savage and unforgiving.  You knew the wild blade of a half-score years ago, and now you’d make the grown man pay scot and lot for that same youngster’s misdeeds.  Have you never a touch of human kindliness in you?”

To know how this affected me you must turn back to that place where I have tried to picture out this man for you.  I said he had a gift to turn a woman’s head or touch her heart.  I should have said that he could use this gift at will on any one.  For the moment I forgot his cool disposal of me in the talk with Captain Stuart; forgot how he had lied to make me out a spy and so had brought me to this pass.

So I could only say:  “You killed my friend, Frank Falconnet, and—­”

“Tush!” said he.  “That quarrel died nine years ago.  Your reviving of it now is but a mask.”

“For what?” I asked.

“For your just resentment in sweet Margery’s behalf.  Believe it or not, as you like, but I could love you for that blow you gave me, John Ireton.  I had been losing cursedly at cards that day, and mine host’s wine had a dash of usquebaugh in it, I dare swear.  At any rate, I knew not what it was I said till Tybee said it over for me.”