"D'ye mean the gentleman who built the L---- docks?"

"Yes."

"Oh, indeed!" cried he, looking somewhat impressed. "And how _is_ your father, Mr. Barclay?"

"He died about two years and a half ago," I replied. "But you have asked me for the truth of this elopement, Captain Parsons. There were constant quarrels between my father and Mr. Withycombe Roscoe over a hedge, or wall, or ditch--some matter contemptibly insignificant, but if the value of the few rods or perches of ground had been represented by the National Debt, there could not have been hotter blood, more ill-feeling between them. Litigation was incessant, and I am sorry to say that it still continues, though I should be glad to end it."

"Sort of entailed lawsuit, I suppose?" said the captain, smoking with enjoyment, and listening with interest and respect.

"Just so," said I, finding now a degree of happiness in this candour; it was a kind of easing of my conscience to tell this man my story, absolute stranger as he had been to me but a few hours before. "Mr.

Roscoe died, and Lady Amelia took a house in London. I met her niece at the house of a friend, and fell in love with her."

"So I should think," exclaimed Captain Parsons, "never saw a sweeter young lady in all my time."

"Well, to cut short this part of the story--when her ladyship learnt that her niece was in love, and discovered who her sweetheart was--this occupied a few months I may tell you--she packed the girl off to Boulogne, to a Mademoiselle Championet, who keeps a sort of school at that place, though Grace was sent there professedly to learn French.

This mademoiselle is some sort of poor connection of Lady Amelia, a bigotted Catholic, as her ladyship is, and it soon grew clear to my mind, from letters I received from Miss Bella.s.sys--despatched in the old romantic fashion--"

"What fashion's that?" called out the captain.

"The bribed housemaid, sir. It soon grew clear to my mind, I say, that Lady Amelia's main object in sending the girl to Mademoiselle Championet was to get her converted."

"Bad! bad!" cried Captain Parsons.

"Her letters," I continued, growing hot as I spoke, "were all about Mademoiselle Championet's devices and mean dodges--how Miss Bella.s.sys was taken to ma.s.s--how she was allowed to read nothing but Catholic books--how she was left alone with a priest--"

"A d----d shame!" whipped out the captain. "And such a sweet young English woman too!"

"Do you need to hear more?" said I, smiling. "I love the girl and she loves me; she was an orphan, and I did not consider the aunt a right and proper guardian for her; she consented to elope, and we did elope, and here we are, captain."

"And you were bound to Penzance, I understand?"

"Yes."

"Why Penzance?"

"To get married at a church in that district."

"Who was going to marry ye?"

"A cousin of mine, the Reverend Frank Howe, of course, after we had fulfilled the confounded legal conditions which obstruct young people like ourselves in England."

"And what are the legal conditions? It's so long since I was married that I forget 'em," said the captain.

"Residence, as it is called; then the consent of her ladyship, as Miss Bella.s.sys is under age."

"But she isn't going to consent, is she?"

"How can she refuse after our a.s.sociation in the yacht--and here?"

It took him some time to understand; he then shut one eye and said, "I see."

We pulled at our cigars in silence as we gazed at each other. The evening had blackened into night; a silver star or two slided in the open port through which came the washing noise of the water as it swept eddying and seething past the bends into the wake of the ship; now and again the rudder jarred harshly and there was a monstrous tread of feet overhead. We were at the extreme after end of the vessel, where the heave of her would be most sensibly felt, and she was still curtseying with some briskness, but I scarcely heeded the motion, so effectually had the mad behaviour of the _Spitfire_ cured me of all tendency to nausea.

"And now, Mr. Barclay," exclaimed the captain, after a silence of a minute or two, "I'll explain why I have made so free as to ask you for your story. It's the opinion of Mrs. Barstow and Miss Moggadore, that Miss Bella.s.sys and you ought to be married right away off. It's a duty that's owing to the young lady. You can see it for yourself, sir. Her situation, young gentleman," he added with emphasis, "is not what it ought to be."

"I agree in every word," I exclaimed, "but--"

He interrupted me: "Her dignity is yours, her reputation is yours. And the sooner you're married the better."

I was about to speak, but despite my p.r.o.nouncing several words he proceeded obstinately:

"Mrs. Barstow is one of the best natured women in the world. There never was a more practical lady; sees a thing in a minute; and you may believe in her advice as you would in the fathom marks on a headline.

Miss Moggadore, the young lady that sat on my left at table--did you notice her, Mr. Barclay?"

"A middle-aged lady, with curls?"

"Eight and thirty. Ain't that young enough? Ay, Miss Moggadore has two curls, and let me tell you that her nose heads the right way. Miss Moggadore wasn't behind the door when brains were served out. Well, she and Mrs. Barstow, and your humble servant," he convulsed his short square figure into a sea-bow, "are for having you and Miss Bella.s.sys married straight away off."

"So there is a clergyman on board?" I cried, feeling the blood in my face, and staring eagerly at him.

"No, sir," said he, "there's no clergyman aboard my ship."

"Then," said I, almost sulkily, "what on earth, Captain Parsons, is the good of you and Mrs. Barstow and Miss Moggadore advising Miss Bella.s.sys and me to get married straight away off, as you term it?"

"It ought to be done," said he, with an emphatic nod.

"What, without a parson?" I cried.

"_I_ am a parson," he exclaimed.

I imagined he intended a stupid pun upon his name.

"Parson enough," he continued, "to do your business. _I'll_ marry you!"

"You?" I shouted.

"Yes, me," he returned, striking his breast with his fist.

"Pray, where were you ordained?" said I, disgusted with the bad taste of what I regarded as a joke.

"Ordained!" he echoed, "I don't understand you. I'm the master of a British merchantman, and, as such, can and do desire, for Miss Bella.s.sys's sake, to marry ye."

Now, I do not know how, when or where I had stumbled upon the fact, but all on a sudden it came into my head that it was as Captain Parsons said: namely, that the master of a British merchantman was empowered, whether by statute, by precedent, or by recognition of the laws of necessity, to celebrate the marriage service on board his own ship at sea. I may have read it in the corner of a newspaper--in some column of answers to correspondents--as likely as not in a work of fiction; but the mere fact of having heard of it, persuaded me that Captain Parsons was in earnest; and very much indeed did he look in earnest as he surveyed me with an expression of triumph in his little eyes, whilst I hung in the wind, swiftly thinking.

"But am I to understand," said I, fetching a breath, "that a marriage at sea, with n.o.body but the captain of the ship to officiate, is legal?"

"Certainly," he cried, "let me splice you to Miss Bella.s.sys, and there's nothing mortal outside the Divorce Court that can sunder you.

How many couples do you think I've married in my time?"