“The _English Merchantman_, an it please you, cousin,” Will corrected aloud; “though, indeed,” he added mysteriously, “if all were known, the other name might not come so much amiss. My master more than hints there be high and mighty personages with him in his venture.” “Will,” said his father, “don’t speak evil of dignities.” “Where’s the evil, father?” Will asked briskly, yet respectfully. “Every one knows my master’s good conditions; and that which, in the way of gain or profit, would not soil _his_ fingers, is clean enough to be touched by the Queen’s gracious Majesty herself, God bless her.” “Amen!” said Harry the soldier. “Will, my lad, ne’er fash thyself with scruples about the _English Merchantman_. Let her cleave the waves as merrily as she lists. Ay, and let her crew seize Spanish treasure,—what is that but robbing the robber, and spoiling the spoiler? And if they cut the throats of the men—say rather of the fiends—that guard it, they will serve them better than—” “Harry! Harry!” It was his mother who spoke, and in a tone of grieved surprise. “Are these fit words for a Christian man to speak?” “No fit words for you to hear, at all events; so I crave your pardon, mother,” he answered. “Yet, if you knew what I know of deeds done by the hands of Spanish men, I think that you—even _you_, could not weigh and measure out your words when you spoke of them.” “Will,” whispered Walter, “will you take me to see the _English Merchantman_?” “With all my heart,” Will answered.