nwick's hands
for your mother."

"Thank you. That leaves me at ease."

"Ah, here is some of my own Maryland tobacco and a pipe the Germans call
meerschaum; and one word more: you have infinitely obliged me and my
wife. God bless you! Good-by! _Bon voyage!_ Your boat is ready, and
Captain Biddle is impatient to be gone."

In a few minutes the _Marie_, wing-and-wing, was flying down the
Delaware with the first of the ebb, the skim of ice crackling at her bow
and a fair wind after her. They were like enough to carry the ebb-tide
with them to the capes or even to outsail it.

De Courval stood on the quarter-deck, in the clear, sharp wintry air,
while the sun rose over Jersey and deepened the prevalent reds which had
so struck his mother when in May, nine months before, they first saw the
city. Now he recalled his sad memories of France, their unhappy poverty
in England until their old notary in Paris contrived to send them the
few thousand livres with which they had come to Pennsylvania with the
hopes which so often deceived the emigrant, and then God had found for
them friends. He saw as he thought of them, the German, who held to him
some relation of affectionate nearness which was more than friendship
and seemed like such as comes, though rarely, when the ties of blood are
drawn closer by respect, service, and love. He had ceased to think of
the mystery which puzzled many and of which Hamilton and Mr. Justice
Wilson were believed to know more than any others. Being of the
religion, he had said to Schmidt in a quiet, natural way that their
coming together was providential, and the German had said: "Why not? It
was provided." Then he saw Gainor Wynne, so sturdy and full of insistent
kindness; the strong, decisive nephew; the Quaker homes; all these
amazing people; and, somehow with a distinctness no other figure had,
the Pearl in the sunlight of an August evening.

The name Margaret fits well--ah--yes. To sing to her the old French
verse--there in the garden above the river--well, that would be
pleasant--and to hear how it would sound he must try it, being in a
happy mood.

The captain turned to listen, for first he whistled the air and then
sang:

LE BLASON DE LA MARGUERITE

En Avril ou naquit amour,
J'entrai dans son jardin un jour,
Ou la beaute d'une fleurette
Me plut sur celles que j'y vis.
Ce ne fut pas la paquerette,
L'oeillet, la rose, ni le lys:
Ce fut la belle Margueri