“You shall not, sir!” returned the Rover, striking the gong again with a finger that appeared to carry in its touch the weight of a giant.  “Let the negro, and the topman his companion, be secured in irons, and, on no account, permit them to communicate, by word or signal, with the other ship.”—­When the agent of his punishments, who had entered at the well-known summons, had retired, he again turned to the firm and motionless form that stood before him, and continued:  “Mr Wilder, there is a law which binds this community, into which you have so treacherously stolen, together, that would consign you, and your miserable confederates, to the yard-arm the instant your true character should be known to my people.  I have but to open that door, and to pronounce the nature of your treason, in order to give you up to the tender mercies of the crew.”

“You will not! no, you will not!” cried a voice at his elbow, which thrilled on even all his iron nerves.  “You have forgotten the ties which bind man to his fellows, but cruelty is not natural to your heart.  By all the recollections of your earliest and happiest days; by the tenderness and pity which watched your childhood; by that holy and omniscient Being who suffers not a hair of the innocent to go unrevenged, I conjure you to pause, before you forget your own awful responsibility.  No! you will not—­cannot—­dare not be so merciless!”

“What fate did he contemplate for me and my followers, when he entered on this insidious design?” hoarsely demanded the Rover.

“The laws of God and man are with him,” you continued the governess, quailing not, as her own contracting eye met the stern gaze which she confronted. “’Tis reason that speaks in my voice; ’tis mercy which I know is pleading at your heart.  The cause, the motive, sanctify his acts; while your career can find justification in the laws neither of heaven nor earth.”

“This is bold language to sound in the ears of a blood-seeking, remorseless pirate!” said the other, looking about him with a smile so proud and conscious that it seemed to proclaim how plainly he saw that the speaker relied on the very reverse of the qualities he named.

“It is the language of truth; and ears like yours cannot be deaf to the sounds.  If”——­

“Lady, cease,” interrupted the Rover, stretching his arm towards her with calmness and dignity.  “My resolution was formed on the instant; and no remonstrance nor apprehension of the consequence, can change it.  Mr Wilder, you are free.  If you have not served me as faithfully as I once expected, you have taught me a lesson in the art of physiognomy, which shall leave me a wiser man for tho rest of my days.”

The conscious Wilder stood self-condemned and humbled.  The strugglings which stirred his inmost soul were easily to be read in the workings of a countenance that was no longer masked in artifice, but which was deeply charged with shame and sorrow The conflict lasted, however, but for a moment.