To know that his love was lost to him was bitter enough, he told himself, but to see her happy in the Spaniard’s company, to see her hang upon the Spaniard’s words, and wait for his smile, was too much; he turned away quickly.
When Anny came back with the rum, Dick caught her wrist and held her firm with one hand while he raised the tankard to his lips with the other.
“Why are you not ready to come with me?” he whispered as he set down the empty rumkin.
Anny began to laugh again.
“Lord! how you talk, Captain!” she said, trying to pull her arm from out his grasp.
The Spaniard’s grip tightened, and his smile grew more grim.
“Ann, this is not the time to jest,” he said, his voice growing softer and more musical at every word. “The brig waits us.”
Anny noticed that his voice was gentle, and began to giggle again.
“Well, Master Dick, let it wait,” she said, tossing her head. “It can wait till Doomsday before you’ll see me aboard,” and she broke into a little nervous laugh.
To her surprise Dick joined in with her, and his long, low laugh echoed through the kitchen.