"Why dost thou detain me here?"
"I have told thee once," he answered; "it is not necessary to repeat it."
"Granting that," I said; "in case of my refusal, what dost thou intend to do with me?"
"I shall take thee with me to my rendezvous; shall keep thee until thou dost change thy mind. If thou wilt not join us after a reasonable time—why, dead men tell no tales." And as he said this, his black eyes narrowed to a mere slit.
He gazed at me a moment, then, turning his back, walked to where the pirates, whose boat had arrived, were scrambling aboard the vessel.
I was about to follow him, when my attention was attracted to two seamen who came up the companionway, bearing between them a man. They came forward to where I stood alone, and as they neared, I looked at the burden in their arms. It was not—could not be? Yes, it was the gentleman to whose rescue I had come on the street of London, and to whom I owed my present situation.
The confinement had told on him, great hollows were under his eyes, his cheeks were wan and thin; no wonder I looked at him twice before I knew him. The seamen brought him forward to where I stood, and there deposited him, as though he were a bundle of goods.
I believe he did not know me when he raised his eyes blankly to my face, but as he looked at me a moment, the light of recognition crept into them, and he held out his hand in greeting, with a smile.
"Pardon me, that I did not at first know thee, but thou must remember that I only saw thee a moment in the moonlight, when we were both engaged, and this cursed imprisonment has so worked upon me, that I hardly believe I would know my own mother, could I see her."