“Well, why don’t you take it?” said the man with the pitcher.
“Don’t seem to kinder want it now,” replied Pete hoarsely.
“Drink it, man, and don’t be a fool. You’ll be glad of it long before you get there. Sun’s hot yet, and the water’s salt for miles, and then for far enough brackish.”
Nic looked at the speaker wonderingly, for the blank feeling seemed to be coming with the forerunner of the peculiar sensation of confusion which had troubled him before, and he looked from one to the other as if for help; while Pete took the mug and drained it, but contented himself with slipping his bread inside the breast of his shirt, and stood looking down at Nic, whose lips parted to speak, but no words came.
“Seem decent sort of fellows,” said the water-bearer, as he turned off towards the door with his companion; and the dogs rose to follow them, sniffing at the basket.
“Yes, poor beggars!” said the other. “Whatever they’ve been up to in the old country, they’ve got to pay pretty dearly for it now.”
Nic’s hearing was acute enough now, and he heard every word.
“Here, you,” he gasped painfully. “Call them back.”
“What for, Master Nic?” said Pete in an appealing whisper. “Don’t; you mustn’t now. Ask me for what you want.”
“I want to know what all this means,” panted the young man. “Why am I here? What place is this? I’m not—I will know.”