“England's,” she corrected him in reproof. “The country is all, sir; the sovereign naught. King James will pass; others will come and pass; England remains, to be honourably served by her sons, whatever rancour they may hold against the man who rules her in their time.”
He showed some surprise. Then he smiled a little. “Shrewd advocacy,” he approved it. “You should have spoken to the crew.”
And then, the note of irony deepening in his voice: “Do you suppose now that this honourable service might redeem one who was a pirate and a thief?”
Her glance fell away. Her voice faltered a little in replying. “If he... needs redeeming. Perhaps... perhaps he has been judged too harshly.”
The blue eyes flashed, and the firm lips relaxed their grim set.
“Why... if ye think that,” he said, considering her, an odd hunger in his glance, “life might have its uses, after all, and even the service of King James might become tolerable.”
Looking beyond her, across the water, he observed a boat putting off from one of the great ships, which, hove to now, were rocking gently some three hundred yards away. Abruptly his manner changed. He was like one recovering, taking himself in hand again. “If you will go below, and get your gear and your woman, you shall presently be sent aboard one of the ships of the fleet.” He pointed to the boat as he spoke.
She left him, and thereafter with Wolverstone, leaning upon the rail, he watched the approach of that boat, manned by a dozen sailors, and commanded by a scarlet figure seated stiffly in the stern sheets. He levelled his telescope upon that figure.
“It'll not be Bishop himself,” said Wolverstone, between question and assertion.
“No.” Blood closed his telescope. “I don't know who it is.”