The old man was plucking with feverish fingers at the fine lace counterpane which covered him. He made an effort to rise, but lay back again with a groan.
"They've got the guns up, have they!" he growled, deep down in his throat, with a most horrid effect. "Then one of the mates at least must be standing in with them—the mutinous dogs! And since it's come to settling old scores, I'm ready; I'll settle all with them before we go any farther." His eyes were sunken with sickness and he was so weak that he could scarcely move, but his spirit seemed to be altogether unquenchable.
"I'm going to settle with them now," he declared, "and—don't you interfere again, Sallie. I've stood all I'm going to stand from you, too. You've got to fancy yourself far too much, my girl! Listen here! Next time I have to talk to you, it'll be with that,"—he pointed to a heavy kourbash of hippopotamus-hide hanging from a hook on the panelling,—"and, by all that's holy! if I've to begin, I'll lace you from head to heel with it—as I should have done long ago."
The girl shrank as if he had actually struck her with it. She knew he was even capable of carrying out that threat.
"Where's Jasper Slyne?" he demanded, in a low whisper, almost exhausted.
"On deck, above, with Reuben Yoxall," she told him.
"Send him down here to me. I must get up out o' this. To-day's Sunday, isn't it? What was our position at noon?"
She told him exactly, at once, and he seemed content to rely on her nautical knowledge. He nodded, as if satisfied.
"That's all right. Off you go now. And don't forget what I've said to you. Tell Slyne to look sharp—and stand the men off somehow till I get on deck," he snapped, as she hurried away.
She did not know what might have happened overhead while she had been below, and heaved a heartfelt sigh of relief as, gaining the open air again, she saw that the two men she had left there were still at the rail, unharmed. Only one of them looked round as she approached, and it was to him she spoke.