“Now, my lads!” cried Gill, just then, “work with a will, plenty to do.”
He led the way, and the men followed him with a sense of relief out into the bright sunshine, where the ferns fringed the rough arch over the entrance to the hole.
They glanced at the heaps of stores and the various shipping chandlery, spare sails and cordage, but all was so familiar that nothing excited their interest.
Just as they reached the outside there was a whistle from below, and Gil uttered an impatient ejaculation. But hurrying a little distance down, he peered over a mass of rock, to see one of his men, who had been on sentry, leading a dark figure with bandaged eyes.
“Father Brisdone!” said Gil. “Bring him along, my lad.”
Going forward, he quickly undid the handkerchief and threw it aside.
“I forgot to tell them, father,” he said, holding out his hand; “there was no need with you.”
“I do not wish to pry into any of your secrets, my son, that you do not care to trust me with,” said Father Brisdone, smiling as he took the young man’s hand.
“Trust you, father? Why, I’d trust you with anything. But you look weary and hot with your journey. Sit down on yon stone: this is nature’s parlour. Here is something to eat. Lockyer, a bottle of that wine from the case inside on the left. The cup too.”
Leading the father to a nook by the side of the entry, he placed refreshments before him, and then said—