I think I am unlucky to you.
Get you home to Spain, Don Miguel, and to concerns that you
understand better than this trade of the sea."
For a long moment the defeated Admiral continued to stare his hatred
in silence, then, still without speaking, he went down the companion,
staggering like a drunken man, his useless rapier clattering behind
him. His conqueror, who had not even troubled to disarm him, watched
him go, then turned and faced those two immediately above him on the
poop. Lord Julian might have observed, had he been less taken up
with other things, that the fellow seemed suddenly to stiffen, and
that he turned pale under his deep tan. A moment he stood at gaze;
then suddenly and swiftly he came up the steps. Lord Julian stood
forward to meet him.
"Ye don't mean, sir, that you'll let that Spanish scoundrel go
free?" he cried.
The gentleman in the black corselet appeared to become aware of his
lordship for the first time.
"And who the devil may you be?" he asked, with a marked Irish accent.
"And what business may it be of yours, at all?"
His lordship conceived that the fellow's truculence and utter lack
of proper deference must be corrected.
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