And a diabolical smile played on the lips of that heartless and selfish man.
“Have that man landed at once, Charles?” said the commander dryly, who was attentively watching Willmington, from the quarter-deck.
His attention had been at first attracted by the restless and impatient movements of Willmington. He had remarked the workings of his lips, and had noticed the bitter sneer that settled upon them at the end. The dislike which he had always entertained for that man, was worked up to its height by this exhibition.
“He could not have been uttering a prayer for his son,” he justly thought; “prayers do not end so. No—no—he must be truly a vile individual. Death ought to suspend, at least, the enmity of the bitterest foes. It is a strange father that can curse the memory of his own son, however great a reprobate he may have been. Have that gentleman landed immediately, Charles,” he again said to his son.
In a few moments, James Willmington was made acquainted with this order, and was told that a boat was ready to take him ashore.
“Thank God, thank God!” he cried, almost aloud, and quickly ascended the steps of the quarter-deck, to take leave of the commander.
“My lord, I have to bid you, good morning,” said he, as he approached the commander.
“Good morning,—good morning,” quickly replied the person addressed, apparently desiring to have as little as possible to say to the individual, who was taking his leave.
“I am much obliged to you,” continued Willmington, “for the protection and assistance, and—”
“Not at all, sir,” dryly rejoined the commander, “I have only discharged the duty which I owe to all His Majesty’s subjects on these seas.”