He had lost track of the minutes, but he had lain there a long time, he knew, for his arms were numb with the pressure of the crosspiece against them, and his throat ached with much sobbing, when he caught the sound of a footstep on the planking of the orlop. At the same moment, light beat against his smarting eyelids, and, opening his eyes, he raised his head to look.
The edges of the table under which he crouched were silhouetted blackly against the yellow lantern-glow, which crept midway into his shelter. Following with his eyes along the light, he could see beyond the table the joinings of the planks of the floor, a bit of the ladder that led to the main deck, and by the ladder, in shadow as the lantern was raised, the lower part of a man's body.
Miles stared breathlessly at the commonplace leather shoes and kersey breeches,—all the rest the table hid from his view,—while he strove to hold back a sob that was halfway up his throat. It would out, but he tried to turn it into a sneeze, which ended in a mournful, indefinable gurgle.
Instantly the light of the lantern, swinging round, swept almost into his face, and a deep voice commanded: "Come out hither."
Miles sat up, tense and braced. "Is it you, Captain Standish?" he asked, in a small voice. Not that, to his knowledge, Miles Standish had ever hurt any one, but he was a brusque, peremptory man, reputed of a fiery temper; it was for this, probably, that Master Hopkins had sent him hither, as one fitted to deal out further punishment to such a criminal as Miles Rigdale.
"Come out, and you'll speedily find if 'tis I," Standish's voice rejoined grimly.
Miles rubbed his sleeve across his eyes, the rough frieze hurting them rarely, then dubiously crept from his shelter. The straight course was to crawl toward the light, but to go that way would land him squarely at the Captain's feet,—a last touch of ignominy that he could not endure. So he scrambled painfully over the crosspieces and round the table-legs, till he came out upon the open floor the width of the table-top from the enemy.
"It's naught but you, is it?" the Captain greeted him, and turned the lantern so the light fell full upon him.
The boy struggled hastily to his feet. "Ay, sir," he nodded, without speaking or looking up.
The other drew a step nearer. "You're one of the knaves who tried to blow up the Mayflower, are you not?" he questioned sternly. "Did you steal down here to fire the magazine and finish the work?"