The Madrid historian, the search instituted by Dr.Robertson, the bearded stranger with the rings, my own fruitless search that very morning in the deep water of Sandag Bay, ran together, piece by piece, in my memory, and I made sure that these strangers must be Spaniards in quest of ancient treasure and the lost ship of the Armada.

But the people living in outlying islands, such as Aros, are answerable for their own security; there is none near by to protect or even to help them; and the presence in such a spot of a crew of foreign adventurers--poor, greedy, and most likely lawless--filled me with apprehensions for my uncle's money, and even for the safety of his daughter.

I was still wondering how we were to get rid of them when I came, all breathless, to the top of Aros.

The whole world was shadowed over; only in the extreme east, on a hill of the mainland, one last gleam of sunshine lingered like a jewel; rain had begun to fall, not heavily, but in great drops; the sea was rising with each moment, and already a band of white encircled Aros and the nearer coasts of Grisapol.

The boat was still pulling seaward, but I now became aware of what had been hidden from me lower down--a large, heavily sparred, handsome schooner, lying to at the south end of Aros.