Her questioning, perplexed eyes turned from face to face, as though she could not grasp fully the purpose of what was said.

“He—­he is still alive—­this Captain Sanchez?”

“Yes, with a chance to survive.”

“And if he lives I am to be at his disposal?”

“He is the chief here; his will is law aboard.”

“And if he should die?”

Estada shrugged his shoulders indifferently.

“Who knows!”

Her lips tightened as though to hold back a cry while one hand pressed to the open door steadied her.  The cheeks were no longer flushed, and there was a look in the searching eyes I did not like to see.  It was a moment before she could control her voice.

“I have heard them call you Estada,” she said finally, determined to learn the whole truth.  “Of what rank in this company are you?”

“I am Pedro Estada, formerly the first officer, now, by occasion of Captain Sanchez’s wound, in full command.  These are two of my officers—­Senor Gates, one of your own countrymen, and Manuel Estevan.”

“You are pirates?”

He laughed unpleasantly, as though the word had an ugly sound even to his ears.

“Rather call us sea rovers, Senorita.  It better expresses our trade.  Enough to admit that we serve under no flag, and confess no master.  And now, that I have answered your questions, what is it to be between us—­peace or war?”

Her eyes drooped, and I could distinctly note the trembling of her slender figure.  When she slowly raised her glance once more it rested on my face as though seeking approval, guidance.

“If there be only the one choice,” she said quietly.  “I accept peace.  I cannot live locked in that room alone, haunted by my thoughts and memories.  If I pledge you my word, Senor, am I to enjoy the freedom of this cabin and the deck?”

Estada looked at us, a shade of doubt in his eyes.  I made no sign, but Manuel nodded.

“Why not?” he asked in his harsh croak of a voice.  “So long as we be at sea?  What harm can the girl do?”

“Perhaps none; I will take a half chance, at least.  You shall have the freedom of the cabin.  So long as you keep your word, while as to the deck we will consider that later.  Prove you mean what you say by joining us here.”

My recollection of that meal is not of words, but of faces.  I do not even clearly recall what it was we talked about, although it included a variety of topics, limited somewhat by lack of knowledge on the part of Estada and Manuel.  The former attempted conversation, but soon gave up the effort in despair.  His eyes, however, sought constantly the girl’s face and to my consternation exhibited an interest in her personality which promised trouble.  I know not whether she noticed this awakening admiration, but she certainly played her part with quiet modesty, speaking just enough to entertain, and hiding the deep anxiety against which she struggled.  I believe