“Did he name him?”
“He did.”
“It was?”——
“Henry—Ark, alias Wilder.”
“It is vain to attempt denial,” said our adventurer rising, with an air of pride that he intended should conceal the uneasy sensation that in truth beset him; “I find you know me.”
“For a false traitor, sir.”
“Captain Heidegger, you are safe, here, in using these reproachful terms.”
The Rover struggled, and struggled successfully, to keep down the risings of his temper; but the effort lent to his countenance gleamings of fierce and bitter scorn.
“You will communicate that fact also to your superiors,” he said, with taunting irony. “The monster of the seas, he who plunders defenceless fishermen ravages unprotected coasts, and eludes the flag of King George, as other serpents steal into their caves at the footstep of man, is safe in speaking his mind, backed by a hundred and fifty freebooters, and in the security of his own cabin. Perhaps he knows too, that he is breathing in the atmosphere of peaceful and peace-making woman.”
But the first surprise of the subject of his scorn had passed, and he was neither to be goaded into retort nor terrified into entreaties. Folding his arms with calmness, Wilder simply replied,—