"Do not give me that name," the bandit said violently; "I am not your father!"
There was a moment's silence; at length the Pirate continued, in an almost indistinct voice, and as if speaking to himself—
"The hand of God is in this—it was He who decreed that at the last moment the daughter of the victim should see one of the principal assassins die."
He shook his head piteously, sighed and added, mournfully—
"That is the hand of God."
His hearers looked at each other silently; an instinctive fear, a species of superstitious terror had seized upon them, and they did not dare question this man. A few minutes elapsed.
"Oh, how I suffer!" he suddenly muttered; "my head is a red-hot furnace—give me drink."
Water was quickly brought him, but he repulsed it, saying—
"No, not water—I want to regain my strength."
"What will you have, then?" Red Cedar asked him.