Humphrey winced, for the calm reproachful tone roused him, and he stood there frowning as the buccaneer went on.
“As to the plotting against me, I am always prepared for that. A man in my position makes many enemies. Even you have yours.”
“Yes—you,” cried Humphrey.
“No; I am a friend. There, I thank you for your warning. It is a proof, though you do not know it, that the gap between us grows less. Some day, Captain Armstrong, you will take my hand. We shall be friends.”
Humphrey remained silent as the buccaneer left the chamber, and, once more alone, the prisoner asked himself if this was true—that he had bidden farewell to civilisation for ever, and this was to be his home, this strange compound of savage fierceness and gentle friendliness his companion to the end?
Chapter Twenty Nine.
The Assassins.
Humphrey Armstrong walked on blindly farther and farther into the forest, for he was moved more deeply than ever he had been moved before. The presence of this man was hateful to him, and yet he seemed to possess an influence that was inexplicable; and his soft deep tones, which alternated with his harsher utterances, rang in his ears now he was away.