All this was muttered by the old woman in a sort of half soliloquy: she paused and continued, "Better leave the boy alone,--get nothing by it;--the woman--there's work there, for there's money."
"But she refuses, mother, if I do not destroy the dog."
"Refuses--ah, well--let me see:--can't you ruin her character, blast her reputation; she is yours and her money too;--then, then--there will be money and revenge--both good;--but money--no--yes, money's best. The dog must live, to gnaw the Jezebel--gnaw her bones--but you, you are a coward--you dare do nothing."
"What do I fear, mother?"
"Man--the gallows, and death. I fear the last, but I shall not die yet:--no, no, I will live--I will not die. Ay, the corporal--lost in Zuyder Zee--dead men tell no tales; and he could tell many of you, my child. Let the fish fatten on him."
"I cannot do without him, mother."
"A hundred thousand devils!" exclaimed the old mother, "that I should have suffered such throes for a craven. Cornelius Vanslyperken, you are not like your mother:--your father, indeed"
"Who was my father?"
"Silence, child,--there, go away--I wish to be alone with memory."
Vanslyperken, who knew that resistance or remonstrance would be useless, and only lead to bitter cursing and imprecation on the part of the old woman, rose and walked back to the sallyport, where he slipped into his boat and pulled on board of the Yungfrau, which lay at anchor in the harbour, about a cable's length from the shore.