“Well, Ya-Bon, have you kept a good watch! No news? And how’s your prisoner? . . . Ah, there you are, my fine fellow! Have you got your breath back? Oh, I know Ya-Bon’s hand is a bit heavy! . . . What’s this? Won’t you answer? . . . Hallo, what’s happened? Hanged if I don’t think . . .”
A cry escaped him. The girl ran to the hall. She met the captain, who tried to bar her way.
“Don’t come,” he said, in great agitation. “What’s the use!”
“But you’re hurt!” she exclaimed.
“I?”
“There’s blood on your shirt-cuff.”
“So there is, but it’s nothing: it’s the man’s blood that must have stained me.”
“Then he was wounded?”
“Yes, or at least his mouth was bleeding. Some blood-vessel . . .”
“Why, surely Ya-Bon didn’t grip as hard as that?”