The minutes passed and still Sanchez traced; seemed almost to forget his injuries in his interest in the labor. Plan after plan was made; torn up; one finally remained in the hand of the Black Seigneur.
"You think—" Anxiously the servant watched his master's face; but the latter, straight, erect, with keen eyes fixed, did not answer.
"You think—" again began the man when the ancient time-piece, beating harshly the hour, interrupted.
"Eleven o'clock! High tide!" The Black Seigneur pushed back his chair and rose.
"Good!" Sanchez's alacrity indicated a quick comprehension of what the movement portended.
"You—had better remain here!" shortly.
"Me?" said the servant with a hoarse laugh. "Me?"
"Have you not had enough of my family—my service?" the young Seigneur demanded bitterly.
"Bah!" muttered the other. "The dog that's beaten springs at the chance to bite! You go to rescue your comrades. I—will go with you!"
"In which case, death—not vengeance—will most likely be your reward!"