The Pirate Story Megapack. R.M. Ballantyne

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ 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.”

      The Don closed his eyes as one in dubitation, and then says, lifting his eyebrows: “She is a clever woman—shrewd beyond any I have ever known; then why treat her as you would a foolish child? You must let me tell her the truth when I come back, and I warrant it will not break her heart, much as she loves you.”

      “As you will,” says t’other. “’Twill be all as one to me,” with a sigh.

      “This falls out well in all ways,” continues the Don, turning to me. “You will tell Simon, whose suspicion we have most to fear, that we have handed over four thousand of those pieces to Captain Evans as being most in need, we ourselves choosing to stay here till the rest of our claim is paid. That will account for Evans going away, and give us a pretext for staying here.”

      “I’ll visit him myself, if you will,” says Jack, “and wring his hand to show my gratitude. I warrant I’ll make him wince, such a grip will I give him. And I’ll talk of nothing else but seas and winds, and the manner of ship I’ll have for his money.”

      The following morning before Moll was stirring, Don Sanchez and Dawson set forth on their journey, and I going with them beyond the park gates to the bend of the road, we took leave of each other with a great show of cheerfulness on both sides. But Lord! my heart lay in my breast like any lump of lead, and when Jack turned his back on me, the tears sprang up in my eyes as though indeed this was my brother and I was never to see him more. And long after he was out of sight I sat on the bank by the roadside, sick with pain to think of his sorrow in going forth like this, without one last loving word of parting from his dear Moll, to find no home in London, no friend to cheer him, and he the most companionable man in the world.

      CHAPTER XVIII.

      Of our getting a painter into the Court, with whom our Moll falls straightway in love.

      Being somewhat of a coward, I essayed to put Moll off with a story of her father having gone a-frolicking with Don Sanchez, leaving it to the Don to break the truth to her on his return. And a sorry, bungling business I made of it, to be sure. For, looking me straight in the eyes, whenever I dared lift them, she did seem to perceive that I was lying, from the very first, which so disconcerted me, though she interrupted me by never a word, that I could scarce stammer to the end of my tale. Then, without asking a single question, or once breaking her painful silence, she laid her face in her hands, her shoulders shook, and the tears ran out between her fingers, and fell upon her lap.

      “I know, I know,” says she, putting me away, when I attempted to speak. “He has gone away for my sake, and will come back no more; and ’tis all my fault, that I could not play my part better.”

      Then, what words of comfort I could find, I offered her; but she would not be consoled, and shut herself up in her room all that morning. Nevertheless, she ate more heartily than I at dinner, and fresh visitors coming in the afternoon, she entertained them as though no grief lay at her heart. Indeed, she recovered of this cruel blow much easier than I looked for; and but that she would at times sit pensive, with melancholy, wistful eyes, and rise from her seat with a troubled sigh, one would have said, at the end of the week, that she had ceased to feel for her father. But this СКАЧАТЬ