Santos advanced leisurely, and puffed his cigarette over the poor wasted and exhausted frame.
“It is for you to decide, captain,” said he cynically; “but this one will make no deeference. Yes, I would take him. It will not be far,” he added, in a tone that was not the less detestable for being lowered.
“Take them both!” moaned little Eva, putting in her first and last sweet word.
“Then we all drown, Evasinha,” said her stepfather. “It is impossible.”
“We're too many for her as it is,” said the captain. “So for'ard with ye, Mr. Cole, before it's too late.”
But my darling's brave word for me had fired my blood, and I turned with equal resolution on Harris and on the Portuguese. “I will go like a lamb,” said I, “if you will first give me five minutes' conversation with Miss Denison. Otherwise I do not go; and as for the gig, you may take me or leave me, as you choose.”
“What have you to say to her?” asked Santos, coming up to me, and again lowering his voice.
I lowered mine still more. “That I love her!” I answered in a soft ecstasy. “That she may remember how I loved her, if I die!”
His shoulders shrugged a cynical acquiescence.
“By all mins, senhor; there is no harm in that.”