“My dear Pugh,” exclaimed Mr Parkley, “don’t talk in that cynical way. Of course, a man can only die once; but do you think I want to go to the end of my days feeling that I had murdered you by my neglect. My dear boy, I would not exchange your life for twenty sunken ship-loads of treasure.”
“Thank you, Parkley,” said Dutch, taking and wringing his hand, “I believe you.”
“Then, come, you will have the rope attached?”
“No, no, it will only be in the way.”
“My dear fellow, it will not. It is not as if you were going down the hold of a ship. All is clear; there is not even a rock in your way, only a few upright ribs that you can easily avoid.”
“But it is such a childlike preparation,” said Dutch, petulantly. “Here, give me the helmet, Rasp.”
“Yah, you allus was as obstinate as a mule, Mr Pug,” said the old fellow, handing the great casque with its barred visor. “If you don’t have the rope, I won’t give you a good supply of wind—there!”
“I’m not afraid of that, Rasp,” said Dutch, laughing; and then, as he stood with the helmet on his arm, he turned cold and stern again, for he saw Hester approach, and as she did so the others involuntarily drew away.
“What is it?” he said, coldly.
“Dutch,” she whispered, as she laid her hands upon his shoulders, “your true, faithful wife, who has never wronged you in thought or deed, implores you to take the precaution they ask.”