At that the old man mastered his nerves and laughed scorn in his beard. Philip cast a scared look towards Christian.
'Last night,' he whispered, 'he looked over the side. I saw him—twice—it was for this.'
'What is it?'
'You saw. That was his familiar.'
'Now look you,' returned the other with grave sarcasm, 'that is a creature I have seen never, and would gladly. You, if you be skilled as a fisher, catch me that familiar, and I will pay you in gold; or in broad silver if you win me but a fair sight.'
Philip, ashy white, crossed himself. 'Heaven keep us! The one bait were a human soul.'
Not with all his art and wisdom could the Adventurer now reinstate the earlier hardihood of his companion. Against a supplement by wine he protested.
'Sir,' said Philip, sullen, 'I have braved enough for you and my conscience, and more. Longer here I will not bide; no, not for any price. We go to meet our fortune yonder of friend or foe.'
The Adventurer looked at him and smiled. 'You miscount. Should I and he yonder, the Alien, be of another mind, your course may be ordered otherwise.'
Taken in his own toils, Philip glared in wrath and fear, sundered from a common cause, an adversary.