But he saw that it was, indeed, aboy. Fifty-fifty, right down the middle. At that range it was not badshooting, but the deck erupted in a chorus of jeers and whistles. Ned had been with Sir Francis for so many years that he could beforgiven such familiarity.
He knew that if he crossed Cumbrae he would probably end up in the pitwith Llewellyn and the sailors from the Golden Bough. Clearly Vincent Winterton was a swordsman of superiorability but he had been forced to call upon all his skill to survivethat first blazing attack. Hal sensed his amusement, and rounded on him. Dimly now I think that I can remember your hands and your words ofcomfort.
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