“I can feel for you,” says Mrs. Godwin at length, addressing Dawson, “for I also have lost an only child.”

“Your daughter Judith, Madam?” says I.

“She died two years ago.  Yours still lives,” says she, again turning to Dawson, who sat with a haggard face, rocking himself like one nursing a great pain.  “And while there is life, there’s hope, as one says.”

“Why, to be sure,” says Jack, rousing himself.  “This is no more, Kit, than we bargained for.  Tell me, Madam, you who know that country, do you think a carpenter would be held in esteem there?  I’m yet a strong man, as you see, with some good serviceable years of life before me.  D’ye think they’d take me in exchange for my Moll, who is but a bit of a girl?”

“She is beautiful, and beauty counts for more than strength and abilities there, poor man,” says she.

“I’ll make ’em the offer,” says he, “and though they do not agree to give her freedom, they may yet suffer me to see her time and again, if I work well.”

“’Tis strange,” says she.  “Your child has told me all your history.  Had I learnt it from other lips, I might have set you down for rogues, destitute of heart or conscience; yet, with this evidence before me, I must needs regard you and your dear daughter as more noble than many whose deeds are writ in gold.  ’Tis a lesson to teach me faith in the goodness of God, who redeems his creatures’ follies, with one touch of love.  Be of good cheer, my friend,” adds she, laying her thin hand on his arm.  “There is hope.  I would not have accepted this ransom—­no, not for all your daughter’s tears and entreaties—­without good assurance that I, in my turn, might deliver her.”

I asked the old gentlewoman how this might be accomplished.

“My niece,” says she, dwelling on the word with a smile, as if happy in the alliance, “my niece, coming to Barbary of her free will, is not a slave like those captured in warfare and carried there by force.  She remains there as a hostage for me, and will be free to return when I send the price of my ransom.”

“Is that a great sum?”

“Three thousand gold ducats,—­about one thousand pounds English.”

“Why, Madam,” says Dawson, “we have nothing, being now reduced to our last pieces.  And if you have the goodness to raise this money, Heaven only knows how long it may be ere you succeed.  ’Tis a fortnight’s journey, at the least, to England, and then you have to deal with your steward, who will seek only to put obstacles in your way, so that six weeks may pass ere Moll is redeemed, and what may befall her in the meantime?”

“She is safe.  Ali Oukadi is a good man.  She has nought to fear while she is under his protection.  Do not misjudge the Moors.  They have many estimable qualities.”

“Yet, Madam,” says I, “by your saying there is hope, I gather there must be also danger.”

“There is,” answers she, at which Jack nods with conviction.  “A beautiful young woman is never free from danger” (Jack assents again).  “There are good and bad men amongst the Moors as amongst other people.”