And, despite all I could say, he would not budge an inch.  At last I submitted under the threat that he would never after have a word to say to me.  By good luck, when I had paid into Mr. Dix’s hand the thousand pounds I had received from Charles Fox, and cleared my outstanding bills, the sum I remained in Comyn’s debt was not greatly above seven hundred pounds.  And that was the end of Mr. Dix for me; when he had backed himself out in chagrin at having lost his ten per centum, my feelings got the better of me.  The water rushed to my eyes, and I turned my back upon his Lordship.  To conceal his own emotions he fell to swearing like mad.

“Fox will get you something,” he said at length, when he was a little calmed.

I told him, sadly, that my duty took me to America.

“And Dorothy?” he said; “you will leave her?”

I related the whole miserable story (all save the part of the locket), for I felt that I owed it him.  His excitement grew as he listened, until I had to threaten to stop to keep him quiet.  But when I had done, he saw nothing but good to come of it.

“’Od’s life!  Richard, lad, come here!” he cried.  “Give me your hand.  Why, you ass, you have won a thousand times over what you lost.  She loves you!  Did I not say so?  And as for that intriguing little puppy, her father, you have pulled his teeth, egad.  She heard what you said to him, you tell me.  Then he will never deceive her again, my word on’t.  And Chartersea may come back to London, and be damned.”

CHAPTER XLIII

ANNAPOLIS ONCE MORE

Three days after that I was at sea, in the Norfolk packet, with the farewells of my loyal English friends ringing in my ears.  Captain Graham, the master of the packet, and his passengers found me but a poor companion.  But they had heard of my misfortune, and vied with each other in heaping kindnesses upon me.  Nor did they intrude on my walks in the night watches, to see me slipping a locket from under my waistcoat—­ay, and raising it to my lips.  ’Twas no doubt a blessing that I had lesser misfortunes to share my attention.  God had put me in the way of looking forward rather than behind, and I was sure that my friends in Annapolis would help me to an honest living, and fight my cause against Grafton.

Banks was with me.  The devoted soul did his best to cheer me, tho’ downcast himself at leaving England.  To know what to do with him gave me many an anxious moment.  I doubted not that I could get him into a service, but when I spoke of such a thing he burst into tears, and demanded whether I meant to throw him off.  Nor was any argument of mine of use.

After a fair and uneventful voyage of six weeks, I beheld again my native shores in the low spits of the Virginia capes.  The sand was very hot and white, and the waters of the Chesapeake rolled like oil under the July sun.  We were all day getting over to Yorktown, the ship’s destination.  A schooner was sailing for Annapolis early the next morning, and I barely had time to get off my baggage and catch her.  We went up the bay with a fresh wind astern, which died down at night.