“Has more discretion than his niece, since he did not permit her to come alone.”

“Enough.—­Captain Ludlow, let what will follow.  We part as friends.  Fear not, Sir, to touch the hand of a proscribed man, again; it is honest after its own fashion, and many is the peer and prince who keeps not so clean a palm.  Deal tenderly with that gay and rash young sailor; he wants the discretion of an older head, but the heart is kindness itself—­I would hazard life, to shelter his—­but at every hazard the brigantine must be saved.—­Adieu!”

There was strong emotion in the voice of the mariner of the shawl, notwithstanding his high bearing.  Squeezing the hand of Ludlow, he passed back into his own barge, with the ease and steadiness of one who made the ocean his home.

“Adieu!” he repeated, signing to his men to pull in the direction of the shoals, where it was certain the ship could not follow.  “We may meet again; until then, adieu.”

“We are sure to meet, with the return of light.”

“Believe it not, brave gentleman.  Our lady will thrust the spars under her girdle, and pass a fleet unseen.—­A sailor’s blessing on you—­fair winds and a plenty; a safe landfall, and a cheerful home!  Deal kindly by the boy, and, in all but evil wishes to my vessel, success light on your ensign!”

The seamen of both boats dashed their oars into the water at the same instant, and the two parties were quickly without the hearing of the voice.

Chapter XXVII.

              “—­Did I tell this,
    Who would believe me?”

Measure for Measure.

The time of the interview related in the close of the preceding chapter, was in the early watches of the night.  It now becomes our duty to transport the reader to another, that had place several hours later, and after day had dawned on the industrious burghers of Manhattan.

There stood, near one of the wooden wharves which lined the arm of the sea on which the city is so happily placed, a dwelling around which there was every sign that its owner was engaged in a retail commerce, that was active and thriving, for that age and country.  Notwithstanding the earliness of the hour, the windows of this house were open; and an individual, of a busy-looking face, thrust his head so often from one of the casements, as to show that he already expected the appearance of a second party in the affair that had probably called him from his bed, even sooner than common.  A tremendous rap at the door relieved his visible uneasiness; and, hastening to open it, he received his visiter, with much parade of ceremony, and many protestations of respect, in person.

“This is an honor, my lord, that does not often befall men of my humble condition,” said the master of the house, in the flippant utterance of a vulgar cockney; “but I thought it would be more agreeable to your lordship, to receive the a—­a—­here, than in the place where your lordship, just at this moment, resides.  Will your lordship please to rest yourself, after your lordship’s walk?”