“Keep ’im—keep—for me,” said Mamba, anxiously.
“I will do so, if I can, but it may not be possible,” answered Mark.
“Yis, keep—safe. Got ’im for me mudder.”
“You’re a brick,” cried Ebony, enthusiastically grasping the man’s hand, for he had a great love for his own mother, and experienced a gush of sympathy.
At that moment there was a loud knocking at the door, and Mark had barely time to slip the Testament into his coat pocket when Hater-of-lies entered with his silver spear and attendants. Seizing hold of poor Mamba, without uttering a word they led him away.
Hockins instantly followed, and Ebony was about to do the same when Mark laid his hand on his shoulder and checked him.
“What would you do, Ebony?”
“Look arter ’Ockins, massa.”
“Hockins is well able to look after himself. No doubt he has gone to see where they take Mamba to. One pair of eyes is enough for that. Your company would only trouble him.”
A few minutes later the seaman returned with the information that the unfortunate man had been cast into the prison from which they had been so recently released.