And she really looked as if she could have kissed him.
“Nancy, how came you here; why didn’t you go away with the rest?” asked Davy Jones, abruptly, his voice rough and angry. He had had too great a scare to be tender or even civil.
“Why, I had to stop and see to everything—and the silver spoons,” said Nancy, quite meekly.
“Hang the silver spoons,” said Davy. “Now what’s to be done with this carcase?” And he pointed to the unconscious Frenchman. “Get out of the way, Nancy, and I’ll shove him over the cliff.”
“No, no, don’t waste time,” exclaimed Nancy; “we’ll have the whole lot after us in a minute; they’re as thick as ants on Carnunda. How can we get away?”
“Down the cliff as fast as you can. I’ve got a boat down below; if we can get to the caves we’ll do; but I had some of them after me a little while ago, and I landed here to get rid of them, and to find out what had become of you, for Llewelyn of Brestgarn told me you were somewhere near.”
“Llewelyn is a prisoner; did you see him? Is he safe?” asked Nancy, as we hurried along.
“Hush, quick and quiet; I’ll tell you in the boat,” whispered Davy.
We plunged down through dry bracken, gorse bushes, and large boulders of stone, interspersed with steep pieces of cliff. We jumped, slid, and tumbled down, clutching hold of grasses and ferns to stay our speed, and in a few moments we had reached the level of the sea.
The boat had been so cunningly hidden—with the dexterity of constant practice—that Nan and I quite failed to discover it. Davy, however, had it out in a trice.