CHAPTER III. Left to Capting Roding, as he told me hisself, you’d be in prison this moment. Darrell stood erect in the bark, with his drawn sword in hand, prepared to repel the attack of his assailants, who, in their turn, seemed to await with impatience the moment which should deliver him into their power. Grasping it firmly with both hands, he quickly wrenched if from the stones in which it was mortised, and leapt to the ground. I shall still wear your favor—even if it is a stolen and forbidden favor—in my casque.
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