"Walk!" again cries Rodrigues; "there is no place in this ship for a liar."
The child turned his face to the sea with a pitiful moan.
Then Lady Biddy, seeing his sorrowful case, and that he was to be forced to his death, was moved to desperation by the passionate pity in her heart, and so bursting from the cabin she ran forward to save him. But it was too late; the child, seeing no escape from death by the sword or the sea, and being mayhap tempted to the latter because it looked so fair and cool, with a shrill cry of despair ran suddenly forward, so that, the plank tilting up, he was plunged headlong down into the waves. At the sight of this cruel business, Lady Biddy stopped midway in the deck and covered her face with her hands, while that last despairing cry of the child's was echoed back from her own compassionate breast.
Of all this I saw nothing, being within the little cabin; yet I was conscious that something unusual was going forward in the ship by a sound or two that came to my ear as I stood by the panel-door. Thus, as I stood straining my senses to make out the meaning of these sounds, I heard a quick movement in the next chamber, and scarce a moment afterwards that pitiful cry of Lady Biddy's which I have spoken of. Then, heedless of my danger, and that I had no weapon for her defense but the hands God gave me, I tore open the door and leapt into the next cabin, expecting nothing less than to find my lady at the feet of Rodrigues. Discovering no such matter, but spying Lady Biddy standing alone a few paces from the door, I was much taken aback, yet not so much but that I at once recognized my folly and imprudence in thus exposing myself; seeing that, as luck would have it, I was still unobserved—having gone no further into the cabin than enabled me to catch sight of my lady where she stood close beyond the outer door—I drew back at once within the little cabin.
Being there, I stood irresolute, not knowing what to do for the best for the tumult of my mind. For I could make out nothing of what I had seen; yet was I pretty sure that a climax was at hand—the more so because I presently heard Rodrigues speaking to Lady Biddy in the next chamber. At length, making up my mind to be ready for the worst, and not to be taken by surprise in the manner I have shown, I went to the lantern which stood under the cot, and turned up the wick so that it gave a good flame, laid the grenade beside it, ready to fire the fuse at any moment, and then going to the corner turned back the strip of carpet, and drew back the bolt of the trap.
These preparations being made, I returned to the little door and leaned my ear against it, and then hearing no sound within I went to that part of the wall over against where my lady did use to sit, and made the usual signal to her by scratching a little upon the panel. To this she replied, not cheerfully as before, but feebly, as though she had lost heart. Yet it was a comfort to me to know she was there and Rodrigues gone.
Now must I go back somewhat.
As Lady Biddy stood with her hands to her face, shutting out the sight of that heartless cruelty put upon the child who had waited upon her (and to whom she had shown many a kindness, giving him sweetmeats from her table and the like), Rodrigues comes up to her.
"Why, madam," says he, "do you take the death of this little traitor to heart? Sure, I counted to have pleased you by revenging the injury to your person he did his best to further. Be comforted, I pray you." With this he would have laid his hand upon her arm, but that she shrank from him in loathing, and turning about returns to her cabin.
"The boy is at peace," says Rodrigues, walking by her side. "And is it not better he should die now rather than grow up to be a hardened villain? May I fetch you a glass of wine to restore your spirits?" he asks when they were come into the cabin, and Lady Biddy had sunk down upon the sofett.