Almost instantly he released him from his embrace, and, seizing his hand, said, in a wild, gay, almost fierce manner: 

“Come, Henry, lad; I have somewhat to say to you.  Come with me.”

He forced rather than led the amazed youth into the boat, sculled to the schooner, hurried him into the cabin, and shut and locked the door.

We need scarcely say that all this was a matter of the deepest curiosity and interest to those who witnessed it; but they were destined to remain with their curiosity unsatisfied for some time after that.

When Henry Stuart issued from the cabin of the Avenger after that mysterious interview, his countenance wore a surprised and troubled expression.  Gascoyne’s on the contrary, was grave and calm, yet cheerful.  He was more like his former self.

The young man was, of course eagerly questioned as to what had been said to him, and why the pirate had shown such fondness for him; but the only reply that could be got from him was, “I must not tell.  It is a private matter.  You shall know time enough.”

With this answer they were fain to be content.  Even Corrie failed to extract anything more definite from his friend.

A prize crew was put on board the Foam, and the two vessels proceeded towards the harbor of Sandy Cove in company.

Henry and his friends went in the Foam; but Gascoyne was detained a prisoner on board the Talisman.  Montague felt that it was his duty to put him in irons; but he could not prevail on himself to heap unnecessary indignity on the head of one who had rendered him such good service; so he left him at large, intending to put him in irons only when duty compelled him to do so.

During the night a stiff breeze, amounting almost to a gale, of fair wind sprang up, and the two vessels flew towards their destination; but the Foam left her bulky companion far behind.

That night a dark and savage mind was engaged on board the Talisman in working out a black and desperate plot.  Surly Dick saw, in the capture of Gascoyne and the Foam, the end of all his cherished hopes, and in a fit of despair and rage he resolved to be avenged.

This man, when he first came on board the frigate, had not been known as a pirate, and afterwards, as we have seen, he had been treated with leniency on account of his offer to turn informant against his former associates.  In the stirring events that followed, he had been overlooked, and, on the night of which we are writing, he found himself free to retire to his hammock with the rest of the watch.

In the night, when the wind was howling mournfully through the rigging, and the greater part of the crew were buried in repose, this man rose stealthily from his hammock, and, with noiseless tread, found his way to a dark corner of the ship where the eyes of the sentries were not likely to observe him.  Here he had made preparations for his diabolical purpose.  Drawing a flint and steel from his pocket, he proceeded to strike a light.  This was procured in a few seconds; and as the match flared up in his face, it revealed the workings of a countenance in which all the strongest and worst passions of human nature had stamped deep and terrible lines.