He was smoking a foul pipe,
whose fumes hung heavily upon the air of that little chamber, and there
was a bottle of Nantes at his elbow.
To him, sitting thus in state, was Sir Oliver introduced--his wrists
still pinioned behind him. He was haggard and hollow-eyed, and he
carried a week's growth of beard on his chin. Also his garments were
still in disorder from the struggle he had made when taken, and from the
fact that he had been compelled to lie in them ever since.
Since his height was such that it was impossible for him to stand
upright in that low-ceilinged cabin, a stool was thrust forward for him
by one of the ruffians of Leigh's crew who had haled him from his
confinement beneath the hatchway.
He sat down quite listlessly, and stared vacantly at the skipper.
Master Leigh was somewhat discomposed by this odd calm when he had
looked for angry outbursts. He dismissed the two seamen who fetched Sir
Oliver, and when they had departed and closed the cabin door he
addressed his captive.
"Sir Oliver," said he, stroking his red beard, "ye've been most foully
abused."
The sunshine filtered through one of the horn windows and beat full upon
Sir Oliver's expressionless face.
"It was not necessary, you knave, to bring me hither to tell me so
much." he answered.
"Quite so," said Master Leigh. "But I have something more to add.
Ye'll be thinking that I ha' done you a disservice.
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