“I believe so,” was the cool answer. “At least I sent a couple of feet of steel through him—’twas in the press of the fight when first the English dropped aboard the galley; Master Lionel was in the van—the last place in which I should have looked to see him.”
There fell a long silence. At length Sir Oliver spoke in a small voice.
“Not a doubt but you gave him no more than he was seeking. You are right, Master Leigh; the van was the last place in which to look for him, unless he came deliberately to seek steel that he might escape a rope. Best so, no doubt. Best so! God rest him!”
“Do you believe in God?” asked the sinful skipper on an anxious note.
“No doubt they took you because of that,” Sir Oliver pursued, as if communing with himself. “Being in ignorance perhaps of his deserts, deeming him a saint and martyr, they resolved to avenge him upon you, and dragged you hither for that purpose.” He sighed. “Well, well, Master Leigh, I make no doubt that knowing yourself for a rascal you have all your life been preparing your neck for a noose; so this will come as no surprise to you.”
The skipper stirred uneasily, and groaned. “Lord, how my head aches!” he complained.
“They’ve a sure remedy for that,” Sir Oliver comforted him. “And you’ll swing in better company than you deserve, for I am to be hanged in the morning too. You’ve earned it as fully as have I, Master Leigh. Yet I am sorry for you—sorry you should suffer where I had not so intended.”
Master Leigh sucked in a shuddering breath, and was silent for a while.
Then he repeated an earlier question.
“Do you believe in God, Sir Oliver?”