The noise of the struggle had now ceased, and Hester found courage enough to look through the door, as a gleam of light shone through; and she saw three sailors entering the cabin with a lantern, which cast its light upon the bruised and bleeding face of the Cuban, who was kneeling on the chest of the ruffian who had been sleeping in the cabin.
“The drunken fool flew at me as I came in,” exclaimed Lauré, savagely.
“I didn’t,” growled the fellow. “You hit me on the head with the lamp.”
“You knocked it over in your drunken sleep,” shouted Lauré. “Here, get up: you shall stay here no longer. Go and sleep on deck.”
The man rose in a heavy, stupid way, and, muttering to himself, left the cabin and went on deck, while, under the Cuban’s orders, the men who had come down fetched another lamp, and cleared away all the traces of the struggle.
It was now evidently long past midnight, and as soon as Lauré was left alone, Hester and her companion began to tremble once more for their fate.
The Cuban was evidently restless and uneasy, for he kept getting up and walking to the stairs and listening, as if in doubt; but as an hour glided by, and all seemed perfectly still, he remained longer in his seat, and at last, as Hester watched him, she saw his glance turned towards the inner cabin, and to her horror he rose and, with a peculiar smile upon his face, came and laid his hand upon the lock of the door.