nth," said Jack, going to his beaker again, for
understanding. "Well, all's as one, so that we can get something in
advance of our payment, to keep us through such a prodigious study."

"I will charge myself with your expenses," says Don Sanchez; and then,
turning to me, he asks if I have any objection to urge.

"I take it, Senor, that you speak in metaphor," says I; "and that this
'comedy' is nought but a stratagem for getting hold of a fortune that
doesn't belong to us."

Don Sanchez calmly assented, as if this had been the most innocent
design in the world.

"Hang me," cries Dawson, "if I thought it was anything but a whimsey of
your honour's."

"I should like to know if we may carry out this stratagem honestly,"
says I.

"Aye," cries Jack. "I'll not agree for cutting of throats or breaking of
bones, for any money."

"I can tell you no more than this," says the Don. "The fortune we may
take is now in the hands of a man who has no more right to it than we
have."

"If that's so," says Jack, "I'm with you, Senor. For I'd as lief bustle
a thief out of his gains as say my prayers, any day, and liefer."

"Still," says I, "the money must of right belong to some one."

"We will say that the money belongs to a child of the same age as Moll."

"Then it comes to this, Senor," says I, bluntly. "We are to rob that
child of fifty thousand pounds."

"When you speak of robbing," says the Don, drawing himself up with much
dignity, "you forget that I am to play a part in this stratagem--I, Don
Sanchez del Castillo de Castelana."

"Fie, Kit, han't you any manners?" cries Dick. "What's all this talk of
a child? Hasn't the Senor told us we are but to bustle a cheat?"

"But I would know what is to become of this child, if we take her
fortune, though it be withheld from her by another," says I, being
exceeding obstinate and persistent in my liquor.

"I shall prove to your conviction," says the Don, "that the child will
be no worse off, if we take this money, than if we leave it in the hands
of that rascally steward. But I see," adds he, contemptuously, "that for
all your brotherly love, 'tis no such matter to you whether poor little
Molly comes to her ruin, as every maid must who goes to the stage, or is
set beyond the reach of temptation and the goading of want."

"Aye, and be hanged to you, Kit!" cries Dawson.

"Tell me, Mr. Poet," continues Don Sanchez, "do you consider this
steward who defrauds that child of a fort