year of exile (as it liked
us to call it) nigh at an end, Dawson one night put the question to Don
Sanchez, which had kept us fluttering in painful suspense these past six
months, whether he had saved sufficient by his labours, to enable us to
return to England ere long.

"Yes," says he, gravely, at which we did all heave one long sigh of
relief, "I learn that a convoy of English ships is about to sail from
Alicante in the beginning of July, and if we are happy enough to find a
favourable opportunity, we will certainly embark in one of them."

"Pray, Senor," says I, "what may that opportunity be; for 'tis but two
days' march hence to Alicante, and we may do it with a light foot in
one."

"The opportunity I speak of," answers he, "is the arrival, from Algeria,
of a company of pirates, whose good service I hope to engage in putting
us aboard an English ship under a flag of truce as redeemed slaves from
Barbary."

"Pirates!" cry we, in a low breath.

"What, Senor!" adds Dawson, "are we to trust ourselves to the mercy and
honesty of Barbary pirates on the open sea?"

"I would rather trust to their honesty," answers the Don, dropping his
voice that he might not be heard by Moll, who was leading home the
goats, "than to the mercy of an English judge, if we should be brought
to trial with insufficient evidence to support our story."

Jack and I stared at each other aghast at this talk of trial, which had
never once entered into our reckoning of probabilities.

"If I know aught of my fellow-men," continues the Don, surely and slow,
"that grasping steward will not yield up his trust before he has made
searching enquiry into Moll's claim, act she her part never so well. We
cannot refuse to give him the name of the ship that brought us home,
and, learning that we embarked at Alicante, jealous suspicion may lead
him to seek further information there; with what result?"

"Why, we may be blown with a vengeance, if he come ferreting so nigh as
that," says Dawson, "and we are like to rot in gaol for our pains."

"You may choose to run that risk; I will not," says the Don.

"Nor I either," says Dawson, "and God forgive me for overlooking such a
peril to my Moll. But, do tell me plainly, Senor, granting these pirates
be the most honest thieves in the world, is there no other risk to
fear?"

The Don hunched his shoulders.

"Life itself is a game," says he, "in which the meanest stroke may not
be won without some risk; but