How the powder came there will never now be known, and
the gallant Captain himself did not survive to enquire into it.
Before the men of the Royal Mary had recovered from their
consternation, their captain killed and a third of their number
destroyed with him, the ship yawing and rocking helplessly in a
crippled state, the Spaniards boarded her.
In the Captain's cabin under the poop, to which Miss Bishop had
been conducted for safety, Lord Julian was seeking to comfort and
encourage her, with assurances that all would yet be well, at the
very moment when Don Miguel was stepping aboard. Lord Julian
himself was none so steady, and his face was undoubtedly pale.
Not that he was by any means a coward. But this cooped-up fighting
on an unknown element in a thing of wood that might at any moment
founder under his feet into the depths of ocean was disturbing to
one who could be brave enough ashore. Fortunately Miss Bishop did
not appear to be in desperate need of the poor comfort he was in
case to offer. Certainly she, too, was pale, and her hazel eyes
may have looked a little larger than usual.
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