p. 97Chapter XII. Captain Ezra Blunt p. 97 Now, the four days I passed at the Stone House I was like to die for weariness and suspense. The routine was unbroken. I ate my breakfast in the kitchen with the woman and the two men watching me; for an hour thence I was free to exercise myself in the courtyard; all the days the grey fog hung dank in the hollow, and the cobbles were wet and slippery. The silent Bart was always within reach of me; Martin watched me from the door, and the hound raved by the steps. Thence I was locked in my room for the remainder of the morning; again brought down for dinner, again to exercise in the courtyard; finally to be locked in my room for the night. At dark, Mother Mag brought me my supper of bread and water; ere midnight, Martin surveyed my room, to be assured that I was not attempting to break out. I saw nothing of Roger Galt all this while. I assumed that he had ridden away from the Stone House; through the parting in the floor I could hear of a night only the mumblings of Martin and Mother Mag; Bart p. 98never bore them company. From the certain likeness among the three, I came to believe them all of the one evil brood; the age of the hag, I thought, should make her their grandame, though Martin treated her and Bart with the sneering insolence which he displayed towards me. I knew that they expected daily the arrival of Captain Ezra Blunt, who, I gathered from Martin, was master of the brig, Black Wasp,—whether he was trader, smuggler, or pirate of the American coasts I did not learn, but rather assumed, and dreaded all the more the life awaiting me aboard. p. 98 But of Mr. Bradbury all this while? Was he dead? Or was he searching for me, and on that lawless coast finding officers of the law poor assistance to him? Would he yet come to the Stone House, and would he come in time? Now, the grey afternoon of the fourth day, I was looking drearily out of my window, when I heard a voice calling from the gate. Mother Mag, hobbling from the house, admitted Roger Galt; he rode up, mounted on his great horse; by the flush of his reckless face and by his rolling in saddle, he had been drinking deeply. Spying me at the window, he essayed to flourish his hat, and almost fell from his horse in this p. 99endeavour. I heard him presently wrangling with Martin in the room below, the deep booming of his voice, the smash of a glass, as if he had failed to pour himself a dram, or had slung a goblet at Martin’s head. But I paid little heed to him, for my acute interest in the fellows whom Mother
Prev.
Back
Top