But Jacquelina, when she found herself free, soon recovered, and arose and left the room.

Until a day or two before Christmas, when, in the evening, she glided in to her uncle’s room and sunk down by his side—­so unlike herself; so like a spirit—­that the old sinner impulsively shrank away from her, and put out his hand to ring for lights.

“No; don’t send for candles, uncle!  Such a wretch as I am should tell her errand in the dark.”

“What do you mean now, minx?”

“Uncle, in all your voyages around the world did you ever stop at Constantinople?  And did you ever visit a slave mart there?”

“Yes; of course I have!  What then?  What the deuce are you dreaming of?”

“How much would such a girl as myself bring in the slave market of the Sultan’s city?”

“Are you crazy?” asked the commodore, opening his eyes to their widest extent.

“I don’t know.  If I am, it can make little difference in your plans.  But as there is method in my madness, please to answer my question.  How much would I sell for in Constantinople?”

“You are mad; that’s certain!  How do I know—­where beauties sell for from five hundred to many thousand zechins.  But you wouldn’t sell for much; you’re too small and too thin.”

“Beauty sells by the weight, does it?  Well, uncle, I see that you have been accustomed to the mart, for you know how to cheapen the merchandise!  Save yourself the trouble, uncle!  I shall not live long, and therefore I shall not have the conscience to ask a high price for myself!”

“Mad!  Mad as a March hare!  As sure as shooting she is!” said the commodore in dismay, staring at her until his great, fat eyes seemed bursting from their sockets.

“Not so mad as you think, uncle, either.  I have come to make a bargain with you.”

“What the foul fiend do you mean now?  Do you want me to send you to Constantinople, pray?”

Jacquelina laughed, something like her old silvery laugh, as she answered: 

“No, uncle; though if it were not for Mimmy, I really should prefer it to marrying Grim!”

“What do you mean, then?  Speak!”

“This, then, uncle:  By what I have heard, and what I have seen, and what I have surmised, I am already as deep in your secrets respecting Grim as you are yourself.”

“You speak falsely, you little ——!  No one knows anything about it but myself!” exclaimed the commodore, betraying himself through astonishment and indignation.

Without heeding the contradiction, except by a sly smile, Jacquelina went calmly on: 

“And I know that you wish to make me a stalking-horse, to convey the estate to Grimshaw, only because you cannot give it to him in any other way but through his wife.”

“What do you mean, you little diabolical ——!  It is my own—­why can I not give it to whom I please, I should like to know?”

“You can give it to any one in the world, uncle, except Dr. Grimshaw, or to one who bears the same relationship to you that he does; for to such a one you may not legally bequeath your landed estate, or—­”