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Updated: June 15, 2025
Widow Precious looked down at it, as if to think what an extraordinary thing it was, but truly to hide from the stranger her surprise at the sudden recognition. For Robin Lyth was a foremost favorite of hers, and most useful to her vocation; and neither fifty guineas nor five hundred should lead her to do him an injury.
Then, beautifully handled, she brought to, and was scudding before the wind in another minute, leading them all a brave stern-chase out to sea. "It must be that dare-devil Lyth himself," Nettlebones said, as the Swordfish strained, with all canvas set, but no gain made; "no other fellow in all the world would dare to beard us in this style.
"May it please your good honor and his Majesty's commission," said Brown, in his full, round voice, as he walked down the broadest of the gangways leisurely, "my name is not Robin Lyth, but James Brown, a family man of Grimsby, and an honest trader upon the high seas.
I am not hand in glove with Robin Lyth, or any other Robin. I think a little more of myself than that. If I have done any wrong, I will meet it, and be sorry, and submit to any punishment. I ought to have told you before, perhaps; that is the worst you can say of it. But I never attached much importance to it; and when a man is hunted so, was I to join his enemies?
The nose of their boat was run high upon the shingle; two men on board of her were passing out the bales, while the other four received them, and staggered with them up the cranny. Captain Lyth himself was in the stern-sheets, sitting calmly, but ordering everything, and jotting down the numbers.
"Let the white-livered cowards have their way," the old sailor said, contemptuously. "Put their captain on the top of them. Now which is Robin Lyth?" The lights were burned out, and the cave was dark again, except when a slant of moonlight came through a fissure upon the southern side. The smugglers muttered something, but they were not heeded.
"What have we to do with Robin Lyth? I have heard of him everywhere a villain and a murderer." "God forbid that you should say so! Robin Lyth is your only son."
But to think that a child of mine, my one and only daughter, who looks as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, should be hand in glove with the wickedest smuggler of the age, the rogue everybody shoots at but can not hit him, because he was born to be hanged -the by-name, the by-word, the by-blow, Robin Lyth!" Mrs. Anerley covered her face with both hands.
How it was that little boy I remember it like yesterday came ashore here, and turned out to be Robin Lyth; or at least to be no Robin Lyth at all, but the son of Sir Duncan Yordas. And what happened to the poor man in Bempton Warren." "The poor man died a most miserable death, but I trust sincerely penitent. He had led a sad, ungodly life, and he died at last of wooden legs.
Lord Keppel stood afar off, recovering his breath, and scarcely dared to look askance at the execrable sea. "How cold you are!" Robin Lyth exclaimed. "You must not stay a moment. No talking, if you please though I love your voice so. You are not safe yet. You can not get back round the point. See the waves dashing up against it!
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