“Our dame fain would know how many beds we shall prepare. She says there are plenty for all the gentlemen.” “St. Anthony befriend us! Is that the daughter of our worthy host?” whispered Cromwell to the priest, who only shook his head, and rising from his chair said in English,-- “Master Bradford, will you hold me excused if I accept this gentleman’s invitation to pass the night aboard his vessel? It may be more convenient for my early embarkation, and less disturbance to your household.” “You shall perfectly suit your own convenience, sir,” replied Bradford in his calm and gentle fashion, although the murmured colloquies of priest and buccaneer had rather annoyed him; “but you will all take your supper with us, I trust. Gillian, you may tell the mistress that these five gentlemen will sup with us, but prefer to sleep on board ship.” That night Captain Cromwell transferred a curious chronicle of the misdoings of a year past from his own conscience to the custody of the priest, and received some very sensible and practical advice. But at the end of all, the penitent, with a gesture of deference, declared,-- “You’re right, father, doubtless right, both as priest and man of the world; but I feel it in my marrow that yon lass is my fate, and ’tis useless striving against it. Those eyes of hers pierced my heart to the core when first they met mine own, and when at supper she served me with meat and drink, no nectar or ambrosia was ever more Olympian.” “Well, well, my son,” answered the priest indulgently, “I say not you shall not marry the maid if she will have you; but I forebode it will be a marriage of haste, most vainly repented of at leisure. I spoke with the governor about her, and find she is a penniless orphan, although connected with the family of their late teacher, Elder Brewster, as they called him; and Mistress Gillian is under the austere protection of the governor and his most sweet and gracious lady. Your wooing, if you persist in this mad intention, must be wholly honorable and worthy. Remember that, my son!” and the priest’s voice assumed a stern and authoritative accent, which the penitent accepted with a bend of his head while he replied,-- “Most positively so, father. The homeless maid shall become Mistress Cromwell, with all the pomp and ceremony”-- “Of Master Bradford’s office,” interposed the Jesuit. “For these poor rebels to our dear Mother’s authority are only married by civil process, and scorn the church’s benediction.” “Is that the way of it!” exclaimed Cromwell, a little dismayed. “Well, I will bring my bride to Manhattan or to Virginia, where you tell me you are to found a college, and our nuptials shall be blessed there. The civil rite binds us so far as law is concerned.” “Man’s law, yes,” replied the priest dryly; “and I will trust your word to fulfill this promise, if indeed you carry out your most rash resolve.” “I shall carry it out, father,” asserted the buccaneer quietly. “’Tis my way.”