“How do you know you would get your money again, Banks?” I asked curiously.

“No fear, sir,” he replied promptly, actually brightening at the prospect.  “I knows gentlemen, sir, them that are such, sir.  And I will go to America with you, and you say the word, sir.”

I was more touched than I cared to show over his offer, which I scarce knew how to refuse.  In truth it was a difficult task, for he pressed me again and again, and when he saw me firm, turned away to wipe his eyes upon his sleeve.  Then he begged me to let him remain and serve me in the sponginghouse, saying that he would pay his own way.  The very thought of a servant in the bailiff’s garret made me laugh, and so I put him off, first getting his address, and promising him employment on the day of my release.

On Wednesday we looked for a reply from Bristol, if not for the appearance of Bell himself, and when neither came apprehension seized us lest he had already sailed for Maryland.  The slender bag of Thursday’s letters contained none for me.  Nevertheless, we both did our best to keep in humour, forbearing to mention to one another the hope that had gone.  Friday seemed the beginning of eternity; the day dragged through I know not how, and toward evening we climbed back to our little room, not daring to speak of what we knew in our hearts to be so,—­that the Sprightly Bess had sailed.  We sat silently looking out over the dreary stretch of roofs and down into a dingy court of Bernard’s Inn below, when suddenly there arose a commotion on the stairs, as of a man mounting hastily.  The door was almost flung from its hinges, some one caught me by the shoulders, gazed eagerly into my face, and drew back.  For a space I thought myself dreaming.  I searched my memory, and the name came.  Had it been Dorothy, or Mr. Carvel himself, I could not have been more astonished, and my knees weakened under me.

“Jack!” I exclaimed; “Lord Comyn!”

He seized my hand.  “Yes; Jack, whose life you saved, and no other,” he cried, with a sailor’s impetuosity.  “My God, Richard! it was true, then; and you have been in this place for three weeks!”

“For three weeks,” I repeated.

He looked at me, at John Paul, who was standing by in bewilderment, and then about the grimy, cobwebbed walls of the dark garret, and then turned his back to hide his emotion, and so met the bailiff, who was coming in.

“For how much are these gentlemen in your books?” he demanded hotly.

“A small matter, your Lordship,—­a mere trifle,” said the man, bowing.

“How much, I say?”

“Twenty-two guineas, five shillings, and eight pence, my Lord, counting debts, and board,—­and interest,” the bailiff glibly replied; for he had no doubt taken off the account when he spied his Lordship’s coach.  “And I was very good to Mr. Carvel and the captain, as your Lordship will discover—­”

“D—­n your goodness!” said my Lord, cutting him short.