“Now, Harrington, what are we to do?” said Wentworth, drying the tears from his eyes. “My good sin, as Muriel calls it, staves off Roux’s trouble for a couple of days, but if we can’t get hold of Antony, it will be terrible.”
“I have only one thought, and that is a forlorn one,” replied Harrington. “I am waiting for Mrs. Eastman to return. If her brother does not consent to liberate this man, or if she cannot bring herself to bear public action on this matter, I shall go at once to my house, get my pistols, and search the Soliman for Antony.”
At this astonishing declaration, which Harrington made very quietly, they all stared. Even Muriel looked amazed. But Harrington, unconscious of their wondering looks, sat in sad abstraction, brooding on his forlorn determination.
“That will compromise no one but the captain of the brig,” he said presently. “A writ of habeas corpus would involve Atkins, but a rescue of this sort concerns only myself and that captain.”
“But, dear John,” said Emily, with a slight shiver, “there will be men on board the vessel, and they will never permit this.”
Harrington’s broad nostrils quivered in the marble stillness of his face, and his blue eyes gleamed.
“It will go hard with any men who step between me and my purpose to-night,” he said, in a low, quiet voice, which made their blood thrill. “The strength of ten is in me now, and I will cripple whoever undertakes to oppose me. If they outnumber these naked hands, I have my pistols. I will not be balked. If Antony is on board the Soliman, I will take him away with me, or leave my body beside him. Gladly would I respect the law and order of society, but it is the day of slavers and traders, and civilization sleeps.”
“Yes,” impetuously cried Wentworth, “and when civilization sleeps, up, gentlemen and chevaliers, for it is the hour of chivalry!”
Harrington looked calmly into his glowing and electric face.