They saw Conway, and came rolling across. 'Sorry to hear the bad news, commander,' said Leaddropper. Conway stared. 'How the devil should you know it?' he roared. 'It's scarcely known to myself yet!' 'We met the butcher, who had called for orders,' said Burgoyne. 'You'll never get a servant to keep a secret. And it's nigh halfway over the town already.' 'Commander,' exclaimed old Leaddropper in a broken voice, 'I am truly sorry for you.' 'A plague on all sorrow!' burst out Conway, breathing short. 'But it's the business of all parents to get their daughters married,' continued the pilot; 'and you weren't going to find soundings for her in that way here. She's done for herself; and since she's done it, why,' cried he, with a rollicking air, 'let us take the earliest occasion to drink their healths!' 'Leaddropper,' said Burgoyne, who saw that Conway could scarcely contain his rage, 'I don't think the commander rightly relishes this talk just now. Can I be of any service to you?' he exclaimed, frankly addressing Conway. 'Thanks. I am an old man, and this blow has somewhat stunned me. She was my only child, and I am a widower. I should wish for prudent counsel. Although they be married, I should like to know whether she's not to be torn from the beggar's embraces, and brought back here and locked up clear of him.' His companions gravely shook their heads. 'Have you any idea where she's gone to?' asked the pilot. 'To sea in the beggar's brig; that's my opinion.' 'So he's got a brig,' said the pilot, interested. 'He may turn out better than you think.' They discoursed for some time in this style. They were all equally ignorant, and had therefore nothing to suggest or communicate. This idle council concluded by the commander swearing that he would go to London by next day's coach, visit the owners of the _Lovelace_, and make all human and possible inquiries in the docks about the man Jackman, his brig, his antecedents; and, for all he knew, he might in this way get to find out where his daughter was; for the scoundrel Jackman was pretty certain to make sail for London, where his brig was, and where also he could easily get married. It was a tremendous undertaking--very expensive, very cold at that time of the year, tedious beyond any words in human speech, and it was now twelve years since the commander had visited the Metropolis on top of a West of England mail-coach. Behold him next day seated on the roof of a stout, handsome, well-apparelled vehicle! On his arrival in London he was nearly dead, in spite of the several comfortable breaks. He had long been used to his own armchair and his own bed, and hated travelling by coach. Nevertheless, here he was at last in that marvellous Metropolis, which staggers the nose more than any other sense on one's first entry on top of a vehicle from miles of turnips and acres of grain.