“It is I — Peter Blood,” he gasped.

“What do you want?”

It is doubtful whether she would have come down to open.  For at such a time as this it was no more than likely that the wretched plantation slaves might be in revolt and prove as great a danger as the Spaniards.  But at the sound of her voice, the girl Mr. Blood had rescued peered up through the gloom.

“Arabella!” she called.  “It is I, Mary Traill.”

“Mary!” The voice ceased above on that exclamation, the head was withdrawn.  After a brief pause the door gaped wide.  Beyond it in the wide hall stood Miss Arabella, a slim, virginal figure in white, mysteriously revealed in the gleam of a single candle which she carried.

Mr. Blood strode in followed by his distraught companion, who, falling upon Arabella’s slender bosom, surrendered herself to a passion of tears.  But he wasted no time.

“Whom have you here with you?  What servants?” he demanded sharply.

The only male was James, an old negro groom.

“The very man,” said Blood.  “Bid him get out horses.  Then away with you to Speightstown, or even farther north, where you will be safe.  Here you are in danger — in dreadful danger.”

“But I thought the fighting was over...” she was beginning, pale and startled.

“So it is.  But the deviltry’s only beginning.  Miss Traill will tell you as you go.  In God’s name, madam, take my word for it, and do as I bid you.”

“He... he saved me,” sobbed Miss Traill.

“Saved you?” Miss Bishop was aghast.  “Saved you from what, Mary?”

“Let that wait,” snapped Mr. Blood almost angrily.  “You’ve all the night for chattering when you’re out of this, and away beyond their reach.  Will you please call James, and do as I say — and at once!”

“You are very peremptory....”

“Oh, my God!  I am peremptory!  Speak, Miss Trail!, tell her whether I’ve cause to be peremptory.”

“Yes, yes,” the girl cried, shuddering.  “Do as he says — Oh, for pity’s sake, Arabella.”

Miss Bishop went off, leaving Mr. Blood and Miss Traill alone again.

“I...  I shall never forget what you did, sir,” said she, through her diminishing tears.  She was a slight wisp of a girl, a child, no more.

“I’ve done better things in my time.  That’s why I’m here,” said Mr. Blood, whose mood seemed to be snappy.

She didn’t pretend to understand him, and she didn’t make the attempt.

“Did you... did you kill him?” she asked, fearfully.

He stared at her in the flickering candlelight.  “I hope so.  It is very probable, and it doesn’t matter at all,” he said.  “What matters is that this fellow James should fetch the horses.”  And he was stamping off to accelerate these preparations for departure, when her voice arrested him.

“Don’t leave me!  Don’t leave me here alone!” she cried in terror.