It was near noon when he arrived at the cottage, and he had found his mother at work setting out a repast for her two visitors. He went up to his chamber and made a radical change in his garb, appearing, when it was complete, very nearly as we found him on the previous day, save that in place of the high-topped boots he had put on a pair of light, but firm-soled, walking shoes, such as would be easy and safe in climbing the craggy eminence he had in view. The meal had been prepared on his return to the room below, and a plate had been set for him, so he took his place at the board and made a hearty meal with the two seamen. They were his friends, and while they ate together more than one glance passed between them signifying that they were in possession of a common secret; and once they came so near to letting it out by an unguarded remark that Margery was startled. “What is that?” she asked, turning quickly upon the man who had spoken--an old seaman and a good one--named Stephen Harley. “What did you say, Stephen? That you wouldn’t sail in the brig again?” “Bless your dear soul! no,” the poor fellow replied, trembling like an aspen. And a happy thought struck him in his moment of need. “I was sayin’ to Master Percy--God bless him!--’at we shouldn’t none of us been likely to’ve sailed in the dear old brig again--never again--if that king’s ship had overhauled us. And she’d ’a’ done it, ma’am, if it hadn’t been for your boy here. My soul! I wish you could ’ave seen her on the rocks. Hi! I wonder ’f they’ve got any more ships that want to dance over Dead Man’s Reef.” The woman took the answer seriously, never suspecting a hidden meaning. The men, both of them, knew her too well, knew too surely where her sympathies lay, to speak in her hearing of their plans for the future. Had she but suspected an intent on the part of any of the crew to forsake their chief, she would be sure to give him warning. Percy finished his meal, and having bidden his two friends an affectionate adieu, he left the cottage, feeling freer and lighter of heart when he was clear of it. It was his home--had been his home since his birth, and his mother presided at the hearthstone, yet he could not love it. Since his father’s death its atmosphere had not been congenial to him. There were times when this feeling was so strong within him that it seemed impossible that he could remain there longer; but his promise to his dying father held him. Not, however, beyond his majority. Now that he had reached the age of one-and-twenty, he was free to go where he pleased. What should hold him after that? Ah! he was on his way to the attraction at that very moment. The bond that held him was not at the cottage. ------- CHAPTER VI. ON WITCH’S CRAG.