north to Spain; and a strong south-west wind bore us in ten days to a
coast of high red rocks, where we heard a hunting-horn blow among the
yellow gorse and knew it was England.

'"Now find ye Pevensey yourselves," said Witta. "I love not these narrow
ship-filled seas."

'He set the dried, salted head of the Devil, which Hugh had killed, high
on our prow, and all boats fled from us. Yet, for our gold's sake, we
were more afraid than they. We crept along the coast by night till we
came to the chalk cliffs, and so east to Pevensey. Witta would not come
ashore with us, though Hugh promised him wine at Dallington enough to
swim in. He was on fire to see his wife, and ran into the Marsh after
sunset, and there he left us and our share of gold, and backed out on
the same tide. He made no promise; he swore no oath; he looked for no
thanks; but to Hugh, an armless man, and to me, an old cripple whom he
could have flung into the sea, he passed over wedge upon wedge, packet
upon packet of gold and dust of gold, and only ceased when we would take
no more. As he stooped from the rail to bid us farewell he stripped off
his right-arm bracelets and put them all on Hugh's left, and he kissed
Hugh on the cheek. I think when Thorkild of Borkum bade the rowers give
way we were near weeping. It is true that Witta was an heathen and a
pirate; true it is he held us by force many months in his ship, but I
loved that bow-legged, blue-eyed man for his great boldness, his
cunning, his skill, and, beyond all, for his simplicity.'

'Did he get home all right?' said Dan.

'I never knew. We saw him hoist sail under the moon-track and stand
away. I have prayed that he found his wife and the children.'