The Pirate Story Megapack. R.M. Ballantyne

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СКАЧАТЬ it in a low tone, and in a dialect of which not one word was intelligible to us. Finally, Ali Oukadi, rising from his cushions, says gravely, addressing Dawson:

      “I will write without delay to Sidi ben Ahmed in answer to his letter.”

      “But my daughter,” says Dawson, aghast, and as well as he could in the Moorish tongue. “Am I not to have her?”

      “My friend says nothing here,” answers the old man, regarding the letter, “nothing that would justify my giving her up to you. He says the money shall be paid upon her being brought safe to Elche.”

      “Why, your Excellency, I and my comrade here will undertake to carry her safely there. What better guard should a daughter have than her father?”

      “Are you more powerful than the elements? Can you command the tempest? Have you sufficient armament to combat all the enemies that scour the seas? If any accident befall you, what is this promise of payment?—Nothing.”

      “At least, you will suffer me to make this voyage with my child.”

      “I do not purpose to send her to Elche,” returned the old man, calmly. “’Tis a risk I will not undertake. I have said that when I am paid three thousand ducats, I will give Lala Mollah freedom, and I will keep my word. To send her to Elche is a charge that does not touch my compact. This I will write and tell my friend, Sidi ben Ahmed, and upon his payment and expressed agreement I will render you your daughter. Not before.”

      We could say nothing for a while, being so foundered by this reverse; but at length Dawson says in a piteous voice:

      “At least you will suffer me to see my daughter. Think, if she were yours and you had lost her—believing her a while dead—”

      Mohand ou Mohand muttered a few words that seemed to fix the old Moor’s wavering resolution.

      “I cannot agree to that,” says he. “Your daughter is becoming reconciled to her position. To see you would open her wounds afresh to the danger of her life, maybe. Reflect,” adds he, laying his hand on the letter, “if this business should come to nought, what could recompense your daughter for the disappointment of those false hopes your meeting would inspire? It cannot be.”

      With this he claps his hands, and a servant, entering at a nod from his master, lifts the hangings for us to go.

      Dawson stammered a few broken words of passionate protest, and then breaking down as he perceived the folly of resisting, he dropped his head and suffered me to lead him out. As I saluted the Moors in going, I caught, as I fancied, a gleam of triumphant gladness in the dark eyes of Mohand ou Mohand.

      Coming back to the place where we had hid our bundles, Dawson cast himself on the ground and gave vent to his passion, declaring he would see his Moll though he should tear the walls down to get at her, and other follies; but after a time he came to his senses again so that he could reason, and then I persuaded him to have patience, and forbear from any outburst of violence such as we had been warned against, showing him that certainly Don Sanchez, hearing of our condition, would send the money speedily, and so we should get Moll by fair means instead of losing her (and ourselves) by foul; that after all, ’twas but the delay of a week or so that we had to put up with, and so forth. Then, discussing what we should do next, I offered that we should return to Elche and make our case known rather than trust entirely to Ali Oukadi’s promise of writing; for I did suspect some treacherous design on the part of Mohand ou Mohand, by which Mrs. Godwin failing of her agreement, he might possess himself of Moll; and this falling in with Dawson’s wishes, we set out to return to Alger forthwith. But getting to Alger half-dead with the fatigue of trudging all that distance in the full heat of the day, we learnt to our chagrin that no ship would be sailing to Elche for a fortnight at the least, and all the money we had would not tempt any captain to carry us there; so here were we cast down again beyond everything for miserable, gloomy apprehensions.

      After spending another day in fruitless endeavour to obtain a passage, nothing would satisfy Dawson’s painful, restless spirit but we must return to Thadviir; so thither we went once more to linger about the palace of Ali Oukadi, in the poor hope that we might see Moll come out to take the air.

      One day as we were standing in the shade of the garden wall, sick and weary with dejection and disappointment, Dawson, of a sudden, starts me from my lethargy by clutching my arm and raising his finger to bid me listen and be silent. Then straining my ear, I caught the distant sound of female voices, but I could distinguish not one from another, though by Dawson’s joyous, eager look I perceived he recognised Moll’s voice amongst them. They came nearer and nearer, seeking, as I think, the shade of those palm trees which sheltered us. And presently, quite close to us, as if but on the other side of the wall, one struck a lute and began to sing a Moorish song; when she had concluded her melancholy air a voice, as if saddened by the melody, sighed:

      “Ah me! ah me!”

      There was no misdoubting that sweet voice: ’twas Moll’s. Then very softly Dawson begins to whistle her old favourite ditty “Hearts will break.” Scarce had he finished the refrain when Moll within took it up in a faint trembling voice, but only a bar, to let us know we were heard; then she fell a-laughing at her maids, who were whispering in alarm, to disguise her purpose; and so they left that part, as we knew by their voices dying away in the distance.

      “She’ll come again,” whispers Dawson, feverishly.

      And he was in the right; for, after we had stood there best part of an hour, we hear Moll again gently humming “Hearts will break,” but so low, for fear of being heard by others, that only we who strained so hard to catch a sound could be aware of it.

      “Moll, my love!” whispers Dawson, as she comes to an end.

      “Dear father!” answers she, as low.

      “We are here—Kit and I. Be comforted, sweet chuck—you shall be free ere long.”

      “Shall I climb the wall?” asks she.

      “No, no—for God’s sake, refrain!” says I, seeing that Jack was half minded to bid her come to him. “You will undo all—have patience.”

      At this moment other voices came to us from within, calling Lala Mollah; and presently the quick witch answers them from a distance, with a laugh, as if she had been playing at catch-who-can.

      Then Dawson and I, turning about, discovered to our consternation Ali Oukadi standing quite close beside us, with folded arms and bent brows.

      “You are unwise,” says he, in a calm tone.

      “Nay, master,” says Jack, piteously. “I did but speak a word to my child.”

      “If you understand our tongue,” adds I, “you will know that we did but bid her have patience, and wait.”

      “Possibly,” says he. “Nevertheless, you compel me henceforth to keep her a close prisoner, when I would give her all the liberty possible.”

      “Master,” says Jack, imploring, “I do pray you not to punish her for my fault. Let her still have the freedom of your garden, and I promise you we will go away this day and return no more until we can purchase her liberty for ever.”

      “Good,” says the old man, “but mark you keep your promise. Know that ’tis an offence against the law to incite a slave to revolt. I tell you this, not as a threat, for I bear you no ill will, but as a warning to СКАЧАТЬ