“You sent for me,” he said, harshly, and his voice sounded coarse and rough.
“Well,” said Humphrey, with insolent contempt, “how many ships have you plundered—how many throats have you cut this voyage?”
The buccaneer’s eyes seemed to flash as he took a step forward, and made an angry gesture. But he checked himself on the instant, and, with a faint smile, replied—
“Captain Armstrong is disposed to be merry. Why have you sent for me?”
“Merry!” said Humphrey, still ignoring the question; “one need be, shut up in this tomb. Well, you are back again?”
“Yes; I am back again,” said the buccaneer, smoothing his brow, and declining to be angry with his prisoner for his insulting way as he still lay back on the couch. “It is but the pecking of a prisoned bird,” he said to himself.
“And not been caught and hanged yet? I was in hope that I had seen the last of you.”
“I have heard tell before of prisoners reviling their captors,” said the buccaneer, quietly.
“Revile! Well, is it not your portion!”
“For treating you with the consideration due to a gentleman?” said the buccaneer, whose features grew more calm and whose eyes brightened as if from satisfaction at finding the prisoner so cool and daring, and in how little account he was held. “I have given orders that the prisoner should be treated well. Is there anything more I can do?”