At first with caution: till passing the rock-portal, they see the platform and those on it.
Then the young officers rush forward, with no fear of having to fight. Instead of armed enemies to meet them, they behold the dear ones from whom they have been so long apart. Beside them, half-a-dozen figures, more like skeletons than men—with cowed, craven faces, seeming so feeble as to have a difficulty in keeping their feet!
With swords sheathed, and pistols returned to their holsters, the English officers hasten on, the young ladies rushing out to receive them.
Soon they are together, two and two, breasts touching, and arms enfolded in mutual embrace.
For a while no words—the hearts of all too full for speech. Only ejaculations and kisses, with tears, but not of sorrow.
Then succeeds speech, necessarily brief and half-incoherent, Crozier telling Carmen that her father is still alive, and aboard the barque. He lives—he is safe! that is enough.
Then in answer to his questions, a word or two, on her fide. But without waiting to hear all, he turns abruptly upon Harry Blew, who is seen some paces off. Neither by word, nor gesture, has the sailor yet saluted him. He stands passive, a silent spectator; as Crozier supposes, the greatest criminal on earth. In quick retrospect of what has occurred, and what he has heard from Don Gregorio, how could it be otherwise?
But he will not condemn without hearing him, and stepping up to the ex-man-o’-war’s man, he demands explanation of his conduct, sternly saying:
“Now, sir, I claim an account from you. Tell your story straight, and don’t conceal aught, or prevaricate. If your treason be as black as I believe it, you deserve no mercy from me. And your only chance to obtain it, will be by telling the truth.”
While speaking, he has again drawn his sword, and stands confronting the sailor—as if a word were to be the signal for thrusting him through.