“You take a load from my mind,” said Captain Blood.  “I would not appear unnecessarily harsh, especially since I and my friends owe you so very much.  For, whatever it may have been to others, to us your raid upon Barbados was most opportune.  I am glad, therefore, that you agree the I have no choice.”

“But, my friend, I did not agree so much.”

“If there is any alternative that you can suggest, I shall be most happy to consider it.”

Don Diego stroked his pointed black beard.

“Can you give me until morning for reflection?  My head aches so damnably that I am incapable of thought.  And this, you will admit, is a matter that asks serious thought.”

Captain Blood stood up.  From a shelf he took a half-hour glass, reversed it so that the bulb containing the red sand was uppermost, and stood it on the table.

“I am sorry to press you in such a matter, Don Diego, but one glass is all that I can give you.  If by the time those sands have run out you can propose no acceptable alternative, I shall most reluctantly be driven to ask you to go over the side with your friends.”

Captain Blood bowed, went out, and locked the door.  Elbows on his knees and face in his hands, Don Diego sat watching the rusty sands as they filtered from the upper to the lower bulb.  And what time he watched, the lines in his lean brown face grew deeper.  Punctually as the last grains ran out, the door reopened.

The Spaniard sighed, and sat upright to face the returning Captain Blood with the answer for which he came.

“I have thought of an alternative, sir captain; but it depends upon your charity.  It is that you put us ashore on one of the islands of this pestilent archipelago, and leave us to shift for ourselves.”

Captain Blood pursed his lips.  “It has its difficulties,” said he slowly.

“I feared it would be so.”  Don Diego sighed again, and stood up.  “Let us say no more.”

The light-blue eyes played over him like points of steel.

“You are not afraid to die, Don Diego?”

The Spaniard threw back his head, a frown between his eyes.

“The question is offensive, sir.”

“Then let me put it in another way — perhaps more happily:  You do not desire to live?”

“Ah, that I can answer.  I do desire to live; and even more do I desire that my son may live.  But the desire shall not make a coward of me for your amusement, master mocker.”  It was the first sign he had shown of the least heat or resentment.

Captain Blood did not directly answer.  As before he perched himself on the corner of the table.

“Would you be willing, sir, to earn life and liberty — for yourself, your son, and the other Spaniards who are on board?”

“To earn it?” said Don Diego, and the watchful blue eyes did not miss the quiver that ran through him.  “To earn it, do you say?  Why, if the service you would propose is one that cannot hurt my honour....”