“Thou art a singular villain,” said Geoffrey, “and wonderfully frank spoken.”
“And so thou’rt to be married?” Hubert said gently.
“By this next noon, if all goes well!” exclaimed the lover with ardour.
“Heigho!” sighed Hubert, turning to go, “’twill be a merry Christmas for somebody.”
“Give me thy hand,” cried Geoffrey, feeling universally hearty.
“No,” replied the freebooter; “what meaning would there be in that? I would sever thy jugular vein in a moment if that would mend the broken fortunes of my chief. Farewell, however. Good luck attend thee.”
The eyes of both young men met, and without unkindness in them.
“But I am satisfied with my calling,” Hubert asserted, repudiating some thought that he imagined was lurking in Geoffrey’s look. “Quite content! It’s very dull to be respectable. Look! the dawn will discover us.”
“But this plan?” cried Geoffrey, hastening after him; “I know nothing.”
“Thou needest know nothing. Keep the door of the pit shut. Farewell.”