"How's this, Cormack!" said the stranger. "Do you lift your weapon against the life of a friend?—rub your eyes and waken—how is it you cannot know me?—you've been drinking, sirrah."
At the sound of the speaker's voice the man at once lowered his hatchet and withdrew, a little sulkily, like a rebuked mastiff.
"What means all this?" continued he in the cloak, looking searchingly at the party in the rear; "whom have we got here?—where made you this prisoner? So, so—this must be looked to. How were you about to deal with him, fellow?" he added, addressing himself to him whom he had first encountered.
"According to orders, captain," replied the man, doggedly.
"And how may that have been?" interrogated the gentleman in the cloak.
"End him," replied he, sulkily.
"Has he been before the council in the great parlour?" inquired the stranger.
"Yes, captain—long enough, too," replied the fellow.
"And they have ordered this execution?" added the newly arrived.
"Yes, sir—who else? Come on, boys—bring him out, will you? Time is running short," he added, addressing his comrades, and himself approaching the door.