spot as Chislehurst.  That estate we would have nothing to do with; but, selling it at once, have in its place two houses,—­one city house in the Cheap, and a country house not further from town than Bednal Green, or Clerkenwell at the outside, to the end that when we were fatigued with the pleasures of the town, we might, by an easy journey, resort to the tranquillity of rural life, Dawson declaring what wines he would have laid down in our cellars, I what books should furnish our library, and Moll what dresses she would wear (not less than one for every month of the year), what coaches and horses we should keep, what liveries our servants should wear, what entertainments we would give, and so forth.  Don Sanchez was not excluded from our deliberations; indeed, he encouraged us greatly by approving of all our plans, only stipulating that we would guard one room for him in each of our houses, that he might feel at home in our society whenever he chanced to be in our neighbourhood.  In all these arguments, there was never one word of question from any of us as to the honesty of our design.  We had settled that, once and for all, before starting on this expedition; and since then, little by little, we had come to regard the Godwin estate as a natural gift, as freely to be taken as a blackberry from the hedge.  Nay, I believe Dawson and I would have contested our right to it by reason of the pains we were taking to possess it.

And now, being in the month of June, and our year of exile (as it liked us to call it) nigh at an end, Dawson one night put the question to Don Sanchez, which had kept us fluttering in painful suspense these past six months, whether he had saved sufficient by his labours, to enable us to return to England ere long.

“Yes,” says he, gravely, at which we did all heave one long sigh of relief, “I learn that a convoy of English ships is about to sail from Alicante in the beginning of July, and if we are happy enough to find a favourable opportunity, we will certainly embark in one of them.”

“Pray, Senor,” says I, “what may that opportunity be; for ’tis but two days’ march hence to Alicante, and we may do it with a light foot in one.”

“The opportunity I speak of,” answers he, “is the arrival, from Algeria, of a company of pirates, whose good service I hope to engage in putting us aboard an English ship under a flag of truce as redeemed slaves from Barbary.”

“Pirates!” cry we, in a low breath.

“What, Senor!” adds Dawson, “are we to trust ourselves to the mercy and honesty of Barbary pirates on the open sea?”

“I would rather trust to their honesty,” answers the Don, dropping his voice that he might not be heard by Moll, who was leading home the goats, “than to the mercy of an English judge, if we should be brought to trial with insufficient evidence to support our story.”

Jack and I stared at each other aghast at this talk of trial, which had never once entered into our reckoning of probabilities.