In his eagerness he caught the founder by the arm, but the latter turned upon him furiously, mad as he was with rage against himself as much as with the suppliant, whom he struck heavily across the face, and then strode away.
Gil staggered back as much from surprise as from the weight of the blow, and the blood in a hot flush of passion suffused his face.
“For thy sake, darling,” he said, calming down, “for thy sake. There, Master Cobbe, I have done my duty as a man; if blood be shed in what follows, I wash my hands of it; for ’fore God I swear, that if I fail in one way, I’d kill my darling at the altar before she should become that fellow’s wife.”
“Captain—quick—this way, Captain!” cried a voice in a hasty whisper.
“What is it, Croftly?”
“This way, skipper. Here in at this furnace-mouth; it is open behind. Follow me.”
“What for, man?” cried Gil, sternly, as he saw the grimy face of Croftly at the opening to one of the great brick smelting-furnaces now void and cold.
“Sir Mark, with a dozen men be surrounding the place.”
Gil’s hand flew to his sword, but he let it fall.
“Nay,” he said, “we must have the wisdom of the serpent here. We’ll try that first, and if it fails—the sword.”