l of
attention from the rough roisterers who were strolling about or gambling
in shady places. When the captain of the Belinda mentioned, here and
there, that these newcomers were the family of Blackbeard's factor, who
now had charge of that pirate's interests in the town, no one dared to
treat the elderly gentleman, the pretty young lady, or the rotund dame
with the slightest disrespect. The name of the great pirate was a safe
protection even when he who bore it was leagues and leagues away.

At the door of the storehouse Ben Greenway stood waiting. He would have
hurried down to the pier had it not been that he was afraid to leave
Bonnet; afraid that this shamefaced ex-pirate would have hurried away to
hide himself from his daughter and his friends. Kate, running forward,
grasped the Scotchman by both hands.

"And where is he?" she cried.

"He is in there," said Ben, pointing through the storeroom to the open
door at the back. In an instant she was gone.

"And Dickory?" cried Dame Charter. "Oh, Ben Greenway, tell me of my
boy."

They went inside and Greenway told everything he knew, which was very
much, although it was not enough to comfort the poor mother's heart, who
could not readily believe that because Dickory had sailed away with a
great and powerful pirate, that eminent man would be sure to bring him
back in safety; but as Greenway really believed this, his words made
some impression on the good dame's heart. She could see some reason to
believe that Blackbeard, having now so much property in the town, might
make a short cruise this time, and that any day the Revenge, with her
dear son on board, might come sailing into port.

With his face buried in his folded arms, which rested on the table,
Stede Bonnet received his daughter. At first she did not recognise him,
never having seen him in such mean apparel; but when he raised his head,
she knew her father. Closing the door behind her, she folded him in her
arms. After a little, leaving the window, they sat together upon a bale
of goods, which happened to be a rug from the Orient, of wondrous
richness, which Bonnet had reserved for the floor of his daughter's
room.

"Never, my dear," he said, "did I dream you would see me in such
plight. I blush that you should look at me."

"Blush!" she exclaimed, her own cheeks reddening, "and you an honest man
and no longer a freebooter and rover of the sea? My heart swells with
pride to think that your life is so cha