“Ben Greenway,” exclaimed Bonnet, striking his hand upon the table, “you will drive me so mad that I cannot read writing!  These things are bad enough, and you need not make them worse.”

“Bless Heaven,” said the Scotchman, “your conscience is wakin’, an’ the time may come, if it is kept workin’, when ye will forget your plunder an’ your blude, your wicked vanity, your cruelty an’ your dishonesty, an’ mak’ yoursel’ worthy o’ a good daughter an’ a quiet hame.  An’ more than that, I will tak’ leave to add, o’ the faithful services o’ a steadfast friend.”

“I cannot forget them, Ben,” said Bonnet, speaking without anger.  “The more you talk about my sins the more I long to do them all over again; the more you say about my vanity and pride, the more I yearn to wear my uniform and wave my naked sword.  Ay, to bring it down with blood upon its blade.  I am very wicked, Greenway; you never would admit it and you do not admit it now, but I am wicked, and I could prove it to you if fortune would give me opportunity.”  And Captain Bonnet sat up very straight in his chair and his eyes flashed as they very often had flashed as he trod the deck of the Revenge.

At this moment there was a knock at the door and the captain of the Belinda came in.

“Good-day, sir!” said that burly seaman.  “And this is Captain Bonnet, I am sure, for I have seen him before, though garbed in another fashion, and I come to bring you news.  I have just arrived at this port in my sloop, and I bring with me from Kingston your daughter, Mistress Kate Bonnet, her uncle, Mr. Delaplaine, and a good dame named Charter.”

Stede Bonnet turned pale as he had never turned pale before.

“My daughter!” he gasped.  “My daughter Kate?”

“Yes,” said the captain; “she is on my ship, yearning and moaning to see you.”

“From Kingston?” murmured Bonnet.

“Yes,” said the other, “and on fire to see you since she heard you were here.”

“Master Bonnet,” exclaimed Ben Greenway, rising, “we must hasten to that vessel; perhaps this good captain will now tak’ us there in his boat.”

Bonnet fixed his eyes upon the floor.  “Ben Greenway,” he said, “I cannot.  How I have longed to see my daughter, and how, time and again and time and again, I have pictured our meeting!  I have seen her throw herself into the arms of that noble officer, her father; I have heard her, bathed in filial tears, forgive me everything because of the proud joy with which she looked on me and knew I was her father.  Greenway, I cannot go; I have dropped too low, and I am ashamed to meet her.”

“Ashamed that ye are honest?” cried the Scotchman.  “Ashamed that sin nae longer besets ye, an’ that ye are lifted above the thief an’ the cutpurse!  Master Bonnet, Master Bonnet, in good truth I am ashamed o’ ye.”

“Very well,” said the captain of the Belinda, “I have no time to waste; if you will not go to her, she e’en must come to you.  I will send my boat for her and the others, and you shall wait for them here.”