“Thank God!” said Arkwright.
“Thank God, indeed!” said his brother. “All will be right with you now.”
“Well, Fanny,” said her husband, as he took her very gently from the litter and seated her on a bench which stood outside the door. “It is all over now,—is it not?”
She answered him by a shower of tears, but they were tears which brought her relief. He was aware of this, and therefore stood by her, still holding her by both her hands while her head rested against his side. “You will find the motion of the boat very gentle,” he said “indeed there will be no motion, and you and baby will sleep all the way down to Greytown.” She did not answer him in words, but she looked up into his face, and he could see that her spirit was recovering itself.
There was almost a crowd of people collected on the spot, preparatory to the departure of the canoes. In the first place there was the commandant of the fort, to whom the small house belonged. He was looking to the passports of our friends, and with due diligence endeavouring to make something of the occasion, by discovering fatal legal impediments to the further prosecution of their voyage, which impediments would disappear on the payment of certain dollars. And then there were half a dozen Costa Rican soldiers, men with coloured caps and old muskets, ready to support the dignity and authority of the commandant. There were the guides taking payment from Abel Ring for their past work, and the postmen preparing their boats for the further journey. And then there was a certain German there, with a German servant, to whom the boats belonged. He also was very busy preparing for the river voyage. He was not going down with them, but it was his business to see them well started. A singular looking man was he, with a huge shaggy beard, and shaggy uncombed hair, but with bright blue eyes, which gave to his face a remarkable look of sweetness. He was an uncouth man to the eye, and yet a child would have trusted herself with him in a forest.
At this place they remained some two hours. Coffee was prepared here, and Mrs. Arkwright refreshed herself and her child. They washed and arranged their clothes, and when she stepped down the steep bank, clinging to her husband’s arm as she made her way towards the boat, she smiled upon him as he looked at her.
“It is all over now,—is it not, my girl?”—he said, encouraging her.
“Oh, Harry, do not talk about it,” she answered, shuddering.
“But I want you to say a word to me to let me know that you are better.”
“I am better,—much better.”