“Yes, it is,” interrupted Ichabod, “it’s a very great pity, sir, a very great pity.  If I had known more about ships when I bought the Restless I would have had a faster craft, and by this time I might have been a man of comfortable means.  But that sloop over there, bedad, is so slow, that many a time, sir, I have seen a fat merchantman sail away from her and leave us, in spite of our guns, cursing and swearing, miles behind.  I am sorry to have you leave me, sir, and with your ladies; but, as you say, here’s your chance to get home, and I don’t know when I could give you another.”

Mr. Delaplaine replied courteously and gratefully, and by the next boat he went back to the Restless.  Captain Ichabod, his brow still clouded by the approaching separation, walked over to Lucilla and continued his conversation with her about the island of Barbadoes, a subject of which he knew very little and she nothing.

When Kate returned to the deck she found Dickory alone, Dame Charter having gone to talk to the cook about the wonderful things which had happened, of which she knew very little and he nothing at all.

“Dickory,” said Kate, “I want to talk to you, and that quickly.  I have heard nothing of what has happened to you.  How did you get possession of the letter you brought me, and what do you know of Captain Vince?”

“I can tell you nothing,” he said, without looking at her, “until you tell me what I ought to know about Captain Vince.”  And as he said this he could not help wondering in his heart that there were no signs of grief about her.

“Ought to know?” she repeated, regarding him earnestly.  “Well, you and I have been always good friends, and I will tell you.”  And then she told him the story of the captain of the Badger; of his love-making and of his commission to sail upon the sea and destroy the pirate ship Revenge, and all on board of her.

“And now,” she said, as she concluded, “I think it would be well for you to read this letter.”  And she handed him the missive he had carried so long and with such pain.  He read the bold, uneven lines, and then he turned and looked upon her, his face shining like the morning sky.

“Then you have never loved him?” he gasped.

“Why should I?” said Kate.

In spite of the fact that there were a great many people on board that pirate sloop who might see him; in spite of the fact that there were people in boats plying upon the water who might notice his actions, Dickory fell upon his knees before Kate, and, seizing her hand, he pressed it to his lips.

“Why should I?” said Kate, quietly drawing her hand from him, “for I have a devoted lover already—­Master Martin Newcombe, of Barbadoes.”

Dickory, repulsed, rose to his feet, but his face did not lose its glow.  He had heard so much about Martin Newcombe that he had ceased to mind him.

“To think of it!” he cried, “to think how I stood and watched him fight; how I admired and marvelled at his wonderful strength and skill, his fine figure, and his flashing eye!  How my soul went out to him, how I longed that he might kill that scoundrel Blackbeard!  And all the time he was your enemy, he was my enemy, he was a viler wretch than even the bloody pirate who killed him.  Oh, Kate, Kate! if I had but known.”