“The bodkin!” muttered Ferdinando, who, drawing back to the outskirts of the group, sought to hide himself from view. At that moment Ralph Contempt went to Simon and spoke a low word in the sailing-master’s ear. Hearing it, Ferdinando started with an exclamation of surprise, and then, in evident relief, maintained silence, obedient to the other’s mute command. On this the youth, sauntering unconcernedly toward Vytal, spoke that all might hear him: “An none other can find his tongue, mine must needs confess itself guilty.” His manner became wandering, and he passed a hand across his brow. “The tongue is an unruly member … very mischievous … so mischievous that sometimes the painted devils put cinders on it, and the cinders sizzle to hiss its prayers.” Vytal scrutinized the speaker, first keenly, then with that look of bewilderment which not until lately had been seen in the soldier’s face. “These men fear a second massacre,” added Ralph, more sanely, “and would return to England.” Vytal’s expression went darker yet. “Fools!” he exclaimed, and then with less severity, as a grieved look came into his eyes, “I had not thought to find men turned to sheep—_men_!” He emphasized the last word as though to convey its full meaning to their hearts. His face, resolute, fearless, but more sorrowing now than scornful, imparted some of its own courage to those about him. Ananias Dare, for one, seemed to have lost much of his fear. Vytal alone had the power to fortify his faint heart. In the soldier’s presence he was a different man. “I strove to stop them,” he said, “but the effort was vain.” Yet still Vytal withheld his look from the assistant, for this weakling, all unknowing, was the one man the mere sight of whom could cut him to the quick. “You will return to your duty—_all_!” It was not a question, but a quiet, doubtless command. He stepped aside from the gateway. One after another they filed past him, each more eager than his predecessor to hurry beyond the paling and the captain’s view. Ananias Dare and Ferdinando brought up the rear of this ignominious procession, the one slowly, the other scurrying like a rat. Within the enclosure they all separated silently, each seeming to desire a temporary solitude in the pursuit of his work. “They would defend the town most gallantly against attack,” observed Ralph, dryly. “They _will_,” returned Vytal, emphasizing the change of tense. “But your story is told. They have heard enough. You will strive to forbear hereafter.” The youth smiled. “Forbearance is my chief virtue,” and he went away, leaving his host alone in the cabin.