“My darling,” he whispered. And, bending over her, he said a few words in her ear, which made her set her teeth firmly and try to smile, as she stood up clasping his hand.
“I will try,” she whispered—“try so hard.”
“I’m ready, Mr Parkley,” said the young man, hoarsely.
“That’s right, Pugh. Go and set matters square. I’ll see your wife safe back home.”
“I leave her to you,” said Dutch, in a low voice. “Good-bye, my darling, get back home. I’ll join you soon,” he whispered, and hurried out of the office.
But as he turned for a moment, it was to see the Cuban’s eyes fixed upon the trembling girl; while the goblinlike figures against the wall seemed to be nodding and gibbering at him, as if laughing at the troubles that assailed his breast.
“Off down to Barrport, Mr Pug?” said Rasp, as he stood in the outer office.
“Yes, instantly. Come, Oakum,” he said, to a rough-looking sailor, who stood hat in hand.
“Sharp’s the word, Mr Pug,” said Rasp; “but I say,” he continued, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder, “that foreign chap, I don’t like the looks o’ he.”
“I tell you what it is, sir,” said the rough-looking sailor, as he walked by Dutch Pugh’s side down to the station. “If I weer much along o’ that Rasp, it would soon come to a row.”