But she had herself
well in hand. Half sitting, half leaning on the Captain's table,
she preserved her courage sufficiently to seek to calm the octoroon
waiting-woman who was grovelling at her feet in a state of terror.
And then the cabin-door flew open, and Don Miguel himself, tall,
sunburned, and aquiline of face, strode in. Lord Julian span round,
to face him, and clapped a hand to his sword.
The Spaniard was brisk and to the point.
"Don't be a fool," he said in his own tongue, "or you'll come by a
fool's end. Your ship is sinking."
There were three or four men in morions behind Don Miguel, and Lord
Julian realized the position. He released his hilt, and a couple
of feet or so of steel slid softly back into the scabbard. But Don
Miguel smiled, with a flash of white teeth behind his grizzled
beard, and held out his hand.
"If you please," he said.
Lord Julian hesitated. His eyes strayed to Miss Bishop's. "I think
you had better," said that composed young lady, whereupon with a
shrug his lordship made the required surrender.
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