Blew is himself armed with both pistol and knife. But, so far from touching either, or making any sign of an intention to defend himself he remains cowed-like, his head drooping down to his breast.
He gives no response. His lips move not; neither his arms nor limbs. Alone, his broad chest heaves and falls, as if stirred by some terrible emotion.
His silence seems a confession of guilt!
Taking, or mistaking, it for this, Crozier cries out:
“Traitor! Confess, before I run this blade through your miserable body!”
The threat elicits an answer.
“You may kill me, if you wish, Master Edward. By rights, my life belongs to ye. But, if you take it, I’ll have the satisfaction o’ knowin’, I’ve done the best I could to prove my gratefulness for your once savin’ it.”
Long before he has finished his strange speech, the impending stroke is stayed, and the raised blade dropped point downward. For, on the hand which grasps it, a gentler one is laid, a soft voice saying:—
“Hold, Eduardo! Dios de mi alma! What would you do? You know not. This brave man—to him I owe my life—I and Iñez.”
“Yes,” adds Iñez, advancing, “more than life. ’Tis he who protected us.”