“But—”
“Go, Bart,” said the buccaneer, more quietly. “Captain Armstrong will not injure me.”
There was a heavy rustling sound among the leaves and the buccaneer made as if to go to the great curtain; but he checked himself, turned, and smiling sadly—
“Captain Armstrong will believe me when I tell him that there is no one out there. Come, sir, you have sent for me. You have thought well upon all I said. All this has been so much angry petulance, and you are ready to take me by the hand—to become my friend. No, no; hear me. You do not think of what your life here may be.”
“That of a pirate—a murderer!” cried Humphrey, scornfully.
“No,” said the buccaneer, flushing once more. “I am rich. All that can be a something of the past. This land is mine, and here we can raise up a new nation, for my followers are devoted to me. Come! are we to be friends?”
“Friends!” cried Humphrey, scornfully—“a new nation—your people devoted!—why man, I sent for you to warn you!”
“You—to warn me?”
“Yes. One of your followers is plotting against you. He has been addressing your men; and if you don’t take care, my good sir, you will be elevated over your people in a way more lofty than pleasant to the king of a new nation.”
“I understand your sneers, sir,” said the buccaneer, quietly; and there was more sadness than anger in his tone. “They are unworthy of the brave man who has warned me of a coming danger, and they are from your lips, sir, not from the heart of the brave adversary I have vowed to make my friend.”