“Yes, yes,” he gasped, “a priest. I have that on my mind I dare not die with. Boy,” he continued, looking bewilderingly at Tom, “did I see you with Herbert?”
“Captain Herbert,” replied Tom, “commands my ship.”
“Kneel down beside me then,” continued the man. “Heaven sent you. I may yet be forgiven. Boy, have you heard him speak of the Southern Hope and of his steward Roderigo?”
“Yes, yes, a thousand times. Are you that villain?”
“I am that villain.”
The man had fainted again.
“Quick, quick,” cried Tom, addressing the landlord. “Bring brandy. Run, run. He must not die yet.”
“Who is to pay me for it?” answered the surly fellow. “I’ve had enough trouble for one night.”
Tom thrust money into his hand, and some poisonously-smelling spirit was soon produced.
After a little had trickled over the throat of the dying man he once more looked up.