“What’s the meaning of this, Hudson?” he demanded.
The bailiff glanced at Ellen and murmured, “Ay, ’tis late—past eleven—half-past eleven, I should say——”
“I’ll tell ye th’ meaning of it, sir,” Ellen said, abruptly. “They’ll be off afore Matthew’s done looking for his wits i’ th’ candle-flame.” She told him how eight or nine unoffending landsmen, going quietly about their trade, had been seized for service on the gun-deck of the third-rater that lay off Portsannet Head.
“Well?” said the Warden; and Matthew removed his eyes from the flame of the candle.
“Ay,” he said. “It’s them that’s pilling up at Ladyshaws, and the question is, sir, in two days the sap’ll be set and ye’ll lose the price o’ the bark. Wi’ them off and away, an action would never lie. The best ye could do would be to seize the odd day’s pilling.”
“I know this woman; who’s the other?”
“Nay, I’m sure I can’t tell ye,” the bailiff replied; and then, at a touch from Ellen, Jessie let the shawl slip from her head, and looked at the grave face of the Warden. She did not speak. Quietly, as quietly as if she had been at her own bedside, she sank to her knees and folded her hands. She closed her eyes, and the Warden looked on her with knitted brows for a moment, and then began to walk up and down the small apartment.
“I think I see,” he said, by and by, stopping before Jessie, and taking her hand and raising her. “I passed Edward my word,” he continued, half to himself, “on condition our own people were unmolested. That I can’t withdraw, not even on the plea that these are in my own employ. But I’ll do what I can. Follow me.”
He led the way along a dark passage, and at the end of it drew a curtain aside. A soft glow of light spread about them. “Go in that door,” the Warden said, pushing Jessie gently forward; and Jessie found herself in a dining-room where half a dozen candles in silver sticks stood over their own still images in a polished table. “There’s the Commander himself,” said the Warden.
A white-haired gentleman, in a rich uniform of blue, white, and gold, sat at one corner of the shining-table. A decanter of wine stood at his elbow, the breaking of the soft light through which dyed the white ruffle at his wrist with ruby red. He was looking at a watch that he held in his hand, and Jessie knew not what beauty it was in his face that seemed to steal like a comforting balsam over her heart. The Warden crossed and spoke in a low voice to him, and presently he looked up from his watch. At a sign from him Jessie stood forward, and Ellen and the bailiff fell back.