Crack! the man struck him across the face. Nick’s eyes flashed hot as a fire-coal. He set his teeth, but he did not flinch. “Do na thou strike me again, thou rogue!” said he.
As he spoke, on a sudden his heart leaped up and his fear was utterly gone. In its place was a something fierce and strange—a bitter gladness, a joy that stung and thrilled him like great music in the night. A tingling ran from head to foot; the little hairs of his flesh stood up; he trampled the stones as he hurried on. In his breast his heart was beating like a bell; his breath came hotly, deep and slow; the whole world widened on his gaze. Oh, what a thing is the heart of a boy! how quickly great things are done therein! One instant, put him to the touch—the thing is done, and he is nevermore the same. Like a keen, cold wind that blows through a window in the night, life’s courage had breathed on Nick Attwood’s heart; the man that slept in the heart of the boy awoke and was aware. The old song roared in Nick’s ears:
Sir Francis Drake sailed round the world,
Round the world, round the world;
John Hawkins fought the “Victory,”
And we ha’ beaten Spain!
Whither they were going he did not know. Whither they were going he did not care. He was English: this was England still! He set his teeth and threw back his shoulders. “I be na feared of him!” said he.
“But my father will come for us soon, won’t he, Nick?” faltered Cicely.
“Eigh! just don’t he wish that he might!” laughed Goole.
“Oh, ay,” said she, and nodded bravely to herself; “he may be very busy now, and so he cannot come. But presently he will come for me and fetch me home again.” She gave a joyous little skip. “To fetch me home again—ay, surely, my father will come for me anon.”
A lump came up in Nick Attwood’s throat. “But what hath he done to thee, Cicely, and where is thy pretty gown?” he asked, as they hurried on through the crooked way; for the gown she wore was in rags.
Cicely choked down a sob. “He hath kept me locked up in a horrible place, where an old witch came in the night and stole my clothes away. And he says that if money doth not come for me soon he will turn me out to starve.”
“To starve? Nay, Cicely; I will na leave thee starve. I’ll go with thee wherever he taketh thee; I’ll fend for thee with all my might and main, and none shall harm thee if I can help. So cheer up—we will get away! Thou needst na gripe me so, thou rogue; I am going wherever she goes.”