The vicar read parts of this letter twice over, so as to lend the words greater force. "The man says publicly that he was tutor to Lord Fylingdale on the grand tour. I have myself heard him. On one occasion he proclaimed with loud voice the private virtues of his patron. Sir, I very much fear that we have discovered a nest of villains. Pray God we be not too late."
"Amen," said my father. "But what can we do?"
"Ay, what can we do? To denounce Lord Fylingdale on this evidence would be impossible. To allow this marriage to take place without warning the captain would be a most wicked thing."
"Let us send for Jack," said my father. "The boy is only a simple sailor, but he loves the girl. He will now be aboard his ship."
It is not far from the "Crown" to the quay, nor from the quay to any of the ships in port. I was sitting in the cabin, melancholy enough, about eight o'clock or so, just before the sunset gun fired from the redoubt, when I heard a shout--"_Lady of Lynn_, ahoy!" You may be sure that I obeyed the summons with alacrity.
No one else had yet arrived at the "Crown." The vicar laid both letters before me. Then, as when one strikes a spark in the tinder and the match ignites, flaming up, and the darkness vanishes, so did the scheme of villainy unfold itself--not all at once--one does not at one glance comprehend a conspiracy so vile. But part, I say, I did understand.
"Sir," I gasped. "This is more opportune than you suspect. To-morrow morning--at six--at St. Nicholas Church they are to be married secretly. Oh! a gambler--a rake--one who has wasted his patrimony--to marry Molly, our Molly! Sir, you will interfere--you will do something. It is the villain Sam; he was always a liar--a cur--a villain."
"Steady, boy, steady!" said my father. "It helps not to call names."
"It is partly revenge. He dared to make love to Molly three years ago. The captain cudgelled him handsomely--and I was there to see. It is revenge in part. He hath brought down this noble lord to marry an heiress knowing the misery he is preparing for her. Oh! Sam--if I had thee here!"
"Who spread abroad the many virtues of this noble villain? Sam Semple--in his service--a most base and dishonourable service. Mr. Purdon, the man who writes ribald verses." I thought of the Lady Anastasia, but refrained. She at least had nothing to do with this marriage. So far, however, there was much explained.