I had expected this. “Then permit me to resign my commission into your hands, sir,” I said, laying it on the table before him.
“What, sir?” cried Mr Watson, with mingled grief and indignation, “are you serious? Do you know what you’re doing, with this expedition against Chandernagore close at hand? D’you know what will be said of you throughout the fleet?”
“I have considered that, sir, but the lady has no friend to attempt her rescue but myself. I am all she has to look to for help, and I won’t abandon her for the sake of my own advancement.”
“For the sake of your duty to his Majesty and the service, sir! D’you know you are a very foolish and wayward youth?”
“Since you tell me so, sir, I can’t but believe it.”
“You’re a foolish and wayward youth, sir, but I tell you this. If you had been willing to desert the lady in her extremity, Charles Watson would have took away your commission himself. That man’s no British seaman that would leave a woman a prisoner in the hands of the Moors. Take back your papers, child; I’ll make things right for you with Captain Latham. You shall carry despatches to Muxidavad from me to the Nabob, and you shall remain there as long as I can conveniently spare you, but I rely on you to do your business as speedily as may be. You will leave this on Tuesday by the boat that carries Dr Dacre.”
And that Tuesday, madam, is now to-morrow.
CHAPTER XVI.
CONTAINING THE MEMOIRS OF A CAPTIVE.
From Miss Sylvia Freyne to Miss Amelia Turnor.
Muxadavad, End of October, 1756.