Part 17 (1/2)

”How much do you expect for these improvements? At what sum do you value them?”

I trembled as I awaited the answer. My poor purse felt light as it lay against my bosom--far lighter than the heart within: though that had been heavier but an hour before. I knew that the sack contained less than two hundred dollars, in notes of the Planters' Bank; and I feared that such a sum would never satisfy the expectations of the squatter.

”Wal, stranger,” replied he, after a pause, ”thur worth a good wheen o'

dollars; but I shan't valley 'em myself. I'll leave that part o' the bizness to a third individooal--my friend as stands thur; an' who's a just man, an's been some'at o' a lawyer too. He'll say what's fair atween us. Won't ye, Josh?”

I thought this rather a familiar style of address, on the part of the squatter, towards his clerical and saint-like friend; but I refrained from showing my astonishment.

”Oh, yes,” replied the other, ”I'll value the property with pleasure-- that is, if the gentleman desires me to do so.”

”How much do you think it worth?” I inquired with nervous anxiety.

”Well, I should say that, for the improvements Mr Holt has made, a hundred dollars would be a fair compensation.”

”A hundred dollars?”

”Yes--in cash, of course, I mean.”

”Will you be satisfied with that sum?” said I, turning to Holt for the answer.

”Parfitly satisfied--so long's it's in cash.”

”I agree to give it then.”

”All right, strenger! a bargain's a bargain. You kin sh.e.l.l out the dollars; and I'll gie ye pursession afore this gentleman--who'll witness it in writin', ef you like.”

”I want no writing. I can trust to your word.”

It was no flattery: I felt at the moment that the squatter--rudely as he had acted--was still possessed of an honourable principle; and I knew that, under the circ.u.mstances, his word would not only be as good as his bond, but _better_! I made no hesitation, therefore; but, counting out the money, placed it upon the stump--alongside that curious doc.u.ment, impaled there by the blade of the squatter's knife.

”When 'ud ye like to take pursession?” asked the outgoing tenant.

”At your convenience,” I replied, wis.h.i.+ng to behave as courteously as possible.

”It won't take _me_ long to move. My furniter ain't very c.u.mbersome; an' I kud let ye in to-morrow, ef 't wan't that I hev some unexpected bizness with my friend hyur. Say day arter the morrow? Ef ye'll k.u.m then, ye'll find me ready to deliver up. Will that answer for ye?”

”Admirably!” was my reply.

”All right, then! I'd ask ye in, but thur's nothin' to gie you--'ceptin' that piece o' deer-meat, an' it's raw. Besides, strenger, I've some partickler _bizness jest now_, that I'm 'bleeged to see to.”

”Oh, never mind! I shall not need any refreshment till I reach Swampville.”

”Wal, then, I'll bid you good-mornin' at the same time wis.h.i.+n' you luck o' your bargin.”

”Thanks--good morning!”

I leaped into the saddle, and turned my horse's head towards the entrance of the enclosure. I should have given him the touch to go forward with more reluctance, had I not perceived the fair Lilian gliding out of the cabin, and proceeding in the same direction! Two or, three of the bars had been replaced by the clerical visitor; and she had gone, apparently, to remove them. Was it simple courtesy, or a pretence to speak with me? My heart heaved with a tumultuous joy, as I fancied that the latter might be her motive. When I reached the entrance, the bars were down; and the young girl stood leaning against one of the uprights--her round white arm embracing the post. Envied piece of timber!

”Promise me, we shall meet again?” said I, bending down, and speaking in a half-whisper.