Ayrton soon made his appearance. He crossed the deck with a confident step, and ascended the poop-stairs. His eyes had a sullen look, his teeth were set, and his fists clinched convulsively. His bearing displayed neither exultation nor humility. As soon as he was in Lord Glenarvan's presence, he folded his arms, and calmly and silently waited to be questioned:
"Ayrton," said Glenarvan, "here we all are, as you see, on board the Duncan, that you would have surrendered to Ben Joyce's accomplices."
At these words the lips of the quartermaster slightly trembled. A quick blush colored his hard features,—not the sign of remorse, but the shame of defeat. He was prisoner on this yacht that he had meant to command as master, and his fate was soon to be decided.
However, he made no reply. Glenarvan waited patiently, but Ayrton still persisted in maintaining an obstinate silence.
"Speak, Ayrton; what have you to say?" continued Glenarvan.
The convict hesitated, and the lines of his forehead were strongly contracted. At last he said, in a calm voice:
"I have nothing to say, my lord. I was foolish enough to let myself be taken. Do what you please."
A DUMB PRISONER.
Having given his answer, the quartermaster turned his eyes toward the coast that extended along the west, and affected a profound indifference for all that was passing around him. You would have thought, to look at him, that he was a stranger to this serious affair.