“Nay, nay; that won’t do. The skipper won’t stand these games, my lad.”
“The skipper!”
Those two words sent a thrill of hope through the heart of the girl as she asked herself could it be Captain Gil.
“Yes, yes; it must be,” she thought directly after; and these were some of the rough, adventurous men of whom she heard whispers at the Moat—the crew of bold, daring fellows, who sailed round the world and braved all dangers, even laughing at the laws; for one of Captain Gil’s men had been taken before her father for some offence, and when the worthy baronet was about to condemn him to fine and imprisonment, amercing him in coin as well as time, he had leaned forward and whispered that in the justice’s ears which had made him reconsider the case and dismiss the prisoner in the end.
It was into the hands of these men she had fallen she felt sure, and should Captain Gil find out what was done she knew she had nothing to fear, unless, finding her in his power, he should carry her off to his ship somewhere in the little river and bear her away to be a rover’s bride.
The silly little heart of Anne Beckley, full as it was of trouble, was ready to make room for this romantic notion, and she gave up all thought of resistance as her captors led her away, merely pointing to the bandage across her mouth, which half stifled her.
“Ah, you shall have that off, my dear, if you will not squeal,” said the same voice; and the girl breathed more freely as the wrapper was taken away.
“Now, be careful how you come or you’ll break your pretty neck, and then—Curse it, here be the skipper.”
“What’s this?” cried a well-known voice. “Whom have you here? Mistress Anne Beckley?”
“Oh, Captain Gil, save me—save me,” cried the girl, stretching out her hands in the direction of the voice, and nestling close to him as his strong arm was thrown round her.