“To be sure they have, sor; the sergeant was going round.”
“Quick, take his hand!” said Bart.
“No!” whispered Abel, levelling the bayonet.
“No, no; for my mother’s sake, sor!” cried the sentry, piteously. “She has only six of us, and I’m one.”
“Put away that bagnet!” said Bart, hoarsely. “Take his hand, and run!”
“That’s it, sor, at the double,” said the sentry, rising from his knees, where he had flung himself. “I’m wid ye to the end of the world. It’s a place I know, and—”
“Silence!” hissed Abel, as there was the loud clanging of a bell with the fierce yelping of dogs, and they dashed off, hand joined in hand, for the coffee-plantation, away down by the cane-brake and the swamp.