of the human voice, he would have turned back that moment.
"Here now, Gabriel, give me the foolish shoe and let us be friends," Roberto coaxed, holding out his hand. "I promise you I will forgive you for taking it out of my hand, although you shamed me before a friend. Give it to me, and take my forgiveness."
Henderson looked behind him. They were only a little way from the tree where the girl trembled among the leaves, fearful of losing the good name that was more to her than life; not far from the long tables spread under the trees before the mansion, from which the laughter and clatter of those who fed around them came clearly.
"Why do you hesitate, little Gabriel?" Roberto asked impatiently. "The shoe, and be forgiven."
"Damn your generosity!" Henderson replied. The weight of his body was behind the blow that he struck Roberto under the ear.
Roberto fell as limp as wet leather, for the iron of salt-horse and hard-tack, and months of disciplinary labor, was in that blow. Roberto's fine ruffed shirt made the gag that stopped his mouth, his silk necktie the bond for his hands; the sleeves of his shirt served well to secure his feet, and there the sailor left him, stretched behind the trunk of a great oak, his overfed heart fluttering like a moth caught in wax.
"Quick—your foot!" Henderson whispered, mounting the seat encircling the tree-trunk where
