r this familiarity; yet was there an
expression of triumphant quietude in his eye, as if he despised the
insinuation of the seaman. "I think, considering all things, you have
been pretty well paid for such acts, Master Dalton; I have never taken
any man's labour for nothing."

"Labour!" again echoed the sailor, "labour may be paid for; but what can
stand in lieu of innocence, purity of heart, and rectitude of conduct?"

"Gold--which you have had, in all its gorgeous and glowing abundance."

"'Two'n't do," retorted the other, in a painfully subdued tone; "there
is much it cannot purchase. Am I not at this moment a banned and a
blighted man--scouted alike from the board of the profligate Cavalier,
and the psalm-singing Puritan of this most change-loving country? And
one day or another I may be hung up at the yard-arm of a
Commonwealth--Heaven bless the mark!--a Commonwealth cruiser!--or scare
crows from a gibbet off Sheerness or Queenborough, or be made an example
of for some act of piracy committed on the high seas!"

"But why commit such acts? You have wherewithal to live
respectably--quietly."

"Quietly!" repeated the Skipper; "look ye, Master--I crave your
pardon--_Sir_ Robert Cecil; as soon could one of Mother Carey's chickens
mount a hen-roost, or bring up a brood of lubberly turkies, as I, Hugh
Dalton, master and owner of the good brigantine, that sits the waters
like a swan, and cuts them like an arrow--live quietly, quietly, on
shore! Santa Maria! have I not panted under the hot sun off the
Caribbees? Have I not closed my ears to the cry of mercy? Have I not
sacked, and sunk, and burnt without acknowledging claim or country? Has
not the mother clasped her child more closely to her bosom at the
mention of my name? In one word, for years have I not been a BUCCANEER?
And yet you talk to me of quietness!--Sir, sir, the soul so steeped in
sin has but two resources--madness, or the grave; the last even I shrink
from; so give me war, war, and its insanity."

"Cannot you learn to fear the Lord, and trade as an honest man?"

Dalton cast a look of such mingled scorn and contempt on his companion,
that a deep red colour mounted to his cheek as he repeated, "Yes! I ask,
cannot you trade as an honest man?"

"No! a curse on trade: and I'm _not_ honest," he replied fiercely.

"May I beg you briefly to explain the object of your visit?" said the
Baronet at last, after a perplexing pause, during which the arms of the
Bu