e of them that lay far out, that Lawless directed his
attention; while Dick, seated upon an anchor that was half embedded in
the sand, and giving ear, now to the rude, potent, and boding voices of
the gale, and now to the hoarse singing of the shipmen in a neighbouring
tavern, soon forgot his immediate surroundings and concerns in the
agreeable recollection of Lord Foxham's promise.

He was disturbed by a touch upon his shoulder. It was Lawless, pointing
to a small ship that lay somewhat by itself, and within but a little of
the harbour mouth, where it heaved regularly and smoothly on the entering
swell. A pale gleam of winter sunshine fell, at that moment, on the
vessel's deck, relieving her against a bank of scowling cloud; and in
this momentary glitter Dick could see a couple of men hauling the skiff
alongside.

"There, sir," said Lawless, "mark ye it well! There is the ship for
to-night."

Presently the skiff put out from the vessel's side, and the two men,
keeping her head well to the wind, pulled lustily for shore. Lawless
turned to a loiterer.

"How call ye her?" he asked, pointing to the little vessel.

"They call her the Good Hope, of Dartmouth," replied the loiterer. "Her
captain, Arblaster by name. He pulleth the bow oar in yon skiff."

This was all that Lawless wanted. Hurriedly thanking the man, he moved
round the shore to a certain sandy creek, for which the skiff was
heading. There he took up his position, and as soon as they were within
earshot, opened fire on the sailors of the Good Hope.

"What! Gossip Arblaster!" he cried. "Why, ye be well met; nay, gossip,
ye be right well met, upon the rood! And is that the Good Hope? Ay, I
would know her among ten thousand!--a sweet shear, a sweet boat! But
marry come up, my gossip, will ye drink? I have come into mine estate
which doubtless ye remember to have heard on. I am now rich; I have left
to sail upon the sea; I do sail now, for the most part, upon spiced ale.
Come, fellow; thy hand upon 't! Come, drink with an old shipfellow!"

Skipper Arblaster, a long-faced, elderly, weather-beaten man, with a
knife hanging about his neck by a plaited cord, and for all the world
like any modern seaman in his gait and bearing, had hung back in obvious
amazement and distrust. But the name of an estate, and a certain air of
tipsified simplicity and good-fellowship which Lawless very well
affected, combined to conquer his suspicious jealousy; his co