Henry rapidly narrated his escape from the wreck of the Wasp, and then, looking earnestly in his mother’s anxious face he said, slowly—
“But you do not ask for Gascoyne, mother. Do you know that he is now in the jail?”
The widow looked perplexed. “I know it,” said she. “I was just going to see him when you came in.”
“Ah! mother,” said Henry, reproachfully, “why did you not tell me sooner about Gascoyne? I—”
He was interrupted here by Corrie and Alice rushing into the room, the latter of whom threw herself into the widow’s arms and burst into tears, while Master Corrie indulged in some eccentric bounds and cheers by way of relieving his feelings. For some time Henry allowed them to talk eagerly to each other; then he told Corrie and Alice that he had something of importance to say to his mother, and led her into an adjoining room.
Corrie had overheard the words spoken by Henry just as he entered, and great was his curiosity to know what was the mystery connected with the pirate captain. This curiosity was intensified when he heard a half-suppressed shriek in the room where mother and son were closeted. For one moment he was tempted to place his ear to the key-hole! But a blush covered his fat cheeks at the very thought of acting such a disgraceful part. Like a wise fellow he did not give the tempter a second opportunity, but, seizing the hand of his companion, said—
“Come along, Alice, we’ll go seek for Bumpus.”
Half-an-hour afterwards the widow stood at the jail door. The jailer was an intimate friend, and considerately retired during the interview.
“O Gascoyne, has it come to this?” She sat down beside the pirate, and grasped one of his manacled hands in both of hers.
“Even so, Mary, my hour has come. I do not complain of my doom. I have brought it on myself.”