asks you point-blank who has the right; if anyone else does,
knock him down and tell him to go to hell with his impertinence. And
never let it hit your courage in the vitals for a moment. You are not
accountable; your mother was the finest woman I ever knew, and you've
got the best blood of Britain in your veins, and not a relative in the
world who's not of gentle blood. You're an aristocrat in body and brain,
and you'll not find a purer in the American colonies. The lack of a
priest at the right time can cause a good deal of suffering and trouble,
but it can't muddy a pure stream; and many a lawful marriage has done
that. So, mind you never bring your head down for a minute, nor
persuade yourself that anyone has a better right to keep it up. It would
be the death of you."

Alexander nodded, but did not reply. He was feeling very low, now that
the hour for parting was come, for his affections were strong and
tender, and they were all rooted in the Island he hated. He understood,
however.

He was six weeks reaching Boston, for even the wind seemed to have had
the life beaten out of it. He had a box of Knox's books, which he was to
return by the Captain; and although he had read them before, he read
them again, and wrote commentaries, and so kept his mind occupied for
the greater part of the voyage. But an active brain, inexperienced in
the world, and in no need of rest, is always bored at sea, and he grew
sick of the sight of that interminable blue waste; of which he had seen
too much all his life. When he had learned all there was to know about a
ship, and read all his books, he burned for change of any sort. The
change, when it came, was near to making an end of him: the ship caught
fire, and they were a day and a night conquering the flames and
preparing their philosophy to meet death; for the boats were
unseaworthy. Alexander had all the excitement he wanted, for he fought
the fire as hard as he had fought the hurricane, and he was delighted
when the Captain gave him permission to turn in. This was his third
touch-and-go with death.

He arrived in Boston late in October, and took passage immediately for
New York. There had been no time to announce his coming, and he was
obliged to find his own way to the house of Hercules Mulligan, a member
of the West Indian firm, to whom Mr. Cruger had given him a warm letter
of introduction. Mr. Mulligan, a good-natured Irishman, received him
hospitably, and asked him to stop i