“Well, if he is not staunch you are, at all events, my lad. Good-bye. If he does come back run down to the wharf at once, the schooner may not have sailed.”
“He has got into some trouble, I’m sure,” I cried.
“Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” I said, holding out my hand; but my lips quivered, for I was horribly disappointed.
“Once more,” cried Mr Gunson, as he gripped my hand hard, “I tell you he is playing you false. You had better come.”
“No.”
“You are not afraid, are you?”
I flung his hand away.
“No,” he said, smiling, “not a bit. There, Mayne, my lad, he has thrown you over, but I can’t. If you stay, I’ll stay too.”
“Mr Gunson!” I cried.