“What!” exclaimed the skipper furiously; “do you know I have a dozen men ready to take my side if I raise my voice?”
“I neither know nor care,” cried Sir Henry hoarsely; “but I do know that you have sworn allegiance to King Charles Edward, sir, and that you are my inferior officer in the cause. Disobey me, sir, at your peril.”
Hilary grasped his cutlass, and the fighting blood of the Englishman was making his veins tingle.
“If it comes to a tussle,” he thought, “there’ll be one on Sir Henry’s side they don’t count upon;” and as he thought this he softly raised the latch, ready to swing open the door and dash out.
But Martin, the skipper, evidently did not care to quarrel with Sir Henry, and his next words were quite apologetic.
“Why, Sir Henry,” he said with a rough laugh, “I believe we two were getting out of temper, and that won’t do, you know.”
“I am not out of temper,” said Sir Henry; “but I’ll be obeyed, sir.”
“And so you shall be, Sir Henry. It’s all right, and I’ll say no more about it, only that it’s dangerous leaving a young fellow like that shut up. These boys are as active as monkeys, and we might return at any time and find the young rascal gone. But you’ll do your best to bring him round?”
“I will,” replied Sir Henry, “for more reasons than one. Look here, Martin, if I spoke too angrily to you just now I beg your pardon, but you touch upon a tender point when you talk of rough measures towards that boy. I told you that he was my child’s companion years ago—in fact, I used to look upon him quite as a son. There,” he added hastily, “you may trust me to do my best. Good-night.”
“Good-night, Sir Henry, good-night,” said the skipper effusively. “I’ll trust you. Good-night.”