“Better,” said Harry, forcing a smile.
“How came ye to swim into the net? Didn’t ’ee see it?”
“No,” said Harry, thoughtfully; and as he spoke Mark Penelly watched him very attentively. “I hardly know how it was, only that it seemed to come down on me all at once.”
“Just what I said,” cried the master angrily; “and if I was you I’d have it out of Zekle Wynn here, somehow—leaves a heap of net so as it falls overboard.”
“Tell ’ee I didn’t,” roared Zekle, shouting out his words as if he was hailing a ship. “Nets went over o’ theirselves.”
Mark Penelly seemed to breathe more freely, as he now rose and placed the spirits on the deck.
“I’d take a taste o’ that myself, Mas’r Mark, if I was you,” said the master. “You don’t look quite so blue as you did. But you seemed quite scared over this job.”
Mark declined, however, saying that he was quite well; and soon after, in spite of the opposition he met with from the master, who said it was foolishness, Harry Paul plunged overboard, and swam to the bathing-place, where he dressed; and, saving that he was suffering from a peculiar sensation of stiffness, he was not much the worse.
Mark Penelly watched him as he swam ashore easily and well, and the bitter feelings of dislike which had for the time being lain in abeyance before the scene of peril of which he had been witness, began once more to grow stronger, completely changing the appearance of his face as now, to get rid of the thoughts that troubled him, he took hold of one of the sweeps and began to row.
“Nice lad, Harry Paul,” said the master to him then.