In the parts of the letter read to her uncle and the others, Master Newcombe told how, not having heard from them for so long, he had been beginning to be greatly troubled, but the arrival of the Black Swan, which, after touching at Kingston, had continued her course to Barbadoes, had given him new life and hope; and it was his intention, as soon as he could arrange his affairs, to come to Jamaica, and there say by word of mouth and do, in his own person, so much for which a letter was totally inadequate.  The thought of seeing Kate again made him tremble as he walked through his fields.  This was read inadvertently, and Dickory frowned.  Dame Charter frowned too.  She had never supposed that Master Newcombe would come to Spanish Town; she had always looked upon him as a very worthy young farmer; so worthy that he would not neglect his interest by travelling about to other islands than his own.  She did not know exactly how her son felt about all this, nor did she like to ask him, but Dickory saved her the trouble.

“If that Newcombe comes here,” he said, “I am going to fight him.”

“What!” cried his mother.  “You would not do that.  That would be terrible; it would ruin everything.”

“Ruin what?” he asked.

His mother answered diplomatically.  “It would ruin all your fine opportunities in this family.”

Dickory smiled with a certain sarcastic hardness.  “I don’t mean,” said he, “that I am going to hack at him with a sword, because neither he nor I properly know how to use swords, and after the wonderful practice that I have seen, I would not want to prove myself a bungler even if the other man were a worse one.  No, mother, I mean to fight with him by all fair means to gain the hand of my dear Kate.  I love her, and I am far more worthy of her than he is.  He is not a well-disposed man, being rough and inconsiderate in his speech.”  Dickory had never forgiven the interview by the river bank when he had gone to see Madam Bonnet.  “And as to his being a stout lover, he is none of it.  Had he been that, he would long ago have crossed the little sea between Barbadoes and here.”

“Do you mean, you foolish boy,” exclaimed Dame Charter, “to say that you presume to love our Mistress Kate?” And her eyes glowed upon him with all the warmth of a mother’s pride, for this was the wish of her heart, and never absent from it.

“Ay, mother,” said Dickory, “I shall fight for her; I shall show her that I am worthier than he is and that I love her better.  I shall even strive for her if that mad pirate comes back and tries to overset everything.”

“Oh, do it before that!” cried Dame Charter, anxiety in every wrinkle.  “Do it before that!”