I remembered that
scrap of conversation from the inn-balcony. I wondered if that
secret mission mentioned then was to concern me in any way. What
was it, I wondered, that was put into her pocket by her father as
she stood crying there, just above me? If she were on board, then
I must indeed look to myself, for she was probably too cunning a
creature to be deceived by my forgeries. The very thought of
having her in the ship with me was uncomfortable. I felt that I
must find some more subtle hiding-place for my letters than I had
found hitherto. I may have idealized the woman, in my alarm, into
a miracle of shrewdness. At any rate I knew that she would be a
much more dangerous opponent than Captain Barlow, the jocular
donkey who allowed himself to be fooled by a schoolboy who was in
his power. I knew, too, that she would probably search me other
letters, whether my ciphered blinds deceived her or not. She was
not one so easily satisfied as a merchant skipper; besides, she
had now two scores against me, as well as excellent reason to
think me a sharp young man.
Presently, after half an hour's absence, the captain came back
with the satchel, evidently very pleased with himself. He seemed
to find pleasure in the sight of my pretended distress. "Why," he
said, with a grin; "you've not eaten your orange."
"No, sir," I said, "I'm not very hungry just after breakfast."
"Why, then," he answered, "you must keep it for your dinner. Look
how nice I've mended your strap for you.
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