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The tears that Mary Pratt profusely shed over Roswell's letter, were both sweet and bitter. The manifestations of his affection for her, which were manly and frank, brought tears of tenderness from her eyes; while the recollection of the width of the chasm that separated them, had the effect to embitter these proofs of love.
It now attracted Roswell's gaze; and coming as it did after so much reading, so many conversations with Stephen, and addressing itself to one whose heart was softened by the fearful circumstances that had so long environed the sealers, it is not surprising that it brought our young master to meditate seriously on his true condition in connection with the atonement that he was willing to admit had been made for him, in common with all of earth, at the very moment he hesitated to believe that the sufferer was, in any other than a metaphorical sense, the Son of God.
Our heroine hardly knew whether or not to seek for consolation in her uncle's suggestion of Roswell's being detained among the keys, in order to look for the hidden treasure. The more she reflected on this subject, the more did it embarrass her.
He who stays here another month may almost make up his mind to stay eight more of them; if, indeed, he ever get away from the group at all!" "A late start is better than a half-empty vessel. When you get in to Oyster Pond, Gar'ner, I hope you will send a line across to the Vineyard, and tell 'em all about us." Another long and brooding pause succeeded, during which Roswell's mind was made up.
This was so very obvious that a line drawn from the quarter of Roswell's craft, in a quartering direction, would almost have kept the other schooner in its range from the moment that her bow hove heavily past. "God bless you! God bless you!" cried Roswell Gardiner, waving his hand in adieu, firmly persuaded that he and the Vineyard master were never to meet again in this world.
None of that close stewing over stoves, which is so common in America, and which causes one-half of the winter diseases of the climate, was tolerated in either gang. Daggett saw the prudence of Roswell's, or rather of Stimson's system, and fell into it freely, and with hearty good-will.
She knew that not only her uncle's days, but that his very hours, were numbered; and that, notwithstanding this momentary flickering of the lamp, in consequence of fresh oil being poured into it, the wick was nearly consumed, and that it must shortly go out, let Roswell's success be what it might.
Roswell's fancy carried him far across that blue and sparkling ocean, northward, to Oyster Pond, and Deacon Pratt's homestead, and to Mary.
The skins of the fur-seals, however, were Roswell's principal object; and glad enough was he to find the creature that pays this tribute to the wants and luxuries of man, in numbers sufficient to promise him a speedy return to the northward.
"Stop, Mary, my dear this news is overpowering it is almost too good to be true," interrupted the deacon, nearly as much unmanned by this intelligence of his good fortune as he had previously been by his apprehensions. "Yes, it does seem too good to be true; read it again, child; yes, read every syllable of it again!" Mary complied, delighted enough to hear all she could of Roswell's success.
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