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with his strong Spanish accent (since lost), he had not been well accepted; but in brash new Port Royal he had hoped to forget his divided heritage and choose the one that had given him a start in the mercantile world-he could be all English.

    And then this devil out of Havana, this boyhood friend from an almost forgotten past, had ferreted him out: Ramon del Mundo, scion of one of Spain's most aristoetatic houses. And John Daimler, grandson on his mother's side of Juan Mendoza for whom he had been named, had gone along, for he had a good trade here with the English, and in this buccaneer port that would have gone out the window had they guessed him to be even half Spanish. Or so he had believed at first. Now that he was in the plot, he was not so sure. He regretted every moment. He wished fervently that he had told Ramon del Mundo to go to the Devil and let rumors be spread as they would.
    Rumors could be denied. This harboring of a Spanish spy fresh from Havana-e-even overnight-e-could not. And it could bring him a length of hemp around his neck.
    "Did you see her eyes, John?" His friend was addressing him.
    "Yes," admitted John Daimler in a resigned voice. "I saw them."
    "Amazing eyes. They flash silver in the sunlight. Did you notice?"
    "No," croaked John. "But I will take your word for it. Have you not a wife in Spain?" he burst out.

    The face that whirled toward him was carved in granite and John Daimler felt called upon to add, "Someone who would regret this folly which may well cost you your life?"
    The cold face relaxed. "As a matter of fact I have not, John," was the careless answer. "But even if I had, I would be hard pressed. . . . Did you notice her hair, John?"
    Daimler gulped and nodded.
    "Pure sunlight-but at night it would be pure moonlight. Have you never imagined such a sweep of hair across your pillow, John?"
    John Daimler admitted he had, but he doubted that Ramon heard him. Ramon was still musing.
    "And her skin, John-like very silk. And the way she walked, light and proud and carefree. Women at the Spanish Court do not walk that way, John, they do not stride free. They mince, they float •.. it is very attractive-but I prefer this. Did you not take note of the way she walks, John?"
    "I think it is time I take you to view the forts," said John sternly. "There are three of them: Fort James, Fort Carlisle, and Morgan's Line. You will be well advised to take note of their defenses."
    Ramon del Mundo sighed. "You are right, John. And after I have checked out their defenses, I will do a bit of shopping in the town. For a suit to grace a lady's table at dinner."
    John Daimler groaned.
    "Promise me," he pleaded, "that you will not dress in the Spanish style, Ramon? You look Spanish enough as it is!"
    "Oh, as to that ..." Ramon del Mundo airily tweaked an imaginary mustache; he had shaved off his own in anticipation of this venture. "We will have to see what is available, will we not?"
    Meanwhile, Carolina was heading toward Queen's Street with Gilly in tow.
    At Hawks's laconic, "The cap'n may not like having you invite that strange Frenchie to dinner on his first night back," she turned and gave him a withering look. "And here comes that other Frenchie," he muttered under his breath.
    Carolina swung about to see that Louis Deauville, the Huguenot gentleman who had taken rooms recently in the house across the street from them, was approaching, twirling an ivory walking stick.
    Louis Deauville had come upon the town like an avalanche, burying the scruples of most of the ladies of Port Royal with his savoir-faire, his wicked gaze that seemed to strip away the satins and the laces, exposing the tingling flesh beneath. Hardly a feminine breast that did not beat a trifle faster when Louis Deauville entered the room, scarce a lady to be found who did not beam at the sight of his tall, lounging figure,or treasure one of his gracefully worded compliments--tailored, each was sure, to her particular charms. And his