"How the dickens did you find me out?"
"Chance one evening took Leah into the neighbourhood, and she happened to see you. I had feared you might be in England."
"You had heard of the wreck of the Vengeance, I suppose; and that a few of us had escaped. Good old Leah! Did I give her a fright?"
We were sitting side by side. Tom had put his pipe out, lest the light should catch the sight of any passing stragglers. We spoke in whispers. It was, perhaps, as safe a place as could be found; nevertheless, I sat upon thorns.
Not so Tom. By the few signs that might be gathered—his light voice, his gay laugh, his careless manner—Tom felt as happy and secure as if he had been attending one of her Majesty's levées, in the full glory of scarlet coat and flashing sword-blade.
"Do you know, Tom, you have half killed me with terror and apprehension? How could you be so reckless as to come back to London?"
"Because the old ship brought me," lightly returned Tom.
"I suppose a vessel picked you up—and the comrades who escaped with you?"
"It picked two of us up. The other three died."
"What, in the boat?"