The Heart of the West was boarded by a lieutenant of infantry, inside the Narrows, and was quickly piloted to a berth on the north side of the great harbour, where her anchors were merrily let go. The lieutenant welcomed Master Kingswell in the governor's name, and vowed to Mistress Westleigh that the old shellback (with so little respect will a subaltern sometimes speak of his superior into safe ears) would never have allowed his gout to keep him ashore had he guessed that the new arrival carried such a passenger.

"But his Excellency is a sailor," he added, "so, after all, he'd blink his old eyes at you unmoved. These sailors, ecod, are not the worshippers of beauty that the poets would have us believe."

He bowed again, very fine in his new uniform and powdered hair. Beatrix shot a glance at Kingswell, who seemed in no wise conscious of the dimness of his own attire and the rents in the silk facings of his coat. Then she smiled upon the soldier.

"Both the army and navy have my esteem," she said, "but my particular fancy is for the Church."

The lieutenant seemed overwhelmed. "Say you so?" he cried. "And to think, mistress, that I refused to take Holy Orders, despite the combined persuasion of both my parents and my uncle, the Bishop of Bath. Stab me, but why did not my heart give me a hint of your preference?"

"Perhaps you have a parson ashore," suggested Kingswell.

"Ay, we have a parson—a ranting old missionary," replied the lieutenant.

"He'll serve my turn," said Beatrix, "so long as he can read the marriage service."

"Ay, he'll serve our turn," said Kingswell.

The soldier sighed, and smiled whimsically from the one to the other. He was not much older than Bernard Kingswell, and of a pleasant, boyish countenance.

"You have a story," he said, "with which I hope you will honour us in the governor's house. A brave tale, too, I'll stake my sword." He smiled good-naturedly at Master Kingswell. "But d'ye know," he added, gazing at Mistress Westleigh, "I had quite set my heart on it that you two were brother and sister."

The governor received them in his best coat, with one foot in a boot, and the other swathed to the bulk of a soldier's knapsack. His face was of the tint of russet leather, and, roughened by many inclement winds and darkened by high living. His voice was of a rancorous quality, as if he had frayed it by too much shouting through fogs and against gales. His hands were big, knotted, and tremulous, and his eyes not unlike those of a new-jigged codfish. Altogether he was a figure of a man for his place as king's representative. He led Mistress Beatrix to a chair with such grace as he could command, and presented a ponderous snuff-box to Master Kingswell. Then he called for refreshments. The lieutenant made himself at home beside the lady, and waited upon her with wine and cakes. When the servants were gone and the door closed, Kingswell stated his name and degree.

"Let me shake your hand again, young sir," cried his Excellency, extending an unsteady hand. "Your honoured father dined and wined me more than once in his great house in Bristol,—ay, and treated the poor sailor like a peer of the realm."

Kingswell leaned sideways in his chair and gave a brief account of Sir Ralph Westleigh's and Mistress Westleigh's sojourn in the wilderness, and of the baronet's death. He did not mention the fact that the fort was still inhabited, nor did he give a very definite idea of its whereabouts. It was well to be cautious in regard to unchartered plantations in those days of greedy fishermen. He mentioned the brief engagement with the buccaneer. He told of his betrothal to Mistress Westleigh, and of their anxiety to be married immediately. The governor was deeply affected by the story of Sir Ralph Westleigh's last days. He murmured an oath. "And the day was," he said, "that not a duke in England was more looked up to than that same baronet of Somerset. Well do I recall the pride that inflated me when Lady Westleigh—ay, the young lady's mother—bowed to me in Hyde Park. Only once had she met me, and that in a crush to which I'd been invited through my commander. And she was as beautiful as she was gracious, sir. 'Twas after her death that Sir Ralph threw over his ballast, poor devil."

Kingswell nodded, and remembered the winter of alarms and loneliness.

"They were bitter years for the daughter," he said, softly. "Motherless, and with a father whom she loved letting slip his old pride and honour day by day, she shared his downfall and his exile with fortitude, sir, I can assure you."

"Ay, as became her brave beauty," replied the governor, with a gleam in his staring eyes.

Now fate would have it at that time the only divine in the great island, the Reverend Thomas Aldrich, M. A., was away from the little town of St. John's, on a preaching tour among the English fishermen in Conception Bay. He might be back in a day's time; he was more likely not to return within the week.

"In the meantime," said the honest governor, "my house is at Mistress Westleigh's service. Let her send for her maid and her boxes. My good housekeeper will tidy up the best chamber. Gad, Master Kingswell, but we'll cheer this God-forsaken, French-pestered hole in the rock with a touch of gaiety."

His Excellency's hospitality was accepted, and for eight days the little settlement gave itself over to merrymaking. There were dances in the governor's house every night, at which Beatrix was the only lady. There were great dinners, during which Beatrix sat on his Excellency's right and Kingswell on his left. There were inspections of the fort, boating parties on the harbour, and outings among the woods and natural gardens that graced the valley at the head of the beautiful basin.

The beauty and graciousness of Mistress Westleigh, and the knowledge of her loyalty to her father, and her bravery won the heart of that rude village. From the governor to the youngest sailor lad, every man in the harbour was her humble and devoted servant.

Before the kindly soldiers and merchants and adventurers, she was always merry. The main street along the water-front took on a light of distant England did she but appear in it for a minute. The three officers of the garrison swore that they preferred it to the most fashionable promenade on London. But, alone, or with her lover, she eased, with tears, the grief for her father's fate, which all the junketing and gaiety but seemed to uncover.

On the eighth day after the arrival of the Heart of the West in the harbour of St. John's, the parson returned from his preaching among the boisterous fishing-ships in Conception Bay. He shook his head at the state in which he found his home flock; for he was of that gloomy persuasion known as low church, and held little with frivolity. But, after meeting Beatrix, he thawed, and even went so far as to attempt a pun on his willingness to marry her. The sally of wit was received by the lady with so lovely a smile that the divine forgot his austerity so far as to poke Kingswell in the ribs, and call him a sly dog.

The ceremony took place in the little church behind the governor's house; and, after it was over, his Excellency, the parson, the officers of the garrison, the merchants, the captains of the ships, and many more, accompanied the happy couple aboard the Heart of the West, where sound wines were drunk by the quality, and rum and beer by the commonalty. All the shipping, the premises of the merchants, and the forts flew bunting, as if for a demonstration to royalty itself. At noon farewells were said, and a dozen willing boats towed the Heart of the West down the harbour and through the Narrows.