The Pirate Story Megapack. R.M. Ballantyne

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СКАЧАТЬ this conjuncture I thought it advisable to steal softly away to the bend of the road; for surely any one coming this way by accident, and finding them locked together thus in tender embrace on the king’s highway, would have fallen to some gross conclusion, not understanding their circumstances, and so might have offended their delicacy by some rude jest. And I had not parted myself here a couple of minutes, ere I spied a team of four stout horses coming over the brow of the hill, drawing the stage waggon behind them which plies betwixt Sevenoaks and London. This prompting me to a happy notion, I returned to the happy, smiling pair, who were now seated again upon the bridge, hand in hand, and says I:

      “My dear friends—for so I think I may now count you, sir, as well as my Mistress Judith here—the waggon is coming down the hill, by which I had intended to go to London this morning upon some pressing business. And so, Madam, if your cousin will take my horse and conduct you back to the Court, I will profit by this occasion and bid you farewell for the present.”

      This proposal was received with evident satisfaction on their part, for there was clearly no further thought of parting; only Moll, alarmed for the proprieties, did beg her lover to lift her on her horse instantly. Nevertheless, when she was in her saddle, they must linger yet, he to kiss her hands, and she to bend down and yield her cheek to his lips, though the sound of the coming waggon was close at hand.

      Scarcely less delighted than they with this surprising strange turn of events, I left ’em there with bright, smiling faces, and journeyed on to London, and there taking a pair of oars at the Bridge to Greenwich, all eagerness to give these joyful tidings to my old friend, Jack Dawson. I found him in his workroom, before a lathe, and sprinkled from head to toe with chips, mighty proud of a bed-post he was a-turning. And it did my heart good to see him looking stout and hearty, profitably occupied in this business, instead of soaking in an alehouse (as I feared at one time he would) to dull his care; but he was ever a stout, brave fellow, who would rather fight than give in any day. A better man never lived, nor a more honest—circumstances permitting.

      His joy at seeing me was past everything; but his first thought after our hearty greeting was of his daughter.

      “My Moll,” says he, “my dear girl; you han’t brought her to add to my joy? She’s not slinking behind a door to fright me with delight, hey?”

      “No,” says I; “but I’ve brought you great news of her.”

      “And good, I’ll swear, Kit, for there’s not a sad line in your face. Stay, comrade, wait till I’ve shook these chips off and we are seated in my parlour, for I do love to have a pipe of tobacco and a mug of ale beside me in times of pleasure. You can talk of indifferent things, though, for Lord! I do love to hear the sound of your voice again.”

      I told him how the ceiling of our dining-hall had been painted.

      “Aye,” says he. “I have heard of that; for my dear girl hath writ about that and nought else in her letters; and though I’ve no great fancy for such matters, yet I doubt not it is mighty fine by her long-winded praises of it. Come, Kit, let us in here and get to something fresher.”

      So we into his parlour, which was a neat, cheerful room, with a fine view of the river, and there being duly furnished with a mighty mug of ale and clean pipes, he bids me give him my news, and I tell him how Moll had fallen over head and ears in love with the painter, and he with her, and how that very morning they had come together and laid open their hearts’ desire one to the other, with the result (as I believed) that they would be married as soon as they could get a parson to do their business.

      “This is brave news indeed,” cries he, “and easeth me beyond comprehension, for I could see clearly enough she was smitten with this painter, by her writing of nothing else; and seeing she could not get at his true name and condition, I felt some qualms as to how the matter might end. But do tell me, Kit, is he an honest, wholesome sort of man?”

      “As honest as the day,” says I, “and a nobler, handsomer man never breathed.”

      “God be praised for all things,” says he, devoutly. “Tell me he’s an Englishman, Kit—as Moll did seem to think he was, spite his foreign name—and my joy’s complete.”

      “As true-born an Englishman as you are,” says I.

      “Lord love him for it!” cries he.

      Then coming down to particulars, I related the events of the past few days pretty much as I have writ them here, showing in the end how Mr. Godwin would have gone away, unknown rather than profit by his claim as Sir Richard Godwin’s kinsman, even though Moll should be no better than old Simon would have him believe, upon which he cries, “Lord love him for it, say I again! Let us drink to their health. Drink deep, Kit, for I’ve a fancy that no man shall put his lips to this mug after us.”

      So I drank heartily, and he, emptying the jug, flung it behind the chimney, with another fervent ejaculation of gratitude. Then a shade of sorrow falling on his face as he lay it in his hand, his elbow resting on the table:

      “I’d give best half of the years I’ve got to live,” says he, “to see ’em together, and grasp Mr. Godwin’s hand in mine. But I’ll not be tempted to it, for I perceive clearly enough by what you tell me that my wayward tongue and weakness have been undoing us all, and ruining my dear Moll’s chance of happiness. But tell me, Kit” (straightening himself up), “how think you this marriage will touch our affairs?”

      “Only to better them. For henceforth our prosperity is assured, which otherwise might have lacked security.”

      “Aye, to be sure, for now shall we be all in one family with these Godwins, and this cousin, profiting by the estate as much as Moll, will never begrudge her giving us a hundred or two now and then, for rendering him such good service.”

      “’Twill appease Moll’s compunctions into the bargain,” says I, heedlessly.

      “What compunctions?”

      “The word slipped me unintended,” stammers I; “I mean nothing.”

      “But something your word must mean. Come, out with it, Kit.”

      “Well,” says I, “since this fondness has possessed her, I have observed a greater compunction to telling of lies than she was wont to have.”

      “’Tis my fault,” answers he, sadly. “She gets this leaning to honesty from me.”

      “This very morning,” continues I, “she was, I truly believe, of two minds whether she should not confess to her sweetheart that she was not his cousin.”

      “For all the world my case!” cries he, slapping the table. “If I could only have five minutes in secret with the dear girl, I would give her a hint that should make her profit by my folly.” And then he tells me how, in the heyday of courtship and the flush of confiding love, he did confess to his wife that he had carried gallantry somewhat too far with Sukey Taylor, and might have added a good half dozen other names beside hers but for her sudden outcry; and how, though she might very well have suspected other amours, she did never reproach him therewith, but was for ever to her dying day a-flinging Sukey Taylor in his teeth, etc.

      “Lord, Kit!” cries he, in conclusion; “what would I give to save her from such torment! You know how obedient she is to my guiding, for I have ever studied to make her respect me; and no one in the world hath such empire over her. Could it not be contrived anyhow that we should meet for half an hour secretly?”

      “Not СКАЧАТЬ