An arrow had burst to pieces unaccountably in his bow, numbing his arm and wounding him on the chin, and now he was outpaced at his own game of cold silence.

He grew angry and dug David in the ribs with his elbow.
"Tell that foreigner," he said, "that my master and I have saved his life.

Those Italian cut-throats have run away, and if he is a gentleman he should say 'thank you.'" David hesitated, whereon Dick gave him another dig, harder than the first, and asked if he heard what he said.

Then David obeyed, addressing the Man as "Most Illustrious" as though he were the Doge, and ending his speech with a humble apology in case he should have interrupted his pious thanksgiving.
The Man seemed to awake.

Taking no notice of Day, he addressed himself to Dick, speaking in English and using just that dialect of it to which he, Dick, had been accustomed from his childhood in the neighbourhood of Dunwich.