The Pirate Story Megapack. R.M. Ballantyne

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СКАЧАТЬ he put back with the stem of his pipe a little curl that had strayed over her eyes. She was not amiss for looks thus, with her long eyelashes lying like a fringe upon her cheeks, her lips open, showing her good white teeth, and the glow of the firelight upon her face; but her attitude and the innocent, happy expression of her features made up a picture which seemed to me mighty pretty.

      “Where is her mother?” asks Don Sanchez, presently; and Dawson, without taking his eyes from Moll’s face, lifts his pipe upwards, while his big thick lips fell a-trembling. Maybe, he was thinking of his poor Betty as he looked at the child’s face.

      “Has she no other relatives?” asks the Don, in the same quiet tone; and Jack shakes his head, still looking down, and answers lowly:

      “Only me.”

      Then after another pause the Don asks:

      “What will become of her?”

      And that thought also must have been in Jack Dawson’s mind; for without seeming surprised by the question, which appeared a strange one, he answers reverently, but with a shake in his hoarse voice, “Almighty God knows.”

      This stilled us all for the moment, and then Don Sanchez, seeing that these reflections threw a gloom upon us, turned to me, sitting next him, and asked if I would give him some account of my history, whereupon I briefly told him how three years ago Jack Dawson had lifted me out of the mire, and how since then we had lived in brotherhood. “And,” says I in conclusion, “we will continue with the favour of Providence to live so, sharing good and ill fortune alike to the end, so much we do love one another.”

      To this Jack Dawson nods assent.

      “And your other fellow—what of him?” asked Don Sanchez.

      I replied that Ned Herring was but a fair-weather friend, who had joined fortunes with us to get out of London and escape the Plague, and how having robbed us, we were like never to see his face again.

      “And well for him if we do not,” cries Dawson, rousing up; “for by the Lord, if I clap eyes on him, though it be a score of years hence, he shan’t escape the most horrid beating ever man outlived!”

      The Don nodded his satisfaction at this, and then Moll, awaking with the sudden outburst of her father’s voice, gives first a gape, then a shiver, and looking about her with an air of wonder, smiles as her eye fell on the Don. Whereon, still as solemn as any judge, he pulls the bell, and the maid, coming to the room with a rushlight, he bids her take the poor weary child to bed, and the best there is in the house, which I think did delight Dawson not less than his Moll to hear.

      Then Moll gives her father a kiss, and me another according to her wont, and drops a civil curtsey to Don Sanchez.

      “Give me thy hand, child,” says he; and having it, he lifts it to his lips and kisses it as if she had been the finest lady in the land.

      She being gone, the Don calls for a second bowl of spiced wine, and we, mightily pleased at the prospect of another half-hour of comfort, stretch our legs out afresh before the fire. Then Don Sanchez, lighting another cigarro, and setting his chair towards us, says as he takes his knee up betwixt his long, thin fingers:

      “Now let us come to the heart of this business and understand one another clearly.”

      CHAPTER III.

      Of that design which Don Sanchez opened to us at the Bell.

      We pulled our pipes from our mouths, Dawson and I, and stretched our ears very eager to know what this business was the Don had to propound, and he, after drawing two or three mouthfuls of smoke, which he expelled through his nostrils in a most surprising unnatural manner, says in excellent good English, but speaking mighty slow and giving every letter its worth:

      “What do you go to do tomorrow?”

      “The Lord only knows,” answers Jack, and Don Sanchez, lifting his eyebrows as if he considers this no answer at all, he continues: “We cannot go hence with none of our stage things; and if we could, I see not how we are to act our play, now that our villain is gone, with a plague to him! I doubt but we must sell all that we have for the few shillings they will fetch to get us out of this hobble.”

      “With our landlord’s permission,” remarks Don Sanchez, dryly.

      “Permission!” cries Dawson, in a passion. “I ask no man’s permission to do what I please with my own.”

      “Suppose he claims these things in payment of the money you owe him. What then?” asks the Don.

      “We never thought of that, Kit,” says Dawson, turning to me in a pucker. “But ’tis likely enough he has, for I observed he was mighty careless whether we found our thief or not. That’s it, sure enough. We have nought to hope. All’s lost!”

      With that he drops his elbows on his knees, and stares into the fire with a most desponding countenance, being in that stage of liquor when a man must either laugh or weep.

      “Come, Jack,” says I. “You are not used to yield like this. Let us make the best of a bad lot, and face the worst like men. Though we trudge hence with nothing but the rags on our backs, we shall be no worse off tomorrow than we were this morning.”

      “Why, that’s true enough!” cries he, plucking up his courage. “Let the thieving rascal take our poor nag and our things for his payment, and much good may they do him. We will wipe this out of our memory the moment we leave his cursed inn behind us.”

      It seemed to me that this would not greatly advance us, and maybe Don Sanchez thought the same, for he presently asks:

      “And what then?”

      “Why, Señor,” replies Dawson, “we will face each new buffet as it comes, and make a good fight of it till we’re beat. A man may die but once.”

      “You think only of yourselves,” says the Don, very quietly.

      “And pray, saving your Señor’s presence, who else should we think of?”

      “The child above,” answers the Don, a little more sternly than he had yet spoken. “Is a young creature like that to bear the buffets you are so bold to meet? Can you offer her no shelter from the wind and rain but such as chance offers? make no provision for the time when she is left alone, to protect her against the evils that lie in the path of friendless maids?”

      “God forgive me,” says Jack, humbly. And then we could say nothing, for thinking what might befall Moll if we should be parted, but sat there under the keen eye of Don Sanchez, looking helplessly into the fire. And there was no sound until Jack’s pipe, slipping from his hand, fell and broke in pieces upon the hearth. Then rousing himself up and turning to Don Sanchez, he says:

      “The Lord help her, Señor, if we find no good friend to lend us a few shillings for our present wants.”

      “Good friends are few,” says the Don, “and they who lend need some better security for repayment than chance. For my own part, I would as soon fling straws to a drowning man as attempt to save you and that child from ruin by setting you on your feet today only to fall again tomorrow.”

      “If that be so, Señor,” says I, “you had some larger view in mind than that of offering temporary relief to our misery when you gave СКАЧАТЬ