“I need not say,” continued Vetch, “how charmed I am to see one who is endeared to me by many old associations.”

“You villain!” I cried, finding my tongue now that I had light upon his doings.  “You have had many lucky escapes, but by heaven you shall not escape this time.”

“Escape!” he said, opening his eyes in feigned astonishment. “’Tis you who will not escape again!”

“You will release me,” I said.

“In my own good time,” he answered.  “A hothead like you will benefit by a period of quiet meditation.”

“You will release me at once,” I said.  “You dare not keep me here.  There are those in Spanish Town and Port Royal who know where I have come:  they will seek me if I do not return to the ship within the expected time, and then you will find a halter round your neck, Cyrus Vetch.”

“Not at all,” he said with a bland smile.  “A messenger will leave here tomorrow with a letter saying that my old friend and schoolfellow, Humphrey Bold, is sick with a fever.  He will have every attention, and a report of his condition shall be sent to his captain—­Captain Vincent, is it not?  I fear Mr. Bold may not have recovered before the fleet sails; it is likely that he may be very ill indeed; ’tis possible he may die!  And Captain Vincent shall know how tenderly he was nursed—­yes, by Mistress Lucy Cludde—­”

“Don’t name her name, you hound!” I cried hotly, stung at last into fury.

“Gently, Mr. Bold,” said he; “you will but aggravate your distemper.  Mistress Lucy Cludde will nurse you—­in my letter; and your captain will think it most natural and commendable seeing that you are her guest, and that it may be regarded there is some slight relationship between you.  And if you should happily recover, why, she may herself accompany you to port and restore you to your comrades.  But that will not be till I please.”

I cried out on him as a scoundrel, though vexed with myself for such mere windiness of utterance.  The truth is, want of sleep and the discomforts of the night were like to throw me into a real fever, and the dismay I felt at this possibility helped me to pull myself together.  When I spoke again ’twas calmly, without heat.

“You are playing a fool’s game,” I said.  “You are exceeding your rights as representative of Sir Richard Cludde, and you may be sure you will be called to a heavy account if you deal wrongfully with the estate or its owner.  Pull up before it is too late; there are sundry things against you in England that will not dispose the courts to show you mercy.”

“Hark to him!” cries Vetch with an evil sneer.  “He turns preacher!  You fool!  Who are you to foist yourself into the concerns of your betters—­a fellow only saved from the gutter by charity!  While the girl is a minor I will deal with this estate as I please; and when she comes of age, then—­”

He paused, an inscrutable look upon his face.