Part 24 (1/2)

She gave another little gulp, and pushed again the tear from her cheek--poor soul, she had no handkerchief; and then with an effort turns to me, and, seeing my long face, laughed faintly, though her eyes were yet full.

”We're better off than we were this time yesterday,” says I as cheerfully as I could, but with a horrid thick voice.

”Ay,” says she, ”and 'tis ungrateful and foolish to forget it.”

”Why, as for that,” says I, ”a scald will smart none the less for your getting out of hot water. But 'tis a comfort to know that we are not likely to get into the same broth again, and may reasonably hope to be relieved of our pain in time, and not long neither, which will give us patience to endure our present ills.”

”I will be patient; indeed I will,” says she earnestly. ”'Tis the least I can do in return for your goodness, Benet.”

”Let us talk of something else,” says I.

”Can you make any guess as to where we are?” she asks presently.

”Ay,” says I, with as stout a voice as if I were telling the truth, ”I make no question of our whereabouts, or I should not have spoken so hopefully.”

”But you did not seem to know before we started”--with a shrewd glance.

”No, for then I could not see the run of the mountains. Now, when we landed before supper I could not have sworn but we were in Campeachy, or Honduras, or the Isle of Cuba.”

”How could you know after we had eaten?” says she.

”Because our thirst led to the discovery of the milk-tree. Then I knew we must be in Guiana, for they grow nowhere else”; adding to myself, ”for aught I know.”

A little smile of satisfaction played about her face; then she asked eagerly:

”And what have you learnt by the run of the mountains?”

”Why, that we can't be many miles from the Gulf of Paria. For, if you will recall Sir Bartlemy's chart to mind, you will remember that the only mountains in Guiana that run by the sea are there.”

”What part of the chart, Benet?” says she, knitting her brows.

”Up at the top, against Trinidado.”

”Oh! I remember,” said she, clapping her hands joyfully. ”Why, that is close to where you left--left _him_!”

”Yes,” says I; ”and the very place Sir Bartlemy will go to refit, if I know aught about the matter.”

In this way did I bring her round to a more cheerful temper and a forgetfulness of her position. Nay, I almost cheated myself in trying to deceive her. For, to tell the truth, I had no honest opinion that we were near Paria, else had we seen by this time Margarita, or some of those isles thereabouts. Rather I was inclined to think we were over against the mountains of Guayva. However, I believe we were in neither the one place nor the other but on the coast of Darian--these huge mountains being a spur of the Andes; and if we were not there, then I know not where we were.

I kept on long after the sun had set, nor would I have stayed when I did but for the rocks which began to enc.u.mber the sh.o.r.e, and my fear to venture far abroad lest some current should get me into trouble.

Coming now to a kind of cove, well sheltered with rocks and convenient to abide in, as far as we could judge by the light of the stars, I threw out the grapple, which was made fast to the headline, and found it held very well.

This being done, we ate a second supper of turtle and milk; after which I made up as comfortable a bed in the bottom of the boat as was to be had with no better material than the lug-sail, and induced Lady Biddy to lie down and get some sleep, promising to wake her as soon as the day broke, and get a few hours' sleep myself whilst she kept watch.

There was just enough light for me to descry her pale face at the further end of the boat as she lay on the rude bed. I sat watching her, maybe two hours, thinking by her stillness she had fallen asleep; but of a sudden, without moving, she says:

”Benet, do you think we could get there in a week?”