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.”