said nothing. And Dickory growled in his soul that he had ever
spoken to the man on the pier, except to thank him for the rope he had
borrowed.

Martin Newcombe's story went on, and he told that, having been extremely
angered by the conduct and words of Madam Bonnet, he had gone into the
town and made inquiries, hoping to hear something of the whereabouts of
Mistress Kate. And, having done so, by means of the very obliging person
on the pier, he had determined that the daughter of Major Bonnet should
have her rights; and he had gone to his own lawyer, who assured him that
being a person of recognised respectability, possessing property, he was
fully authorized, knowing the wishes of Mistress Kate Bonnet, to go to
her step-mother and demand that those wishes be complied with; and if
this very reasonable request should be denied, then the lawyer would
take up the matter himself, and would see to it that reasonable raiment
and the necessities of a young lady should not be withheld from her.

With these instructions, Newcombe had gone to Madam Bonnet and had found
that much disturbed lady in a state of partial collapse, which had
followed her passion of the morning, and who had declared that nothing
in the world would please her better than to get rid of her husband's
daughter and never see her again. And if the creature needed clothes or
anything else which belonged to her, a maid should pack them up, and
anybody who pleased might take them to any place, provided she heard no
more about them or their owner.

In all this she spoke most truthfully, for she hated her step-daughter,
both because she was a fine young woman and much regarded by her father,
and because she had certain rights to the estate of said father, which
his present wife did not wish to recognise, or even to think about. So
Martin Newcombe was perfectly welcome to take away such things as would
render it unnecessary for the girl to now return to the home in which
she had been born. Martin had brought the box, and here he was.

It was not long before Newcombe and the lady of his love were walking
away through the little plantation, in order that they might speak by
themselves. Dickory looked after them and frowned, but he bravely
comforted himself by thinking that he had been the one into whose arms
she had dropped, through the blackness of the night and the blackness of
the water, knowing in her heart that he would be there ready for her,
and also by th