"Thou hast my answer," I said. "I will not join thee."
The pirate's face had changed, and had grown dark with anger. Although he endeavored to conceal his wrath, his eyes sparkled with rage, and his hand played with the hilt of his sword.
"Thou hadst best reconsider my offer," he said in a low, fierce voice. "We have a short way of dealing with those who thwart us."
"I have decided," I replied. "I am willing to abide by my decision."
He arose to his feet, and stood looking at me a moment; then picking up his candle, he left the room. The bolt turned in its socket; his footsteps died away; and I was left to my own meditations.
They were far from pleasant; afloat on the seas in the hands of a man who knew no law save his own will; shut off from all help, I was indeed in a not-to-be-envied position.
My thoughts turned to London. What did my old friends think had become of me? What did Bobby Vane think? Good old Bobby! How many times had we explored the city by moonlight. How many escapades we had had together, in the ten years we had been in London. We had been more like brothers than friends.
And then there were a score of others, boon companions, with whom I had laughed and drank and feasted; had frequented the playhouses, and seen the puppet shows with their tinsel and glitter. What did they think of me—or care?
Well, it was the way of the world. We have our little day, our little jest, our little song, and then the night falls, and shuts out the last faint gleam of the setting sun. As travelers who pass upon the road, we meet—a moment's greeting; then the journey is resumed, and we disappear in the deepening gloom. And so thinking I fell asleep.
Then passed long uneventful days and nights, during which I saw only the sailor who had first brought my meals, and who had told me his name was Herrick. Three times a day he brought my food, and stood by me, sullen and morose, while I ate. When I finished, he would take the platter and candle and leave me, locking the heavy bolt behind him. All my efforts to draw him into a conversation proved vain; he would not be drawn out, or answer any of my questions.