“No. I am not Amyas Leigh. I am my brother’s avenger. Do not reason with me, Will: when it is over I shall be merry old Amyas again,” and he passed his hand over his brow.

“Do you believe,” said he, after a moment, “that men can be possessed by devils?”

“The Bible says so.”

“If my cause were not a just one, I should fancy I had a devil in me. My throat and heart are as hot as the pit. Would to God it were done, for done it must be! Now go.”

Cary went away with a shudder. As he passed down the hatchway he looked back. Amyas had got the hone out of his pocket, and was whetting away again at his sword-edge, as if there was some dreadful doom on him, to whet, and whet forever.

The weary day wore on. The strip of blue sky was curtained over again, and all was dismal as before, though it grew sultrier every moment; and now and then a distant mutter shook the air to westward. Nothing could be done to lessen the distance between the ships, for the Vengeance had had all her boats carried away but one, and that was much too small to tow her: and while the men went down again to finish dinner, Amyas worked on at his sword, looking up every now and then suddenly at the Spaniard, as if to satisfy himself that it was not a vision which had vanished.

About two Yeo came up to him.

“He is ours safely now, sir. The tide has been running to the eastward for this two hours.”

“Safe as a fox in a trap. Satan himself cannot take him from us!”

“But God may,” said Brimblecombe, simply.

“Who spoke to you, sir? If I thought that He— There comes the thunder at last!”

And as he spoke an angry growl from the westward heavens seemed to answer his wild words, and rolled and loudened nearer and nearer, till right over their heads it crashed against some cloud-cliff far above, and all was still.

Each man looked in the other’s face: but Amyas was unmoved.

“The storm is coming,” said he, “and the wind in it. It will be Eastward-ho now, for once, my merry men all!”

“Eastward-ho never brought us luck,” said Jack in an undertone to Cary. But by this time all eyes were turned to the north-west, where a black line along the horizon began to define the boundary of sea and air, till now all dim in mist.

“There comes the breeze.”

“And there the storm, too.”

And with that strangely accelerating pace which some storms seem to possess, the thunder, which had been growling slow and seldom far away, now rang peal on peal along the cloudy floor above their heads.

“Here comes the breeze. Round with the yards, or we shall be taken aback.”

The yards creaked round; the sea grew crisp around them; the hot air swept their cheeks, tightened every rope, filled every sail, bent her over. A cheer burst from the men as the helm went up, and they staggered away before the wind, right down upon the Spaniard, who lay still becalmed.