"Oh, hold your tongue!" said Edward. "Go on ahead and get the next lock ready. I'll give you the money. The lady wishes it." "She's got her 'ead the right way on," said the friend in need. "Pull ahead, sir." "But you can't, with your finger like that," she said. "I'll pull." "Why not let me?" Neptune suggested. "We'd get there in 'alf the time," he added, with blighting candor. So Neptune pulled the boat up to Mutton Worry Lock and the two crouched under the cloak. Charles, who might have been expected to be hostile to so strange a friend, received him with almost overwhelming condescension. At Mutton Worry Lock the deliverer said: "Now 'ere yer deserts the ship, and 'ere I finds 'er and takes her back. And look 'ere, sir, I'm nobody's enemy but my own, so I am. And of course if I was to 'ave the twenty pounds it's my belief I'd drink myself under the daisies inside of a week. Let me 'ear by the post--William Beale, care of the Anchor Hotel--and send me ten bob a week till the money's gone. It'll come easier to yer, paying it a little at a time like--and better for me in the long run. Yer ought to be a duke, yer ought. I never thought you'd 'a' ris' to the twenty. I'd 'a' been satisfied with five--and that'll show yer whether I'm a true friend or not." "I really think you are," she said, and laughed gently. "Good-by." "Good evening, miss, and thank yer, I'm sure. Never say good-by; it's unlucky between friends." "Here's a sovereign," said Edward, shortly. "Good night. You're jolly fond of the sound of your own voice, aren't you?" "Sort of treat for me, sir," said Beale, always eagerly explanatory. "Don't often 'ear it. D'you know what they calls me at the Anchor, owing to me 'aving learnt to keep my tongue atween my teeth, except among friends? 'William the Silent's' my pet name. A gent as comes for the angling made that up, and it stuck, it did. Bear to the left till you come to the boat-'ouse, cater across the big meadow, and you'll hit Tunbridge all right, by the Printing Works. So long, sir; so long, miss." Thus they parted. "What an adventure!" she said; "and I believe William the Silent believes himself to be a model of chivalrous moderation. He would have been satisfied with five pounds." "I believe he would, too," said Edward, with a grudging laugh. "It's your _beaux yeux_. The man has gone home feeling that he has as good as sacrificed fifteen pounds to a quixotic and romantic impulse. Wretched blackmailer though he is, he could not resist a princess." "I like William," she said, decisively. "After all, as he says, one must live. Let's leave the cloak under this hedge. Shall we? It's like getting rid of the body. And I'll buy a flaxen wig to-morrow. And do you think it would be a help if I rouged a little and wore blue spectacles? It will be the saving of us, of course." "I hope to heavens we get a motor in Tunbridge," said he. "You must be tired out."