He paused, and Gilbot heaved a sigh of relief, and Blueneck, seeing that his decision was approved of, added: “And if ever I come near this accursed, God-forsaken island again the devil scuttle my brig and carry off my canvas,” and so saying he turned on his heel and strode to the door. “Good-night, good people,” he said, turning on the threshold.
Hal stepped forward and took the little knife from out the fingers that were still warm.
“Will you take this?” he said, holding it out to the sailor. “It served him well and may you.”
Blueneck drew back.
“Nay!” he said hastily, “I’ll have none of it, and, mark my words, lad, you put it down; the thing is evil. The man there was harmless enough without it, but together, by God, they were devils. Put it down. Fare you well, my masters,” he added, and went out.
They heard his footsteps die away down the road before any one spoke; then Gilbot wiped his beaded forehead and turned to the two friends.
“You must get them out of here; get them buried,” he said jerkily, pointing to the table. “Sink them in the mud,” he added, an idea coming to him.
Hal sprang suddenly forward, a light in his dulled eyes and his mouth half open—but his words died on his lips, for at that moment Nan Swayle, spade in hand, appeared in the open doorway.
“It is done,” she said, her big booming voice sounding strangely hollow in the silent room. “Susan, are you ready? Come help me.”
The frightened girl crept out of her corner and went toward the table; the old woman followed.