“Look at that, now!” he whispered out of the black darkness. “Have ye got the darling safe?”
“Yes, safe enough; but what does this mean?”
“Mane, sor? Sure and it’s Bart yander wid two min.”
“Take us down to the sea by some other path.”
“Shure an’ don’t I tell ye there is no other path, sor. It’s the only way. Murther, look at that!”
For at that moment a light flashed out and shimmered on the sea, sank, rose, and became brilliant, shining forth so that they could see that the three men down upon the shore had lit a pile of some inflammable material, beyond which, floating easily upon the surface of the sea and apparently close inshore, was a boat—the boat that was to bear them safely away.
They were sheltered by the trees, and besides, too far off to be seen by the men, whose acts, however, were plain enough to them, as one of them was seen to wade out to the boat, get hold of her mooring rope, and drag her ashore.
“The murtherin’ villains!” muttered Dinny. “They’re takkin’ out the shtores. Look at that now! There’s the barl o’ wather and the bishkit, and now there’s the sail. What’ll I do intoirely? My heart’s bruk wid ’em.”
“Hush, my lad! You’ll be heard,” whispered Humphrey. “Is there no other boat we can get?”
“Divil a wan, sor, and if we shtay here we shall be tuk. What’ll we do now?”