Both the janizary and the skipper arose as the others entered the room.

“This is the gentleman,” observed Jonathan, introducing Trenchard to the Hollander, “who is about to intrust his young relation to your care.”

“De gentleman may rely on my showing his relation all de attention in my power,” replied Van Galgebrok, bowing profoundly to the knight; “but if any unforseen accident—­such as a slip overboard—­should befal de jonker on de voyage, he mushn’t lay de fault entirely on my shoulders—­haw! haw!”

“Where is he?” asked Sir Rowland, glancing uneasily around.  “I do not see him.”

“De jonker.  He’s here,” returned the skipper, pointing significantly downwards.  “Bring him out, Quilt.”

So saying, he pushed aside the table, and the janizary stooping down, undrew a bolt and opened a trap-door.

“Come out!” roared Quilt, looking into the aperture.  “You’re wanted.”

But as no answer was returned, he trust his arm up to the shoulder into the hole, and with some little difficulty and exertion of strength, drew forth Thames Darrell.

The poor boy, whose hands were pinioned behind him, looked very pale, but neither trembled, nor exhibited any other symptom of alarm.

“Why didn’t you come out when I called you, you young dog?” cried Quilt in a savage tone.

“Because I knew what you wanted me for!” answered Thames firmly.

“Oh! you did, did you?” said the janizary.  “And what do you suppose we mean to do with you, eh?”

“You mean to kill me,” replied Thames, “by my cruel uncle’s command.  Ah! there he stands!” he exclaimed as his eye fell for the first time upon Sir Rowland.  “Where is my mother?” he added, regarding the knight with a searching glance.

“Your mother is dead,” interposed Wild, scowling.

“Dead!” echoed the boy.  “Oh no—­no!  You say this to terrify me—­to try me.  But I will not believe you.  Inhuman as he is, he would not kill her.  Tell me, Sir,” he added, advancing towards the knight, “tell me has this man spoken falsely?—­Tell me my mother is alive, and do what you please with me.”

“Tell him so, and have done with him, Sir Rowland,” observed Jonathan coldly.

“Tell me the truth, I implore you,” cried Thames.  “Is she alive?”

“She is not,” replied Trenchard, overcome by conflicting emotions, and unable to endure the boy’s agonized look.

“Are you answered?” said Jonathan, with a grin worthy of a demon.

“My mother!—­my poor mother!” ejaculated Thames, falling on his knees, and bursting into tears.  “Shall I never see that sweet face again,—­never feel the pressure of those kind hands more—­nor listen to that gentle voice!  Ah! yes, we shall meet again in Heaven, where I shall speedily join you.  Now then,” he added more calmly, “I am ready to die.  The only mercy you can show me is to kill me.”

“Then we won’t even show you that mercy,” retorted the thief-taker brutally.  “So get up, and leave off whimpering.  Your time isn’t come yet.”