“Miss Kate, if you please,” said the girl.  “And it is well, Dickory, you did not know, for then you might have jumped upon him and stuck him in the back, and that would have been dishonourable.”

“He thought,” said Dickory, not in the least abashed by his reproof, “that the Revenge was commanded by your father, for he sprang upon the deck, shouting for the captain, and when he saw Blackbeard I heard him exclaim in surprise, ‘A sugar-planter!’”

“And he would have killed my father?” said Kate, turning pale at the thought.

“Yes,” replied Dickory, “he would have killed any man except the great Blackbeard.  And to think of it!  I stood there watching them, and wishing that vile Englishman the victory.  Oh, Kate! you should have seen that wonderful pirate fight.  No man could have stood before him.”  Then, with sparkling eyes and waving arms, he told her of the combat.  When he had finished, the souls of these two young people were united in an overpowering admiration, almost reverence, for the prowess and strength of the wicked and bloody pirate who had slain the captain of the Badger.

When Mr. Delaplaine came on board, Kate, who had been waiting, took him aside.

“Uncle,” she exclaimed, “I have great news.  Captain Vince is dead.  At last he came up with the Revenge, but instead of finding my father in command he found Blackbeard, who killed him.  Now my father is safe!”

The good man scarcely knew what to say to this bright-faced girl, whose father’s safety was all the world to her.  If he had heard that his worthless and wicked brother-in-law had been killed, it would have been trouble and sorrow for the present, but it would have been peace for the future.  But he was a Christian gentleman and a loving uncle, and he banished this thought from his heart.  He listened to Kate as she rapidly went on talking, but he did not hear her; his mind was busy with the news he had to tell her—­the news that she must give up her loving search and go back with him to Spanish Town.

“And now, uncle,” said Kate, “there’s another thing I want to say to you.  Since this great grief has been lifted from my soul, since I know that no wrathful and vindictive captain of a man-of-war is scouring the seas, armed with authority to kill my father and savage for his life, I feel that it is not right for me to put other people who are so good to me to sad discomfort and great expense to try to follow my father into regions far away, and to us almost unknown.

“Some day he will come back into this part of the world, and I hope he may return disheartened and weary of his present mode of life, and then I may have a better chance of winning him back to the domestic life he used to love so much.  But he is safe, uncle, and that is everything now, and so I came to say to you that I think it would be well for us to relieve this kind Captain Ichabod from the charges and labours he has taken upon himself for our sakes and, if it be possible, engage that ship yonder to take us back to Jamaica; she was sailing in that direction, and her captain might be induced to touch at Kingston.  This is what I have been thinking about, dear uncle, and do you not agree with me?”