“You won’t kill him?” whispered Bart.
“Why not? Was Mary Dell spared? Was Abel, her brother, treated so tenderly that I should hold my hand?”
“But—” began Bart.
“Leave that to me, Bart Wrigley. Help me to get him into my power, and then he shall learn a truth which will make the traitor—the coward—wince. Brave officer of his Majesty the King! How brave you shall see. Now, do you understand why I mean to fight?”
“Yes,” said Bart, sadly; “I see. But think twice, my lad.”
“Bart!” cried the captain, passionately, “I’ve thought a hundred times; and if I were ashore, and could go there—”
“I know,” said Bart, gloomily. “You’d come out more and more savage and determined, as you always have been. Think twice, my lad. You’re rich; and you’re safe. Once more, why not throw it up now and let’s go home. I asks no more, captain. I’ve lived long enough to know all that; but come home now. There’s a life o’ peace yonder, and you can take it now; to-morrow it may be too late.”
“Let it be so then, Bart.”
“And you’ll come home—to old Devon once again?”
“No! I’m going to meet the captain face to face, Bart, and plant my heel upon his neck.”