When I entered his shop the next morning, I found him with his coat off, cutting capers, a wooden platter in his hand for a tambourine, and the sweat pouring down his face.

“I am a couple of stone or so too heavy for the boleros,” gasps he, coming to a stand, “but I doubt not, by the time we land at Alicante, there’ll not be an ounce too much of me.”

Learning that a convoy for the Levant was about to set sail with the next favourable wind from Chatham, we took horse and rode there that afternoon, and by great good luck we found the Faithful Friend, a good ship bound for Genoa in Italy, whereof Mr. Dixon, the master, having intent to enter and victual at Alicante, undertook to carry us there for ten pounds a head, so being we could get all aboard by the next evening at sundown.

Here was short grace, to be sure; but we did so despatch our affairs that we were embarked in due time, and by daybreak the following morning, were under weigh.

CHAPTER XXXV.

How we lost our poor Moll, and our long search for her.

We reached Alicante the 15th March, after a long, tedious voyage.  During this time I had ample opportunity for observing Moll, but with little relief to my gloomy apprehensions.  She rarely quitted her father’s side, being now as sympathetic and considerate of him in his sufferings, as before she had been thoughtless and indifferent.  She had ever a gentle word of encouragement for him; she was ever kind and patient.  Only once her spirit seemed to weary:  that was when we had been beating about in the bay of Cadiz four days, for a favourable gale to take us through the straits.  We were on deck, she and I, the sails flapping the masts idly above our heads.

“Oh,” says she, laying her hand on my shoulder, and her wasted cheek against my arm, “oh, that it were all ended!”

She was sweeter with me than ever she had been before; it seemed as if the love bred in her heart by marriage must expend itself upon some one.  But though this tenderness endeared her more to me, it saddened me, and I would have had her at her tricks once more, making merry at my expense.  For I began to see that our happiness comes from within and not from without, and so fell despairing that ever this poor stricken heart of hers would be healed, which set me a-repenting more sincerely than ever the mischief I had helped to do her.

Dawson also, despite his stubborn disposition to see things as he would have them, had, nevertheless, some secret perception of the incurable sorrow which she, with all her art, could scarce dissimulate.  Yet he clung to that fond belief in a return of past happiness, as if ’twere his last hope on earth.  When at last our wind sprang up, and we were cutting through the waters with bending masts and not a crease in the bellied sails, he came upon deck, and spreading his hands out, cries in joy: