“O Geordie-man—O Geordie!” whispered Sir Hector. “’Tis betrayed ye are, lad—yon proves it beyond a’ doot!”
“Aye, by the Pize,” whispered Mr. Potter, “yonder’s black treachery! A light a-top o’ cliff any fule might show ... but a light a-dangle ’arf-way down!... Look, sir—God love us ... Sharkie be a-standin’ in——”
“To his death, Geordie—himsel’ and a’ his lads!”
“Not whiles Potter can waarn ’em, sirs!” And, speaking, Mr. Potter got to his knees, but there Mr. Pym’s grip on his leg arrested him.
“What’s to do, George?” he inquired.
“Liddle enough, sir, but arl I can.... Potter be a-goin’ down yonder to th’ edge o’ the tide, an’ soon as they be nigh enough I lets fly with both my pistols——”
“And commit suicide, George Potter!”
“Why, they sojers may miss me, sir ... an’ I shall run amazin’ quick and—hark, sir ... Sharkie be a-towin’ in wi’ his boats!” Sure enough, faint though distinct was the sound of oars.
“Lord love me!” exclaimed Mr. Potter, his placidity quite gone. “They be closer ashore than I thought ... loose my leg, sir!”
“Not so, George!” answered the painter. “Your plan is extreme clumsy and offers but problematical chance o’ success whiles you run great risk o’ wounds or death, and Captain Nye may be nothing advantaged. Now, upon the other hand——”