The old skipper at length spoke:
“Roland, my dear, dear boy, how is this?”
“How is—what?” inquired the young man, slowly, and after a pause, speaking in a tone of pain in his hesitating voice, and with a look of pain in his haggard eyes that could not be concealed.
“Oh, you know. Dear lad, you know! You know what I mean! How is that I find you here a prisoner, instead of a free man? Why did you not tell Le that you were a captive among the pirates, not a confederate of them? Le could have corroborated your story and you would have been brought home in honor, not in this way!”
“Le could have done nothing for me, under the circumstances!” replied the young man, in a tone so full of despair that the old skipper looked at him in horror.
“Circumstances, Roland? What circumstances? That devil, Silver, told me he had persuaded you to join his band. But he never told the truth! Surely, surely, Roland, he never told the truth! You never joined the pirate crew! Why do I ask? Of course you never did, and never could!” said the captain, speaking with great assurance, but—looking anxiously into the face of his favorite for confirmation of his words.
No such confirmation came.
Roland put up his hand and covered his eyes; he could not bear to meet that anxious, eager gaze of his old friend.
“Roland, my dear lad, to what circumstances do you allude? Roland, for my sake—for all our sakes—for—for—little Rosemary’s sake, explain yourself!”
The young man kept his eyes covered and his head bowed, while his whole frame shook as with an ague fit.