“A man!  Where?”

He made a motion forwards to look over the edge, but checked himself, and crouched down close against the rock.

“Lie down!” he murmured in a hoarse whisper.  “Lie down low and look over.”

My arm was clutched as though by a vice.  I sank down flat, and peered over the edge.

“It’s a man,” I said, “not fifty yards off, and coming this way.  He has on a red shirt, and is watching the sea just as you did.  I don’t think that he saw us.”

“For the Lord’s sake don’t move.  Look; is he tall and dark?”

His terrified excitement was dreadful.  I thought I should have had to shriek with pain, so tightly he clutched me, but found voice to answer—­

“Yes, he seems tall, and dark too, though I can’t well see at—­”

“Has he got earrings?”

“I can’t see; but he walks with a stoop, and seems to have a sword or something slung round his waist.”

“God defend us! that’s he!  Curse him, curse him!  Lie down—­lie down, I say!  It’s death if he catches sight of us.”

We cowered against the rock.  My companion’s face was livid, and his lips worked as though fingers were plucking at them, but made no sound.  I never saw such abject, hopeless terror.  We waited thus for a full minute, and then I peered over the ledge again.

He was almost directly beneath us now, and was still watching the sea.  At his side hung a short sheath, empty.  I could not well see his face, but the rings in his ears glistened in the sunlight.

I drew back cautiously, for my companion was plucking at my jacket.

“Listen,” he said—­and his hoarse voice was sunk so low that I could scarcely catch his words—­“Listen.  If he catches us it’s death—­ death to me, but perhaps he may let you off, though he’s a cold-blooded, murderous devil.  However, there’s no saying but you might get off.  Any way, it’ll be safest for you to have this.  Here, take it quick, and stow it away in your jacket, so as he can’t see it.  For the love of God, look sharp!”

He took something out of a pocket inside his shirt, and forced it into my hands.  What it was I could not see, so quickly he made me hide it in my jacket.  But I caught a glimpse of something that looked like brass, and the packet was hard and heavy.

“It’s death, I say; but you may be lucky.  If he does for me, swear you’ll never give it up to him.  Take your Bible oath you’ll never do that.  And look here:  if I’m lucky enough to get off, swear you’ll give it back.  Swear it.  Say, ‘Strike me blind!’”

He clutched me again.  Shaking and trembling, I gave the promise.

“And look, here’s a letter; put it away and read it after.  If he does for me—­curse him!—­you keep what I’ve given you.  Yes, keep it; it’s my last Will and Testament, upon my soul.  But you ought to go half shares with little Jenny; you ought, you know.  You’ll find out where she lives in that there letter.  But you’ll never give it up to him.  Swear it.  Swear it again.”