About to be hanged, she coverts.
Converted, she pleases a minister who arranges transportation to Virginia instead of death.
She goes, but not before reuniting with her Lancashire husband who has had a 25 year career as a highwayman.
Both go to the colonies, each with a significant nestegg of ill-gotten gains of a lifetime of crime.
In the colonies, rich already, they set up as planters and are rolling in dough.
God smiles on them, and every year their fortunes rise.
Ten years later, grandees, they return to finish their lives in splendor in England.
Who says crime doesn't pay, or religion is inconsistent with profiting vastly by it?
Moll Flanders.
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