“Captain Blood killed him.”

“Why?”

Pitt hesitated.  It was not a tale for a maid’s ears.

“They quarrelled,” he said shortly.

“Was it about a... a lady?” Miss Bishop relentlessly pursued him.

“You might put it that way.”

“What was the lady’s name?”

Pitt’s eyebrows went up; still he answered.

“Miss d’Ogeron.  She was the daughter of the Governor of Tortuga.  She had gone off with this fellow Levasseur, and... and Peter delivered her out of his dirty clutches.  He was a black-hearted scoundrel, and deserved what Peter gave him.”

“I see.  And... and yet Captain Blood has not married her?”

“Not yet,” laughed Pitt, who knew the utter groundlessness of the common gossip in Tortuga which pronounced Mdlle. d’Ogeron the Captain’s future wife.

Miss Bishop nodded in silence, and Jeremy Pitt turned to depart, relieved that the catechism was ended.  He paused in the doorway to impart a piece of information.

“Maybe it’ll comfort you to know that the Captain has altered our course for your benefit.  It’s his intention to put you both ashore on the coast of Jamaica, as near Port Royal as we dare venture.  We’ve gone about, and if this wind holds ye’ll soon be home again, mistress.”

“Vastly obliging of him,” drawled his lordship, seeing that Miss Bishop made no shift to answer.  Sombre-eyed she sat, staring into vacancy.

“Indeed, ye may say so,” Pitt agreed.  “He’s taking risks that few would take in his place.  But that’s always been his way.”

He went out, leaving his lordship pensive, those dreamy blue eyes of his intently studying Miss Bishop’s face for all their dreaminess; his mind increasingly uneasy.  At length Miss Bishop looked at him, and spoke.

“Your Cahusac told you no more than the truth, it seems.”

“I perceived that you were testing it,” said his lordship.  “I am wondering precisely why.”

Receiving no answer, he continued to observe her silently, his long, tapering fingers toying with a ringlet of the golden periwig in which his long face was set.

Miss Bishop sat bemused, her brows knit, her brooding glance seeming to study the fine Spanish point that edged the tablecloth.  At last his lordship broke the silence.

“He amazes me, this man,” said he, in his slow, languid voice that never seemed to change its level.  “That he should alter his course for us is in itself matter for wonder; but that he should take a risk on our behalf — that he should venture into Jamaica waters....  It amazes me, as I have said.”

Miss Bishop raised her eyes, and looked at him.  She appeared to be very thoughtful.  Then her lip flickered curiously, almost scornfully, it seemed to him.  Her slender fingers drummed the table.

“What is still more amazing is that he does not hold us to ransom,” said she at last.