"It is not destroyed, Robert Cecil," observed Dalton, calmly pulling a

bundle of papers from his vest: "look here--and here--and here--do you

not know your own hand-writing? you practised me first in deception: I

had not forgotten your kind lessons, when in your presence I committed

forged letters to the flames!"

The man laughed the laugh of contempt and bitter scorn as he held

forward the documents. For a few moments Sir Robert seemed petrified;

his eyes glared on the papers, as if their frozen lids had not the power

of shutting out the horrid proofs of his iniquity. Suddenly he made a

desperate effort to secure them; but the steady eye and muscular arm of

the smuggler prevented it.

"Hands off!" he exclaimed, whirling the Baronet from him, as if he had

been a thing of straw; "you know my power, and you know my terms: there

needs no more palaver about it."

"Will not gold serve your purpose?"

"No, I have enough of that: I want distinction and fame, a free pardon,

and the command of one of your registered and acknowledged plunderers;

or, mayhap, baptism for my own bright little Fire-fly, as the 'Babe of

Grace;' or--But, hang it, no--I'd sink the vessel first, and let her

die, as she has lived, free, free, free! I belong to a civilised set

of beings, and must therefore be a slave, a slave to something or some

one. Noll knows my talents well, knows that I am as good a commander,

ay, and for the matter of that, would be as honest a one as the best."

He paused: the Baronet groaned audibly.

"We have one or two little jobs upon the coasts here of Kent and Essex,

trifles that must, nevertheless, be attended to; but this day month, Sir

Robert Cecil, we meet again. I will not longer keep you from your wife.

Gracious Heaven! where was I when mine expired! But farewell! I would

not detain you for her sweet and gentle sake: she will be rewarded for

her goodness to my child! Remember," he added, closing the door,

"remember--one month, and Hugh Dalton!"




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