The order was no sooner given than it was obeyed, and in less than two minutes the impatient Barnstable, Dillon, and the cockswain, were standing together on the sands.
The impression he had received, that his friends were abandoned to their fate by the Pilot, urged the generous young seaman to hasten the departure of his prisoner, as he was fearful every moment might interpose some new obstacle to the success of his plans.
“Mr. Dillon,” he said, the instant they were landed, “I exact no new promise—your honor is already plighted——”
“If oaths can make it stronger,” interrupted Dillon, “I will take them.”
“Oaths cannot—the honor of a gentleman is, at all times, enough. I shall send my cockswain with you to the abbey, and you will either return with him, in person, within two hours, or give Mr. Griffith and Captain Manual to his guidance. Proceed, sir, you are conditionally free; there is an easy opening by which to ascend the cliffs.”
Dillon once more thanked his generous captor, and then proceeded to force his way up the rough eminence.
“Follow, and obey his instructions,” said Barnstable to his cockswain, aloud.
Tom, long accustomed to implicit obedience, handled his harpoon, and was quietly following in the footsteps of his new leader, when he felt the hand of the lieutenant on his shoulder.
“You saw where the brook emptied over the hillock of sand?” said Barnstable, in an undertone.
Tom nodded assent.