"Why, you see, Culverson hadn't yet found out how things were, when I
left. I pretended I was ill--and so I was, in a way. But he must have
found out by this time, and when he sends after me, by the next
vessel, I'm afraid poor father will have to undergo a severe
trial--you know his weakness for the honoured name of Faringfield."

"By the Lord, Ned, this is worse than I should ever have thought of
you."

"It _is_ a bit bad, isn't it? And I've been thinking what's to be
done--for father's sake, you know. If 'twere broken to him gently, at
once, as nobody but you can break it, why then, he might give me the
money to repay Culverson, and send me back to Barbadoes by the next
ship, and nothing need ever come out. I'm thoroughly penitent, so help
me, heaven, and quite willing to go back."

"And incur other debts of honour, and obligations of chivalry," says
Phil.

"I'll see the cards in hell first, and the women too, by gad!" whereat
Mr. Edward brought his fist down upon the table most convincingly.

He thought it best to spend that night at the tavern; whither Phil
went in the morning with news of Mr. Faringfield's reception of the
disclosure. The merchant had listened with a countenance as cold as a
statue's, but had promptly determined to make good the thousand pounds
to Mr. Culverson, and that Ned should return to the Barbadoes without
the formality of bidding the family farewell. But the money was to be
entrusted not to Mr. Edward, but to Mr. Faringfield's old clerk,
Palmer, who was to be the young man's travelling companion on the