He worked out the hypothesis of the matrimonial offer as he would have reasoned out the probabilities in a law case he was undertaking.

1.  He would rather risk that than lose all hold upon her.  The girl was handsome enough for his ambitious future, wherever it might carry him.  She came of an honorable family, and had the great advantage of being free from a tribe of disagreeable relatives, which is such a drawback on many otherwise eligible parties.  To these considerations were to be joined other circumstances which we need not here mention, of a nature to add greatly to their force, and which would go far of themselves to determine his action.

2.  How was it likely she would look on such an extraordinary proposition?  At first, no doubt, as Lady Anne looked upon the advances of Richard.  She would be startled, perhaps shocked.  What then?  She could not help feeling flattered at such an offer from him,—­him, William Murray Bradshaw, the rising young man of his county, at her feet, his eyes melting with the love he would throw into them, his tones subdued to their most sympathetic quality, and all those phrases on his lips which every day beguile women older and more discreet than this romantic, long-imprisoned girl, whose rash and adventurous enterprise was an assertion of her womanhood and her right to dispose of herself as she chose.  He had not lived to be twenty-five years old without knowing his power with women.  He believed in himself so thoroughly, that his very confidence was a strong promise of success.

3.  In case all his entreaties, arguments, and offers made no impression, should he make use of that supreme resource, not to be employed save in extreme need, but which was of a nature, in his opinion, to shake a resolution stronger than this young girl was like to oppose to it?  That would be like Christian’s coming to his weapon called All-prayer, he said to himself, with a smile that his early readings of Bunyan should have furnished him an image for so different an occasion.  The question was one he could not settle till the time came,—­he must leave it to the instinct of the moment.

The next morning found him early waking after a night of feverish dreams.  He dressed himself with more than usual care, and walked down to the wharf where the Swordfish was moored.  The ship had left the wharf, and was lying out in the stream:  A small boat had just reached her, and a slender youth, as he appeared at that distance, climbed, not over-adroitly, up the vessel’s side.

Murray Bradshaw called to a boatman near by and ordered the man to row him over as fast as he could to the vessel lying in the stream.  He had no sooner reached the deck of the Swordfish than he asked for the young person who had just been put on board.

“He is in the cabin, sir, just gone down with the captain,” was the reply.

His heart beat, in spite of his cool temperament, as he went down the steps leading to the cabin.  The young person was talking earnestly with the captain, and, on his turning round, Mr. William Murray Bradshaw had the pleasure of recognizing his young friend, Mr. Cyprian Eveleth.