"Certainly," returned the priest. "He is known as the Marquis de Medea."
"How strange!" exclaimed Morton, involuntarily, for he had heard that name frequently repeated at Lunnasting, and had been taught to consider the possessor of the t.i.tle certainly not in a favourable light.
The priest, as Ronald said this, gave him a glance as if he would look through him to his inmost soul, and yet he spoke softly and blandly as he asked, "Why so? Why strange, sir?"
"It is a name I frequently heard in my boyhood," answered Ronald, not supposing that there was the slightest necessity for being on his guard with the mild-looking priest.
"That is strange," repeated the priest. "Where was your boyhood pa.s.sed, may I ask?" said the priest.
Ronald told him, "Chiefly in the castle of Lunnasting, in Shetland."
Again the priest gave a piercing glance at him.
"May I inquire your name?"
"I am called Ronald Morton."
"You say you are called so. Will it appear impertinent if I ask if you believe that you have the right to bear another?" said the priest.
"Why do you put the question?" was Ronald"s very natural demand.
"You said that you were called Morton. I fancied, from your tone, that you insinuated that you have a right to some other name," said the priest.
"I may have some such idea; but at the same time I am perfectly contented with the one I bear."
The priest appeared lost in thought.
"Do you remember your father!" he asked, abruptly.
"Certainly; he is, I trust, alive still. I hope to meet him shortly;"
surprised at the way in which the priest continued to cross-question him. Some men would have been much annoyed, and refused to reply; but Ronald saw that his interrogator had some good reasons for putting the questions, and felt no inclination to disappoint him.
"May I ask if you were ever considered like the lady of Lunnasting Castle? Donna Hilda, I think you called her," inquired the priest.
"I have not, that I am aware of, mentioned her name," answered Morton, looking in his turn hard at the priest. "I will reply to your question, though, before I ask one in return. I have heard that I was like her, and that is not surprising; my mother was very like her--they were cousins. Now I must inquire how comes it that you know anything of the family of Lunnasting? Were you ever in Shetland?"
"There are few parts of the world where I have not been. The members of my order go everywhere, and should know everything that takes place on its surface," answered the priest, evasively.
"I do not recollect you in Shetland," said Ronald, "May I ask your name?"
"I am called Father John," replied the priest, humbly. "I would yet further ask you, what you know respecting the Marquis de Medea?"
Ronald considered whether he should reply.
"There can be no harm in speaking the truth, surely," he said to himself. "I will tell you," he answered frankly. "The marquis is believed, at Lunnasting, at all events, to have inherited the estates which should rightly have belonged to the son of Don Hernan Escalante, the husband of the Lady Hilda of Lunnasting, as she is called in Shetland, the daughter of Sir Marcus Wardhill. Moreover, it is believed that, instigated by the present marquis, a pirate crew attacked the castle, and carried off the son of Donna Hilda, of whom I speak, the rightful heir to the t.i.tle and estates of Medea."
Never, probably, had the countenance of the priest exhibited so much astonishment, or indeed, any sentiment, as it did at present.
"By what wonderful means have you become acquainted with what you have told me?" he asked.
"By the simplest of all; by having been told by those who were acquainted with the facts," answered Ronald.
"But how were they informed of those facts?" asked the priest, with increased interest.
"They learned them from a Spanish naval officer, Pedro Alvarez by name, who was the lieutenant of Don Hernan. He had promised to a.s.sist his captain"s widow and her infant son to the utmost of his power. He returned to Shetland for that purpose, and when he heard that the boy had been carried off, he sailed away in search of the pirate; he, however, never returned to Shetland, and it is believed that he perished before he accomplished his purpose. The young Escalante has never been discovered, though the poor Lady Hilda lives on in expectation of recovering her son."
"No wonder that sacrilegious wretch, Pedro Alvarez, never returned to you. He was guilty of murdering one of the familiars of our most holy Inquisition. Had he ever caught the pirate he could not have returned to Spain, but must have been a wanderer on the face of the earth, with the mark of Cain on his brow."
"I was a mere infant when he last came to Shetland, so that I have no personal recollection of him, but from what I have heard, he was very much liked by all with whom he a.s.sociated," said Ronald.
"Your heretical countrymen would probably think that killing an officer of the Inquisition was a very venial offence, and not look upon him with any horror on that account; but depend on it, an avenging Nemesis followed him to his grave, or will follow him, if he still lives,"
remarked the priest. "But we are now close to your ship. I would advise you not to let the marquis know that you are acquainted with that part of his history, which he would desire to keep secret. At first I thought that you were the son of Don Hernan, but I see that I was mistaken."
As soon as the felucca was towed alongside the frigate, the prisoners, as well as the marquis and his daughter, and the priest, were removed on board.
After inspecting the felucca, the captain resolved to keep her as a tender to the frigate, believing that she might be made very useful in capturing the enemy"s merchantmen, as, from her rig, she might get close to them without being suspected.
Lord Claymore highly commended Morton for the gallant way in which he had taken the vessel.
"I scarcely know what to do with the prisoners," he observed. "We must not cut their throats, or hang them at the yard-arms, but that would be the simplest way of disposing of them, and they probably will not come to any better end."
Ronald also told his captain all he had heard of the Marquis of Medea.
"The old scoundrel!" was the answer. "However, he is our guest, and he has a lovely daughter; we must treat him politely."
The most important information, however, was the statement made by the marquis, that Spain had at length declared herself independent of France, and formed a league with England.
"It may be true, but we must not trust to it till we have more certain information," remarked Lord Claymore.
The calm lasted long enough to have the felucca over-hauled, somewhat cleansed, and put in order. Glover was placed in command of her, with two midshipmen and twenty men. The prisoners were secured below on board the frigate, and sentries put over them, while Lord Claymore gave up a cabin to the young lady, and accommodated the marquis and the priest with cots in his own. It was very difficult to please the old marquis, who, notwithstanding the trouble taken to attend to his comfort, grumbled at everything--so much so, that Lord Claymore would have sent him on board the felucca to shift for himself, had it not been for his daughter, who showed herself contented and thankful for the kindness she and her father were receiving, while her brilliant smiles and joyous laughter proved that she was sincere in her expressions.
The breeze came at last, and the frigate, followed by the little felucca, stood on towards the Spanish coast.
In the course of his duty, Morton was going the round of the decks, when he heard a voice from among the prisoners calling to him in French: "A poor dying wretch would speak to you. Have pity, brave Englishman, and hear what he has to say!"
"Who are you?" asked Morton.
"I was captain of the felucca. I am now a criminal, expecting speedy death," returned the speaker.
The master at arms held up the lantern he carried, and as its light fell on the countenance of the person who had addressed him, Morton recognised the old white-bearded captain who had made so desperate a resistance when his vessel was attacked. He had been lying at his length on some straw on the deck. He was now supporting himself on one arm that he might have a better look at the lieutenant as he pa.s.sed.
"What would you say to me?" asked Morton.
"Many things, if you will listen to me," answered the old pirate. "I overheard part of your conversation with the priest. I know more about you than you suppose."
"What can you know about me?" asked Morton, very much surprised. "Here are two persons I fall in with unexpectedly and both a.s.sert they know more about me than I do myself," he thought.
"If you will have me removed out of earshot of my comrades, I will tell you," replied the old pirate. "We cannot speak in a language which some of them do not understand."