"I salute you, Lord George."
The boy had a rope round his wrist, which trailed after him as he walked.
"Let me remove that darby, my lord," said Mauresco.
He drew a crooked cimetar from his belt and rose into a sitting posture. The boy looked shrinkingly at the knife and advanced, trembling and pale.
"Oh, come, come! Have courage, my lad!" said Mauresco. He cut the rope and the boy was free.
"Am I to be left upon this island?" asked the boy, looking at Mauresco anxiously.
"And why should we leave Lord George Trevelyan upon this island? To wander to the interior, and tell King Christophe that this is one of our stopping places?"
"How am I to be killed, then? Am I to be made to walk out upon that dreadful plank?" The boy shuddered, as if he had lately witnessed that dread execution. "Tell me my fate, Captain. I can bear it, only tell me."
"No, no! We have another plan for you, Lord George. We will take you back to the coast of England. We will stand in near the estate of your mother, the countess, some late evening. Then you shall write her a letter asking the ransom that I shall dictate, unless, indeed, the Admiral of the Red demands more."
"You mistake my position," said the boy. "My mother is not a rich woman, even though she has a title. She is not a countess, she——"