"I shall have the temerity to ask for more than her forgiveness," said the Squire. "Miss Van Tromp," he continued, "once I was in great distress, and knew nothing of you or your character; but I believe you will pardon a few rough words to an old man who asks forgiveness from his heart. I have heard much of you since then; for you have a fervent advocate in my house. I believe you will understand that I speak of my son. He is, I regret to say, very far from well; he does not pick up as the doctors had expected; he has a great deal upon his mind, and, to tell you the truth, my girl, if you won't help us, I am afraid I shall lose him. Come now, forgive him! I was angry with him once myself, and I found I was in the wrong. This is only a misunderstanding, like the other, believe me; and, with one kind movement, you may give happiness to him, and to me, and to yourself." Esther made a movement towards the door, but long before she reached it she had broken forth sobbing. "It is all right," said the Admiral; "I understand the sex. Let me make you my compliments, Mr. Naseby." The Squire was too much relieved to be angry. "My dear," said he to Esther, "you must not agitate yourself." "She had better go up and see him right away," suggested Van Tromp. "I had not ventured to propose it," replied the Squire. "_Les convenances_, I believe----" "_Je m'en fiche_," cried the Admiral, snapping his fingers. "She shall go and see my friend Dick. Run and get ready, Esther." Esther obeyed. "She has not--has not run away again?" inquired Mr. Naseby, as soon as she was gone. "No," said Van Tromp, "not again. She is a devilish odd girl, though, mind you that." "But I cannot stomach the man with the carbuncles," thought the Squire. And this is why there is a new household and a brand-new baby in Naseby Dower House; and why the great Van Tromp lives in pleasant style upon the shores of England; and why twenty-six individual copies of the _Thymebury Star_ are received daily at the door of Naseby House. THE MERRY MEN _My dear Lady Taylor_, _To your name, if I wrote on brass, I could add nothing; it has been already written higher than I could dream to reach, by a strong and a dear hand; and if I now dedicate to you these tales,[1] it is not as the writer who brings you his work, but as the friend who would remind you of his affection._ ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. _Skerryvore, Bournemouth._ THE MERRY MEN CHAPTER I EILEAN AROS It was a beautiful morning in the late July when I set forth on foot for the last time for Aros. A boat had put me ashore the night before at Grisapol; I had such breakfast as the little inn afforded, and, leaving all my baggage till I had an occasion to come round for it by sea, struck right across the promontory with a cheerful heart.