to Chislehurst."

"I have," answers the Don, "and there I find the estate in the hands of
a most curious Puritanical steward, whose honesty is rather in the
letter than the spirit. For though I have reason to believe that not one
penny's value of the estate has been misemployed since it has been in
his hands, yet will he give nothing--no, not a maravedi to the
redemption of his mistress, saying that the letter is addressed to
Richard Godwin and not to him, etc., and that he hath no power to pay
out monies for this purpose, even though he believed the facts I have
laid before him--which for his own ends doubtless he fains to misdoubt."

"As a trader, sir," says Mr. Hopkins, "I cannot blame his conduct in
that respect. For should the venture fall through, the next heir might
call upon him to repay out of his own pocket all that he had put into
this enterprise. But this Mr. Richard Godwin, what of him?"

"He is nowhere to be found. The only relatives I have been able to
discover are these two gentlemen."

"Who," remarks Mr. Hopkins, with a shrewd glance at our soiled clothes,
"are not, I venture to think, in a position to pay their cousin's
ransom."

"Alas, no, sir," says Jack. "We are but two poor shopkeepers of London
undone by the great fire."

"Well now, sir," says Mr. Hopkins, fetching an inkpot, a pen, and a
piece of paper from his pocket. "I may conclude that you wish me to
adventure upon the redemption of these two ladies in Barbary, upon the