"Do what you will with me," cried the brigand, in despair, "only give me water—a drop for mercy's sake."
And he prostrated himself in abject submission before the half dead Mole.
Now the latter could not well misunderstand this attitude; but yet he could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses.
"What's his game?" thought Mole; "he is trying the artful dodge on; and he's going to jump up and give me one for myself—not for Isaac. By jingo! What a topper I could give him as he lays there, what a—"
He stopped short.
"My eye! what a hole he has got in his head already."
And then by degrees, in spite of his fears, he was forced to see that this piteous object was not dangerous.
As Mole rose up to look at the brigand, the latter made still more signs of submission, and now he could no longer misunderstand.
It is difficult to say which feeling filled Mole most completely, surprise or satisfaction.
"Oh, oh," cried Mole; "I feel that my heart tells me I have great courage. Yes, I will capture this desperate brigand with my own brave hands."