“That may be contrived to our common satisfaction, I hope,” says Moll, with a gracious smile.  “I owe you half my estate; share my house at Chislehurst with me till the rest is forthcoming.  That will give me yet a little longer the pleasure of your company.  And there, sir,” turning to me, “you can examine my steward’s accounts for your own satisfaction, and counsel me, mayhap, upon the conduct of my affairs, knowing so much upon matters of business that are incomprehensible to a simple, inexperienced maid.  Then, should you find aught amiss in my steward’s books, anything to shake your confidence in his management, you will, in justice to your friends, in kindness to me, speak your mind openly, that instant reformation may be made.”

Don Sanchez and I expressed our agreement to this proposal, and Moll, turning to the poor, unhappy steward, says in her high tone of authority: 

“You hear how this matter is ordered, Simon.  Take up that purse for your own uses.  Go into the town and send such tradesmen hither as may supply us with proper clothing.  Then to your goldsmith in Lombard Street and bring me back six hundred pounds.”

“Six—­hundred—­pounds!” cries he, hardly above his breath, and with a pause between each word as if to gain strength to speak ’em.

“Six hundred.  Three for these gentlemen and three for my own needs; when that is done, hasten to Chislehurst and prepare my house; and, as you value my favour, see that nothing is wanting when I come there.”

And here, lest it should be thought that Moll could not possibly play her part so admirably in this business, despite the many secret instructions given by the longheaded Don, I do protest that I have set down no more than I recollect, and that without exaggeration.  Further, it must be observed that in our common experience many things happen which would seem incredible but for the evidence of our senses, and which no poet would have the hardihood to represent.  ’Tis true that in this, as in other more surprising particulars to follow, Moll did surpass all common women; but ’tis only such extraordinary persons that furnish material for any history.  And I will add that anything is possible to one who hath the element of greatness in her composition, and that it depends merely on the accident of circumstances whether a Moll Dawson becomes a great saint or a great sinner—­a blessing or a curse to humanity.

CHAPTER XV.

Lay our hands on six hundred pounds and quarter ourselves in Hurst Court, but stand in a fair way to be undone by Dawson, his folly.

The next day comes Simon with a bag of six hundred pounds, which he tells over with infinite care, groaning and mopping his eyes betwixt each four or five pieces with a most rueful visage, so that it seemed he was weeping over this great expenditure, and then he goes to prepare the Court and get servants against Moll’s arrival.  By the end of the week, being furnished with suitable clothing and equipment, Moll and Don Sanchez leave us, though Dawson was now as hale and hearty as ever he had been, we being persuaded to rest at Chatham yet another week, to give countenance to Jack’s late distemper, and also that we might appear less like a gang of thieves.