"She has a fleet of half a dozen tall vessels—nay, there are more, but I know not how many. I was formerly clerk in a countinghouse of the town and I learned a great deal—what each is worth and what the freight of each voyage may produce—but not all. The captain, her guardian, keeps things close. My lord, I can assure you, from what I learned in that capacity and by looking into old books, that she must be worth over a hundred thousand pounds—over a hundred thousand pounds! My lord, there is no such heiress in the city. In your lordship's interests I have enquired in the taverns where the merchants' clerks congregate. They know of all the city heiresses. The greatest, at this moment, is the only daughter of a tallow chandler who has twenty thousand to her name. She squints."
"Why have you given me this information? The girl belongs to your friends—are you anxious for her happiness? You know my way of life. Would that way make her happier?"
The man made no reply.
"Come, Semple, out with it. Your reasons—gratitude—to me—or revenge upon an enemy?"
The man coloured. He looked up: he stood upright but for a moment only. Then his eyes dropped and his shoulders contracted.
"Gratitude, my lord, to you," he replied. "Revenge? Why what reason should I have for revenge?"
"How should I know of any? Let it be gratitude, then."
"I have ventured to submit—not a condition—but a prayer."
"I have read the clause. I grant it. On the day after the marriage if the plan comes to anything, I will present thee to a place where there are no duties and many perquisites. That is understood. I would put this promise in writing but no writing would bind me more than my word."
"Yet I would have the promise in writing."