"Hum!" said Mark Armsworth. "That's a queer story. Tom, have you got
the poor fellow's money? Didn't lose it when you were taken by those
Tartars?"

"Not I. I wasn't so green as to carry it with me. It ought to have
been in England six months ago. My only fear is, it's not enough."

"Hum!" said Mark. "How much more do you think you'll want?"

"Heaven knows. There is a thousand dollars; but if she be half as
beautiful as poor Wyse used to swear she was, I may want more than
double that."

"If you do, pay it, and I'll pay you again. No, by George!" said Mark,
"no one shall say that while Mark Armsworth had a balance at his
bankers' he let a poor girl--" and, recollecting Mary's presence, he
finished his sentence by sundry stamps and thumps on the table.

"You would soon exhaust your balance, if you set to work to free all
poor girls who are in the same case in Georgia," said the Doctor.

"Well, what of that? Them I don't know of, and so I ain't responsible
for them; but this one I do know of, and so--there, I can't argue;
but, Tom, if you want the money, you know where to find it."

"Very good. By the by--I forgot it till this moment--who should come
down in the coach with me but the lost John Briggs."

"He is come too late, then," said the Doctor. "His poor father died