The H. Bedford-Jones Pulp Fiction Megapack. H. Bedford-Jones

sir, as to instruments and charts and such, that be your business. But that there gold down below—be there much left?”

      Spence laughed. “Enough to make us all rich men, lads, and Ripperda pays the shot. So speak out freely.”

      “Well, sir, we would be fools to steer for any English port wi’ that gold below,” said Roberts. “The less any one knows of our business, say we, the better! If it please you, Master Spence, we vote to make Boston town, and if the royal governor hears naught o’ that there gold, ’twill be good luck for us!”

      “Very well,” said Spence. “Master Roberts, lay the course for the Azores, and we’ll try our fortune for home!”

      A cheer echoed up from the crew. Spence turned to the girl—met her grave regard.

      “Well, Mistress Betty! Will you be saddened in heart to see the hills of Boston over our bow instead of the chalk cliffs of Dover?”

      A smile lightened in the eyes of the girl as her hand crept into his.

      “Dear Patrick! Hast never read your Bible, then? Dost not remember what Ruth said to the man in whose hand her own lay—even as mine lies in yours?”

      And Patrick Spence laughed out as he looked with her to the west, and the ship swung about to the wind.