“That settles the matter,” he said, as he threw the letter angrily down upon the table.  “A malicious young viper!  I wish I had him here.”

“It is not nicely worded,” the squire said gravely; “but it was an unpleasant story to have to tell.”

“It was not an unpleasant story for him to tell,” the old soldier said hotly.  “There is malice in every line of it.  He speaks of the men as James’s associates, talks about the disgrace he would bring on his mother.  There’s malice, squire, in every line of it.”

“I’m afraid it’s a bad letter,” the squire assented gravely.

“It’s a natural letter,” Mr. Wilks said savagely.  “It is written in a hurry, and he’s had no time to pick and choose his words, and round off his sentences, as he generally does in his letters to you.  He was so full of malicious exultation that he did not think how much he was showing his feeling, as he wrote.”

“It’s a bad letter and a nasty letter,” the squire assented; “but let that pass, now.  The first question is—­How are we to tell Jim’s mother?  Do you think it will be a relief to her, or otherwise?”

“It will be a blow to know that the lugger has been captured,” Mr. Wilks said—­“a severe blow, no doubt, for her escape is what we have been building our hopes upon.  It will be a heavy blow, too, for her to know that James is a seaman before the mast; that it will be years before she will see him again, and that all her plans for his future are upset.  But I think this will be much better for her than if she knew he was a prisoner, and would have to stand a trial.

“Between ourselves, squire, as far as the lad himself is concerned, I am not sure that he will be altogether sorry that events have turned out as they have.  In our talks together, he has often confided to me that his own inclinations were altogether for a life of activity and adventure; but that, as his mother’s heart was so set upon his following his father’s profession, he had resolved upon never saying a word, to her, which would lead her to suppose that his own wishes lay in any other direction.  This business will give him the opportunity he has longed for, to see the world, without his appearing in any way to thwart his mother’s plans.”

“At any rate,” the squire said, “I am heartily glad he has got off being tried.  Even if I had got a free pardon for him, it would have been a serious slur upon him that he had been imprisoned, and would have been awkward for us all in the future.  I think, Wilks, I will leave it to you to break it to his mother.”

“Very well,” the other agreed.  “It is an unpleasant business, squire; but perhaps I had better do it.  It may console her if I tell her that, at heart, he always wanted to go to sea, and that, accustomed as he is to knock about in the fishermen’s boats, he will find it no hardship on board a man o’ war, and will come back, in the course of two or three years, none the worse for his cruise.  She may think he will take up doctoring again after that, though I have my doubts whether he will do that.  However, there is no use in telling her so.  Shall I show her that letter, squire?”