"Very good," says the Don. "I will carry it to London to-morrow."
"But surely, Señor," says I, "you will not quit us so soon."
Don Sanchez rolls his cigarro in his lips, looking me straight in the face and somewhat sternly, and asks me quietly if I have ever found him lacking in loyalty and friendship.
"In truth, never, Señor."
"Then why should you imagine I mean to quit you now when you have more need of a friend in this house" (with a sideward glance as towards Moll's chamber) "than ever you before had?" Then, turning towards Jack, he says, "What are you going to do, Captain Evans?"
Dawson pauses, as if to snatch one last moment for consideration, and then, nodding at me, "You'll not leave my Moll, Kit?" says he, with no attempt to disguise names.
"Why should I leave her; are we not as brothers, you and I?"
"Aye, I'd trust you with my life," answers he, "and more than that, with my—Moll! If you were her uncle, she couldn't love you more, Kit. And you will stand by her, too, Señor?"
The Don bowed his head.
"Then when you leave, to-morrow, I'll go with you to London," says Jack.
"I shall return the next day," says Don Sanchez, with significance.
"And I shall not, God help me!" says Jack, bitterly.
"Give me your hand," says the Don; but I could speak never a word, and sat staring at Jack, in a maze.
"We'll say nought of this to her," continues Jack; "there must be no farewells, I could never endure that. But it
