“Here?” cried Mark in astonishment.
“Yes; I see him coming up, and was going to heave a big stone down on him, but he threw up his hands, and called out as he wanted you.”
“Why, what can he want?” cried Mark, flushing with fresh excitement.
“I dunno, but it’s some mischief, or a Darley wouldn’t have come. You be on the look out: he’s got his sword. I’ll come with you and let him have my pick if he means anything again’ you. He’s heard of the fighting, and thinks we’re beat; so just you look out.”
“You stop here,” said Mark sharply, for he felt that this must be an advance toward friendship on the part of the Darleys—that on hearing of the attack Sir Morton had sent his son as an ambassador, to offer to join Sir Edward Eden in an expedition to crush their mutual foe.
“Stop here, Master Mark, and let you go into danger,” cried Dummy. “I won’t!”
“Stop here, sir! How dare you!” cried Mark. “Do you think that I cannot defend myself against a boy like that?”
“He’s as big a boy as you are, Master Mark, and I won’t let you go alone.”
“Dummy, you’re an insolent dog,” cried Mark haughtily. “Keep your place, sir, or I’ll never go down the mine with you again.”
“Oh, very well,” said the boy sulkily, “but if he cuts your head off, don’t come and howl about it to me after it’s done.”