“Not if that person is a prisoner, and on his trial,” answered the Judge Advocate, staring to hear such a distinction from such a source; “though the remark is a good one, in the cases of witnesses purely.  You must answer, therefore.”

“It is unnecessary,” again interposed Raoul.  “I left my vessel here, where I have told you, and had I made a certain signal, the last night, from the heights of St. Agata, le Feu-Follet would have stood in near to the rocks of the Sirens, and taken me off again.  As the hour is passed, and the signal is not likely to be made, it is probable my lieutenant has gone to another rendezvous, of which the witness knows nothing, and which, certainly, I shall never betray.”

There was so much manliness and quiet dignity in Raoul’s deportment, that whatever he said made an impression.  His answer disposed of the matter, for the moment at least.  The Judge Advocate, accordingly, turned to other inquiries.  Little remained, however, to be done.  The prisoner had admitted his identity; his capture, with all the attendant circumstances, was in proof; and his defence came next.

When Raoul rose to speak, he felt a choking emotion; but it soon left him, and he commenced in a steady, calm tone, his accent giving point and interest to many of his expressions.

“Messieurs,” said he, “I will not deny my name, my character, or my manner of life.  I am a Frenchman, and the enemy of your country.  I am also the enemy of the King of Naples, in whose territories you found me.  I have destroyed his and your ships.  Put me on board my lugger, and I should do both again.  Whoever is the enemy of la France is the enemy of Raoul Yvard.  Honorable seamen, like yourselves, Messieurs, can understand this.  I am young.  My heart is not made of rock; evil as it may be, it can love beauty and modesty and virtue in the other sex.  Such has been my fate—­I love Ghita Caraccioli; have endeavored to make her my wife for more than a year.  She has not authorized me to say that my suit was favored—­this I must acknowledge; but she is not the less admirable for that.  We differ in our opinions of religion, and I fear she left Monte Argentaro because, refusing my hand, she thought it better, perhaps, that we should not meet again.  It is so with maidens, as you must know, Messieurs.  But it is not usual for us, who are less refined, to submit to such self-denial.  I learned whither Ghita had come, and followed; my heart was a magnet, that her beauty drew after it, as our needles are drawn toward the pole.  It was necessary to go into the Bay of Naples, among the vessels of enemies, to find her I loved; and this is a very different thing from engaging in the pitiful attempts of a spy.  Which of you would not have done the same, Messieurs?  You are braves Anglais, and I know you would not hesitate.  Two of you are still youthful, like myself, and must still feel the power of beauty; even the Monsieur that is no longer a young man has had his moments of passion, like all that are born of woman.  Messieurs, I have no more to say:  you know the rest.  If you condemn me, let it be as an unfortunate Frenchman, whose heart had its weaknesses—­not as an ignominious and treacherous spy.”