shall seem that I have gone with you for company, and have fallen in with old comrades who would keep me for a carousing."
"But with out friends—alone—what shall you do there in London?" says I, heart-stricken at the thought of his desolation. The Don answers for Jack.
"Make the best of his lot with a stout heart, like any other brave man," says he. "There are natural hardships which every man must bear in his time, and this is one of them." Then lowering his voice, he adds, "Unless you would have her die an old maid, she and her father must part sooner or later."
"Why, that's true, and yet, Master," says Jack, "I would have you know that I'm not so brave but I would see her now and then."
"That may be ordered readily enough," says the Don.
"Then do you tell her, Senor, I have but gone a-junketing, and she may look to see me again when my frolic's over."
The Don closed his eyes as one in dubitation, and then says, lifting his eyebrows: "She is a clever woman—shrewd beyond any I have ever known; then why treat her as you would a foolish child? You must let me tell her the truth when I come back, and I warrant it will not break her heart, much as she loves you."
"As you will," says t'other. "'Twill be all as one to me," with a sigh.
"This falls out well in all ways," continues the Don, turning to me. "You will tell Simon, whose suspicion we have most to fear, that we have handed over four thousand of those pieces to Captain Evans as being most in need, we ourselves choosing to stay here till the rest of our claim is
