"I'm
overmatched now," thought he. "They will cut my sloop out under the
very guns of the flagship if we stay much longer in this port--a lawyer
against me, and a woman too; there's nothing to be done but heave
anchor, hoist sail, and run for it."
He sent off a foreign telegram, and then went upstairs. "Bella, my
dear," said he, "pack up your clothes for a journey. We start
to-morrow."
"A journey, papa! A long one?"
"No. We shan't double the Horn this time."
"Brighton? Paris?"
"Oh, farther than that."
"The grave: that is the journey I should like to take."
"So you shall, some day; but just now it is a _foreign_ port you are
bound for. Go and pack."
"I obey." And she was creeping off, but he called her back and kissed
her, and said, "Now I'll tell you where you are going; but you must
promise me solemnly not to write one line to Sir Charles."
She promised, but cried as soon as she had promised; whereat the
admiral inferred he had done wisely to exact the promise.
"Well, my dear," said he, "we are going to Baden. Your aunt Molineux is
there. She is a woman of great delicacy and prudence, and has daughters
of her own all well married, thanks to her motherly care. She will
bring you to your senses better than I can."
Next evening they left England by the mail; and the day after Richard
Bassett learned this through his servant, and went home triumphant,
and, indeed, wondering at his success.
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