"
"Then perhaps you will produce some proof of them in black and
white."
The Earl drew a folded paper from his breast and spread it upon the
table before them. It was an affectionate letter of pardon, dated a
month back from the Court of Saint Germains, written throughout and
signed by the hand of King James himself.
"Thank you, my lord. When his Majesty writes thus, it is not for his
subjects to bear rancour. Will you kindly state your immediate
business?"
"It concerns the young man Tristram Salt. You desire that he should
be restored to you?"
"My lord," said Captain Barker, "that young man is more to me than
many sons."
"You are indignant at the recollection of this afternoon?"
"What has that to do with it?"
"Much. But let me continue. Your adopted son, Captain Barker,
is at this moment lying in the hold of his Majesty's frigate the
_Good Intent_. He is in irons."
"In irons!"
"Yes, sir. He has undoubtedly imbibed your opinions with regard to
the Dutch, for he began his military career by blacking the eyes of a
gentleman of that nation, who, as ill-luck will have it, is his
superior officer."
"The devil!"
"To-morrow morning he will receive six dozen lashes--perhaps more.
I take the most cheerful view in order to spare your feelings; but
most decidedly it will be six dozen, unless--"
"Unless--what?"
"Unless I remit the sentence.
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