The Pirate Story Megapack. R.M. Ballantyne

upon. And I do implore thee, good friend, to lay this matter before my mistress in such a way that she may not be wroth with me.”

      I told him I would do all he could expect of me in reason, but bade him understand that his chance of forgiveness for having broke his first engagement depended greatly upon his exactitude in keeping the second, and that he might count on little mercy from us if the other three thousand were not forthcoming as he promised. So I took the money and gave him a quittance for it, signing it with my false name, James Hopkins, but, reflecting on this when I left him, I wished I had not. For I clearly perceived that by this forgery I laid myself open to very grievous consequences; moreover, taking of this solid money, disguise it how I would, appeared to me nothing short of downright robbery, be it whose it might. In short, being now plunged up to my neck in this business, I felt like a foolish lad who hath waded beyond his depth in a rapid current, hoping I might somehow get out of it safely, but with very little expectation. However, the sight of all this gold told up in scores upon the table in our closed room served to quiet these qualms considerably. Nevertheless, I was not displeased to remember our bargain with Don Sanchez, feeling that I should breathe more freely when he had taken this store of gold out of my hands, etc. Thus did my mind waver this way and that, like a weather-cock to the blowing of contrary winds.

      ‘Twas this day that Moll (as I have said) dressed herself in her Moorish clothes for the entertainment of her new friends, and Dawson, hearing her voice, yet not daring to go into the state room where she was, must needs linger on the stairs listening to her song, and craning his neck to catch a glimpse of her through the open door below. Here he stands in a sort of ravishment, sucking in her sweet voice, and the sounds of delight with which her guests paid tribute to her performance, feeding his passion which, like some fire, grew more fierce by feeding, till he was well-nigh beside himself. Presently, out comes Moll from her state room, all glowing with exercise, flushed with pleasure, a rich colour in her cheek, and wild fire in her eyes, looking more witching than any siren. Swiftly she crosses the hall, and runs up the stairs to gain her chamber and reclothe herself, but half way up Dawson stops her, and clasping her about, cries hoarsely in a transport:

      “Thou art my own Moll—my own sweet Moll!” adding, as she would break from him to go her way, “Nay, chick. You shall not go till you have bussed your old dad.”

      Then she, hesitating a moment betwixt prudence and her warmer feelings, suddenly yields to the impulse of her heart (her head also being turned maybe with success and delight), and flinging her arms about his neck gives him a hearty kiss, and then bursts away with a light laugh.

      Jack watches her out of sight, and then, when the moment of escape is past, he looks below to see if there be any danger, and there he spies Don Sanchez, regarding him from the open door, where he stands, as if to guard it. Without a sign the Don turns on his heel and goes back into the room, while Dawson, with a miserable hangdog look, comes to me in my chamber, where I am counting the gold, and confesses his folly with a shamed face, cursing himself freely for his indiscretion, which at this rate must ruin all ere long.

      This was no great surprise to me, for I myself had seen him many a time clip his dear daughter’s hand, when he thought no one was by, and, more than once, the name of Moll had slipped out when he should have spoken of Mistress Judith.

      These accidents threw us both into a very grave humour, and especially I was tormented with the reflection that a forgery could be proved against me, if things came to the worst. The danger thereof was not slight; for though all in the house loved Moll dearly and would willingly do her no hurt, yet the servants, should they notice how Mistress Judith stood with Captain Evans, must needs be prating, and there a mischief would begin, to end only the Lord knows where! Thereupon, I thought it as well to preach Jack a sermon, and caution him to greater prudence; and this he took in amazing good part—not bidding me tend my own business as he might at another time, but assenting very submissively to all my hints of disaster, and thanking me in the end for speaking my mind so freely. Then, seeing him so sadly downcast, I (to give a sweetmeat after a bitter draught) bade him take the matter not too much to heart, promising that, with a little practice, he would soon acquire a habit of self-restraint, and so all would go well. But he made no response, save by shaking of his head sorrowfully, and would not be comforted. When all were abed that night, we three men met in my chamber, where I had set the bags of money on the table, together with a dish of tobacco and a bottle of wine for our refreshment, and then the Don, having lit him a cigarro, and we our pipes, with full glasses beside us, I proposed we should talk of our affairs, to which Don Sanchez consented with a solemn inclination of his head. But ere I began, I observed with a pang of foreboding, that Jack, who usually had emptied his glass ere others had sipped theirs, did now leave his untouched, and after the first pull or two at his pipe, he cast it on the hearth as though it were foul to his taste. Taking no open notice of this, I showed Don Sanchez the gold, and related all that had passed between Simon and me.

      “Happily, Señor,” says I, in conclusion, “here is just the sum you generously offered to accept for your share, and we give it you with a free heart, Evans and I being willing to wait for what may be forthcoming.”

      “Is it your wish both, that I take this?” says he, laying his hand on the money and looking from me to Dawson.

      “Aye,” says he, “’tis but a tithe of what is left to us, and not an hundredth part of what we owe to you.”

      “Very good,” says the Don. “I will carry it to London tomorrow.”

      “But surely, Señor,” says I, “you will not quit us so soon.”

      Don Sanchez rolls his cigarro in his lips, looking me straight in the face and somewhat sternly, and asks me quietly if I have ever found him lacking in loyalty and friendship.

      “In truth, never, Señor.”

      “Then why should you imagine I mean to quit you now when you have more need of a friend in this house” (with a sideward glance as towards Moll’s chamber) “than ever you before had?” Then, turning towards Jack, he says, “What are you going to do, Captain Evans?”

      Dawson pauses, as if to snatch one last moment for consideration, and then, nodding at me, “You’ll not leave my—Moll, Kit?” says he, with no attempt to disguise names.

      “Why should I leave her; are we not as brothers, you and I?”

      “Aye, I’d trust you with my life,” answers he, “and more than that, with my—Moll! If you were her uncle, she couldn’t love you more, Kit. And you will stand by her, too, Señor?”

      The Don bowed his head.

      “Then when you leave, tomorrow, I’ll go with you to London,” says Jack.

      “I shall return the next day,” says Don Sanchez, with significance.

      “And I shall not, God help me!” says Jack, bitterly.

      “Give me your hand,” says the Don; but I could speak never a word, and sat staring at Jack, in a maze.

      “We’ll say nought of this to her,” continues Jack; “there must be no farewells, I could never endure that. But it shall seem that I have gone with you for company, and have fallen in with old comrades who would keep me for a carousing.”

      “But without friends—alone—what shall you do there in London?” says I, heart-stricken at the thought of his desolation. The Don answers for Jack.

      “Make the best of his lot with a stout heart, like any other brave man,” says he. “There are natural hardships which every man must bear in his time, and this is one of them.” Then lowering his voice, he adds, “Unless you would have her die an old maid, she and her father must part sooner or later.”

      “Why, that’s true, and yet, Master,” says Jack, “I would have you know that I’m not so brave but I would see her now and then.”

      “That may be ordered readily enough,” says the Don.

      “Then do you tell her, Señor, I have but gone a-junketing, and she may look to see me again when my frolic’s over.”

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