He took the hank down, and, laying it on the floor, began to measure the rope out, yard by yard, coiling it neatly close by Mrs. Winnie’s feet. It was good hemp, unfrayed and unrotted, not too thick and stiff, yet stout enough to carry the weight of three men.
Mrs. Winnie watched him, her eyes inquisitively kind, and her tongue all of a tremble. He was borrowing the rope in the cause of adventure, and she felt flattered in the lending of it, but she wished he would tell her what it was for.
“It is good hemp, sir.”
“I should know a good rope, being a sailor. I shall need it to help me in a bit of a scramble.”
Mrs. Winnie began to think of all the cliffs and quarries in the neighborhood, for John Gore had withheld the name of Thorn.
“I had better get you a wallet full of food, sir; you may be needing it.”
“You think of everything, Mrs. Jennifer. I am going treasure-hunting.” And he laughed.
“Treasure, sir?”
“Yes. In a few days I may bring my treasure-trove back with me.”
Mrs. Winnie understood of a sudden, and her eyes grew full of light.