"I am the only man who has come back." And with that I hung my head, not to see their grief.
"He is not dead – they are not all lost!" I heard her say, in a tone that seemed mingled with, a silent prayer to merciful God.
"No," says I; "Sir Harry is not dead. I left him out there in Guiana; but for the rest, if they be lost, 'tis their just reward."
Then Lady Biddy burst into tears to know that her lover lived, and Sir Bartlemy, taking her by the arm and me by mine, led us into the dining-hall without speaking.
By this time, Lady Biddy's emotion being passed, and her pride returning, she took her arm from her uncle's, as if she would not accept of kindness that was equally bestowed on such as I.
"Sit ye down there, Benet," says my uncle, pushing me to a seat; "and now tell us all as briefly as you may; for I perceive that the case is bad (with a plague to it!) though Harry live (God be thanked!); and if there be a tooth to come out, the quicker it's done the better."
Then I told the bare truth: how Rodrigues and Ned Parsons had led the crew astray and set us ashore, and the means of my coming again to England, in as few words as I could shift with. When I had made an end of this, Lady Biddy was the first to speak.
"Why did not Sir Harry come back with you?" says she.
"He scorns to come back a beggar," says I. "He will never return to England until he can repay his obligations to Sir Bartlemy and ask you to be his wife."
This gave her great joy, admiring in him that quality of pride which she cherished in herself, so that her eyes sparkled again, and her fair bosom swelled with a sigh of satisfaction. Presently she turned again upon me, her pretty lips curved with disdain, and says she:
"And you left him there in that desert alone! Content to save your own life, you abandoned him to hopeless solitude. Oh, that I had been a man in your place!"
I hung my head again in silence, feeling it were better to bear her reproach than to attempt an excuse; for I could not trust my tongue to reveal the main reason of my escaping, for fear I should betray his intention of turning pirate; and this, for the love I bore them, I was resolved to keep secret.
"Nay," says Sir Bartlemy, coming to my help, but with no great enthusiasm neither; "never beat the dog that comes home." He paused, and I could fancy his adding to himself, "Curse him, for a mean-spirited hound, all the same!" Then he continues, in a more hopeful tone, "If he had not come home, how could we have known of Harry's peril? Come, Benet; tell me that in coming hither you hoped to get succor for Harry."
"You might believe that," says I, "of a man with less heart than you credit me withal. I came to beg for help because Sir Harry was too proud to beg it himself."
"I knew as much," says he, taking my hand and shaking it heartily. Then turning to my Lady Biddy, "And now, my dear, what's to do? I have no money, and an expense I must be to you all the days that I live, now that my all is lost, with a pox to those rascals that robbed me! But you of your plenty will charter a ship to go out and fetch this poor man?"
"More than that must be done," says I. "He will only accept such help as will enable him to recover all he has lost."
There was approval in Lady Biddy's looks when I said this.
"Odds my life! he's in the right of it," cries Sir Bartlemy, bumping the table with his fist. "Plague take me if ever I'd come sneaking home with my tail twixt my legs like a whipped cur that has neither the stomach to bite nor to keep away from his sop. I mean nothing ill with regard to you, Benet," he adds, turning about to me, "for I hold you have done the part of a true friend and a good, and have shown more courage and high spirit in this matter than many another. Well, what's to do, girl, eh?" – turning now to Lady Biddy, and rubbing his thighs with his broad hands cheerily.
Lady Biddy, with not less eagerness in her manner, looked to me, and nodded that I should speak all that was in my mind.
"As much must be found as has been lost," says I. "For nothing less in men or treasure will suffice Sir Harry to reach Manoa. And with that it is a venture, and naught can be done without God's good help, for never man saw a country so difficult to penetrate or such currents of rivers to mount. And first, money must be raised."
"Money shall not lack. I will venture my fortune to the last piece," says Lady Biddy.
"Ay, and so would I, if I had aught to lose," cried Sir Bartlemy. "But you, my girl, may well spare enough for this venture, and yet have as much to lay by for another, if that fail."
"No time must be lost," says I.
"Not a moment," cries Lady Biddy, starting up as if she had but to fetch money from her strong chest to accomplish all. "You must see about ships and men at once, uncle."
"Ay," says he, "but who is to command them, and carry help to your sweetheart in Guiana?"
Lady Biddy looked at him, and he at her, wetting his lips, as one with a dainty dish set before him that he would fain eat of.
"I'm an old fellow, but there's life in me yet: there's vigor – there's manhood," says he; "and if I decay 'twill be only for want of use. And I know the seas as well as any man, and I warrant me no crew of mine should take my ship from me, as from this poor lad, who put too great faith in the honesty of seamen. I dream o' nights of ocean seas; and feather-beds I do hate more than any man can – "
"Then why should not you command this expedition?" says Lady Biddy.
He tried to look astonished at this design; then putting his beard betwixt his fingers and thumb, and shaking his head doubtfully, he tried to look grave, but his merry eye twinkled with delight at this notion. Yet presently his chap fell, and he looked truly serious.
"My dear," said he, "what am I to do with you? I can not leave a young girl alone in this place, and you have no relative but me, nor any steadfast friend to whom I may confide you, and a scurvy to it. Lord! I'd have done it, but for this plaguy obstacle."
Then Lady Biddy, as mad as he and as fond, cries:
"Do you think I will be left at home to mope, as I have in these past months? Nay – where my fortune goes, there go I also."
"And why not?" cries my uncle, banging the table again. "Was there ere a better governor than Queen Bess, and she was a woman? And no queen that ever lived had a higher spirit or a braver heart than thou, my dear! Kiss me, for I love you. Now go fetch the chart from my closet. Benet" (turning to me), "you shall go with me and be my counsel (as much as you may, being but a poor sailor, I take it). We'll set to this at once; ships must be bought and men got – honest men – and none of your rascals who have come home with gold, and tell of getting it from the Ingas." In this way he ran on, till Lady Biddy came in bringing the chart; and a very good chart it was, so that I had no difficulty in pointing out the island where we had been set ashore, as I have said.
Then did this uncle and niece lay out their plans gleefully as any children designing a holiday jaunt – reckoning nothing of the perils and terrors that I knew lay before us. But this sanguine temper was of that family's nature. And beautiful it was to see that graceful, lovely girl leaning over beside the old knight, following the course he laid down on the card – her face all aglow with eager hope and love, her eyes sparkling, and her rich, ruddy lips sweetly curved in a smile about her little white teeth.
I know not how it came about – whether it was the pang which shot through my heart as I reflected that this adorable creature was for another and not for me – that for his sake was she hazarding her fortune and life, while, if she thought of me, it was but with scorn; or whether my body was exhausted by the fatigue it had endured in hastening hither and my long fast (I had walked all night and eaten nothing but scraps of cow-salad torn from the banks), I cannot say; only this I know that, while I sat there watching that sweet girl, a great sickness and faintness came upon me, so that I had to rise and go to the window for air.
Then Sir Bartlemy spying me, and how my face was white and the cold sweat standing in beads on my brow, perceived that I was sick. So he brought me a mug of ale and some meat, which was his remedy for all ills. But what did comfort more than these