"I tell you what. I'm not so sure of that, Mark," was the reply: so hastily and energetically spoken, that Martin sat up in his bed to give it. "I begin to be far from clear upon it. You may depend upon it, she is very unhappy. She has sacrificed her peace of mind; she has endangered her interests very much; she can't run away from those who are jealous of her, and opposed to her, as I have done. She has to endure, Mark: to endure without the possibility of action, poor girl! I begin to think she has more to bear than ever I have had. Upon my soul I do!"
Mr. Tapley opened his eyes wide, in the dark; but did not interrupt.
"And I 'll tell you a secret, Mark," said Martin, "since we are upon this subject. That ring—"
"Which ring, Sir?" Mark inquired: opening his eyes still wider.
"That ring she gave me when we parted, Mark. She bought it; bought it; knowing I was poor and proud (Heaven help me! Proud!) and wanted money."
"Who says so, Sir?" asked Mark.
"I say so. I know it. I thought of it, my good fellow, hundreds of times, while you were lying ill. And like a beast, I took it from her hand, and wore it on my own, and never dreamed of this even at the moment when I parted with it, when some faint glimmering of the truth might surely have possessed me! But it's late," said Martin, checking himself, "and you are weak and tired, I know. You only talk to cheer me up. Good night! God bless you, Mark!"
"God bless you. Sir! But I'm reg'larly defrauded," thought Mr. Tapley, turning round, with a happy face. "It's a swindle. I never entered for this sort of service. There 'll be no credit in being jolly with him!"
The time wore on, and other steam-boats coming from the point on which their hopes were fixed, arrived to take in wood; but still no answer to the letter. Rain, heat, foul slime, and noxious vapour, with all the ills and filthy things they bred, prevailed. The earth, the air, the vegetation, and the water that they drank, all teemed with deadly properties. Their fellow-passenger had lost two children long before; and buried now her last. Such things are much too common to be widely known or cared for. Smart citizens grow rich, and friendless victims smart and die, and are forgotten. That is all.
At last, a boat came panting up the ugly river, and stopped at Eden. Mark was waiting at the wood hut, when it came, and had a letter handed to him from on board. He bore it off to Martin. They looked at one another, trembling.
"It feels heavy," faltered Martin. And opening it, a little roll of dollar-notes fell out upon the ground.
What either of them said, or did, or felt, at first, neither of them knew. All Mark could ever tell was, that he was at the river's bank again out of breath, before the boat had gone, inquiring when it would retrace its track, and put in there.
The answer was, in ten or twelve days: notwithstanding which, they began to get their goods together and to tie them up, that very night.
