Chapter Twenty Eight.
Another Duel.
“Is that his step? No; its that miserable gaoler’s,” said Humphrey, as he lay back on his soft skin-covered couch with his arms beneath his head in a careless, indolent attitude.
Humphrey was beginning to feel the thrill of returning strength in his veins, and it brought with it his old independence of spirit and the memory that he had been trained to rule. His little episode with Bart that morning had roused him a little, and prepared him for his encounter with the buccaneer captain, upon whom he felt he was about to confer a favour.
A smile played about his lips as the step drew nearer, the difference between it and that of Bart being more and more marked as he listened, and then quite closed his eyes, while the heavy curtain was drawn aside, and the buccaneer entered the chamber. He took a step or two forward, which placed him in front of the stone idol, and there he stood gazing down at the handsome, manly figure of his prisoner, whose unstudied attitude formed a picture in that weird, picturesque place, which made the captain’s breath come and go a little more quickly, and a faint sensation of vertigo tempt him to turn and hurry away.
The sensation was momentary. A frown puckered his brow, and he said quietly—
“Asleep?”
“No,” said Humphrey, opening his eyes slowly; “no, my good fellow. I was only thinking.”
The buccaneer frowned a little more heavily as he listened to his prisoner’s cool, careless words, and felt the contemptuous tone in which he was addressed.