Captain Nat stood for a little, silent and thoughtful, his eyes directed absently on Viney, as though he saw him not; and as he stood so the darkness cleared from his face. Not that moment's darkness only, but all the hardness of years seemed to abate in the old skipper's features, so that presently Captain Nat stood transfigured.
"Ay," he said at last, "the boy—I'll think o' the boy, God bless him! You shall have your money, Viney: though whether it ought to be yours I don't know. Viney, when you came in I was ready to break you in pieces with my bare hands—which I could do easy, as you know well enough." He stretched forth the great knotted hands, and Viney shrank before them. "I was ready to kill you with my hands, an' would ha' done it, for a reason I'll tell you of, afterwards. But I've done evil enough, an' I'll do no more. You shall have your money. Wait here, an' I'll fetch it."
"Now, no—no tricks, you know!" said Viney, a little nervously, as the old man turned toward the staircase door.
"Tricks?" came the answer. "No. An end of all tricks." And Captain Nat tramped heavily up the stair.
CHAPTER XXVIII
STEPHEN'S TALE
My grandfather was uncommonly silent all that day, after his interview with Conolly. He bade me good night when I went to bed, and kissed me; but he said no more, though he sat by my bed till I fell asleep, while Joe attended the bar.
I had a way, now and again, of waking when the bar was closed—perhaps because of the noise; and commonly at these times I lay awake till Grandfather Nat came to bed, to bid him good night once more. It was so this night, the night of nights. I woke at the shouting and the stumbling into the street, and lay while the bar was cleared, and the doors banged and fastened.
My grandfather seemed to stay uncommonly long; and presently, as the night grew stiller, I was aware of voices joined in conversation below. I wondered greatly who could be talking with Grandfather Nat at this hour, and I got out of bed to listen at the stair-head. It could not be Bill Stagg, for the voices were in the bar-parlour, and not in the store-place behind; and it was not Joe the potman, for I had heard him go, and I knew his step well. I wondered if Grandfather Nat would mind if I went down to see.