Part 41 (1/2)
The letter then went rambling on in a quaint, prosy, but interesting style; and Ned sat long in his room in old Mr Thompson's cottage poring over its contents, and gradually maturing his future plans.
”It's awkward,” soliloquised he, resting his head on both hands. ”I shall have to go at once, and so won't have a chance of seeing Bunting again, to tell him of poor Tom's circ.u.mstances. He would only be too glad to give him a helping hand; but I know Tom will never let him know how hard-up he is. There's nothing else for it,” he added, determinedly; ”my uncle will laugh at my profitless tour--but, _n'importe_, I have learned much.--Come in!”
This last remark was addressed to some one who had tapped gently at the door.
”It's only me, Ned; can I come in? I fear I interrupt you,” said Tom, as he entered the room.
”Not at all; sit down, my boy. I have just been perusing a letter from my good old uncle s.h.i.+rley: he writes so urgently that I fear I must return to England by the first homeward-bound s.h.i.+p.”
”Return to England!” exclaimed Tom, in surprise. ”What! leave the gold-fields just as the sun is beginning to s.h.i.+ne on you?”
”Even so, Tom.”
”My dear Ned, you are mad! This is a splendid country. Just see what fortunes we should have made, but for the unfortunate accidents that have happened!” Tom sighed as he spoke.
”I know it,” replied his friend, with sadden energy. ”This is a splendid country; gold exists all over it--not only in the streams, but on the hill-sides, and even on hill-tops, as you and I know from personal experience--but gold, Tom, is not _everything_ in this world, and the getting of it should not be our chief aim. Moreover, I have come to the conclusion, that _digging_ gold ought to be left entirely to such men as are accustomed to dig ditches and throw up railway embankments. Men whose intelligence is of a higher order ought not to ignore the faculties that have been given to them, and devote their time--too often, alas! their lives--to a species of work that the merest savage is equally capable of performing. Navvies may work at the mines with propriety; but educated men who devote themselves to such work are, I fear, among the number of those to whom Scripture specially speaks, when it says, `Make not haste to be rich.'”
”But there are other occupations here besides digging for gold,” said Tom.
”I know it; and I would be happy and proud to rank among the merchants, and engineers, and such men, of California; but duty calls me home, and, to say truth,” added Ned, with a smile, ”inclination points the way.”
Tom Collins still for some time attempted to dissuade his friend from quitting the country, and his sweet little wife, Lizette, seconded his efforts with much earnestness; but Ned Sinton was immovable. He took pa.s.sage in the first s.h.i.+p that sailed for England.
The night before he sailed, Ned, after retiring to his room for the last time in his friend's house, locked his door, and went through a variety of little pieces of business that would have surprised his hosts had they seen him. He placed a large strong-box on the table, and cautiously drew from under his bed a carpet-bag, which, from the effort made to lift it, seemed to be filled with some weighty substance.
Unlocking the bag, he proceeded to lift out handful after handful of s.h.i.+ning dollars and gold pieces, interspersed here and there with ma.s.sive nuggets. These he transferred into the wooden box until it was full. This was nearly the whole of Ned's fortune. It amounted to a little more than 3000 pounds sterling. Having completed the transfer, Ned counted the surplus left in the bag, and found it to be about 500 pounds. This he secured in a leather purse, and then sat down to write a letter. The letter was short when finished, but it took him long to write, for he meditated much during the writing of it, and several times laid his head on his hands. At last it was completed, put into the box, and the lid screwed down above it. Then Ned read a chapter in the Bible, as was his wont, and retired to rest.
Next day Tom and Lizette stood on the wharf to see him embark for England. Long and earnest was the converse of the two friends, as they were about to part, probably for ever, and then, for the first time, they became aware how deep was the attachment which each had formed for the other. At last the mate of the s.h.i.+p came up, and touched his hat.
”Now, sir, boat's ready, sir; and we don't wish to lose the first of the ebb.”
”Good-bye, Lizette--good-bye, Tom! G.o.d be with and bless you, my dear fellow! Stay, I had almost forgotten. Tom, you will find a box on the table in my room; you can keep the contents--a letter in it will explain. Farewell!”
Tom's heart was too full to speak. He squeezed his friend's hand in silence, and, turning hurriedly round, walked away with Lizette the instant the boat left the sh.o.r.e.
Late in the evening, Tom and his wife remembered the box, and went up-stairs to open it. Their surprise at its rich contents may be imagined. Both at once understood its meaning; and Lizette sat down, and covered her face with her hands, to hide the tears that flowed, while her husband read the letter. It ran thus:--
”My Dearest Tom,--You must not be angry with me for leaving this trifle--it _is_ a trifle compared with the amount of gold I would give you if I had it. But I need not apologise; the spirit of love in which it is given demands that it shall be unhesitatingly received in the same spirit. May G.o.d, who has blessed us and protected us in all our wanderings together, cause your worldly affairs to prosper, and especially may He bless your soul. Seas and continents may separate us, but I shall never forget you, Tom, or your dear wife. But I must not write as if I were saying farewell. I intend this epistle to be the opening of a correspondence that shall continue as long as we live. You shall hear from me again ere long.
”Your sincerely-attached friend,
”Edward Sinton.”
At the time Tom Collins was reading the above letter to Lizette, in a broken, husky voice, our hero was seated on the taffrail of the s.h.i.+p that bore him swiftly over the sea, gazing wistfully at the receding sh.o.r.e, and bidding a final adieu to California and all his golden dreams.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.
OUR STORY COMES TO AN END.
Home! What a host of old and deep and heart-stirring a.s.sociations arise in every human breast at the sound of that old familiar word! How well we know it--how vividly it recalls certain scenes and faces--how pleasantly it falls on the ear, and slips from the tongue--yet how little do we appreciate home until we have left it, and longed for it, perhaps, for many years.