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“But I will force you then,” he cried.

“It is too late— I would perforce think of you standing there, declaiming your considered words. While you wrenched at my clothing, I would picture you fawning before me, blurting out your words. And I should laugh, I'm afraid. I might even protect myself—and you, who should be somewhat an authority on rape, must know the consequence of that. No, you have failed—and I am sorry of your failure.”

“I love you,” he said miserably.

“You speak as though it were some new, tremendous thing. Many men have loved me; hundreds have said they did. But what are you going to do with me, Captain Morgan? My husband is in Peru, and my inheritance is there also.”

“I—I do not know.”

“But am I to be a slave—a prisoner?”

“Yes; I must take you away with me. The men would laugh at me, else. It would ruin discipline.”

“If I must be a slave,” she said, “if I must go away from my own country, I hope I shall be your slave—yours or the property of a charming young buccaneer I met last night. But I do not think you will take me, Captain Morgan. No; I do not think you will force me to go, for I will, perhaps, twist the knife I have already in your breast.”

Henry Morgan was aroused.

“Who was this young buccaneer?” he asked crossly.

“Ah, you perceive the knife,” said Ysobel. “And