"Then your fear, my friend, did me only a little less injustice. You have heard how my father perseveres for a woman's sake; and I am my father's son, I hope. As for the Princess—"
"She is in worse case than ever, cavalier, since they have contrived to get rid of Stephanu."
"On the contrary, my friend, her case is hopeful at length; since this release sets us free to help her."
We trudged back to the camp, pausing on the way while Marc'antonio skewered the deer's legs and slung him on a pole between us. As we started afresh Billy observed for the first time that I walked with a limp.
"A broken leg," said I, carelessly; for it would not have done to tell him all the truth.
"Well, well," said he, content with the explanation, "accidents will happen to them that travel; and a broken leg, they say, is stronger when well set."
"If that's so," said I, "I've a double excuse to be thankful"—which he did not understand, as I did not mean him to.
Darkness fell on us a little before we reached the camp. From the first I had recognized there could be no chance to-day of visiting the shore and seeking the Gauntlet at her anchorage. We were weary, too, and hungry, and nothing remained to do but light the camp fire, cook our supper, and listen to Billy's tale of his adventures, a good part of which will be found in the following chapter. I ought to say, rather, that Billy and I conversed, while Marc'antonio—for we spoke in English—sat by the fire busy with his own thoughts; and, by his face, they were gloomy ones.
"What puzzles me, Billy," said I, as we parted for the night, "is who can be aboard of the ketch. Reinforcements? Why, what reinforcements could my uncle send?"
"The devil a one of me knows, as the Irishman said," answered Billy, cheerfully. "But sent 'em he has, and, if I know anything of Mr. Gervase, they're good ones."