"Nonsense?" he repeated. "It's a grand word, nonsense, Master Robert. But whisht, now, ye'll say a good word for me with the old master, won't ye?"
I told him I would, mostly to stop the clacking of his tongue; and he skipped high like a colt that has just had its first meal of oats.
"She put the comether on ye, that elegant young maid," he continued. "She had a way with her, she did. Aye, for her I'd give over being a pirate."
"We'll never see her again, Darby," I said. "She'll be beyond the Caribbees a few weeks hence, and we plodding at our tasks here in New York."
He gave me a shrewd glance.
"Indeed, and it's a wiser man than the Pope can see beyond the weeks, Master Robert," says he.
CHAPTER III
A CALLER IN THE NIGHT
We sat late at dinner that night, for my father must needs have me repeat at length the tale of my experiences during the day, revealing a perturbation unusual in him, although Peter Corlaer ate on with placid solemnity, scarce a flicker of interest in his little eyes that were almost buried behind their ramparts of flesh.
"I have heard of this Colonel O'Donnell," said my father when I had made an end. "He was in Scotland with Prince Charles—one of the Irish crew who bogged a promising venture, if what men say be true. I marvel at his temerity in landing here, for there must be a price upon his head in England. Doubtless he was consorting with some of our Jacobite sympathizers at the Whale's Head—a fitting place for such an intrigue!