“Everything, Captain.”
“General Beauregard has told me that your master will be shot within a week.”
At this news any one else but Crockston would have grown furious or given way to bursts of grief, but the American, who feared nothing, only said, with almost a smile on his lips,—
“Pooh! what does it matter?”
“How! what does it matter?” cried James Playfair; “I tell you that Mr. Halliburtt will be shot within a week, and you answer, what does it matter?”
“And I mean it—if in six days he is on board the ‘Dolphin,’ and if in seven days the ‘Dolphin’ is on the open sea.”
“Right!” exclaimed the Captain, pressing Crockston’s hand. “I understand, my good fellow, you have got some pluck; and for myself, in spite of Uncle Vincent, I would throw myself overboard for Miss Jenny.”
“No one need be thrown overboard,” replied the American, “only the fish would gain by that: the most important business now is to deliver Mr. Halliburtt.”
“But you must know that it will be difficult to do so.”
“Pooh!” exclaimed Crockston.