“And you will see your mother again; will you not; and give baby to her yourself?”
To this she made no immediate answer, for she was on a level with the river, and the canoe was close at her feet. And then she had to bid farewell to her brother. He was now the unfortunate one of the party, for his destiny required that he should go back to San José alone,—go back and remain there perhaps some ten years longer before he might look for the happiness of home.
“God bless you, dearest Abel,” she said, kissing him and sobbing as she spoke.
“Good-bye, Fanny,” he said, “and do not let them forget me in England. It is a great comfort to think that the worst of your troubles are over.”
“Oh,—she’s all right now,” said Arkwright. “Good-bye, old boy,”—and the two brothers-in-law grasped each other’s hands heartily. “Keep up your spirits, and we’ll have you home before long.”
“Oh, I’m all right,” said the other. But from the tone of the voices, it was clear that poor Ring was despondent at the thoughts of his coming solitude, and that Arkwright was already triumphing in his emancipation.
And then, with much care, Fanny Arkwright was stowed away in the boat. There was a great contest about the baby, but at last it was arranged, that at any rate for the first few hours she should be placed in the boat with the servant. The mother was told that by this plan she would feel herself at liberty to sleep during the heat of the day, and then she might hope to have strength to look to the child when they should be on shore during the night. In this way therefore they prepared to start, while Abel Ring stood on the bank looking at them with wishful eyes. In the first boat were two Indians paddling, and a third man steering with another paddle. In the middle there was much luggage, and near the luggage so as to be under shade, was the baby’s soft bed. If nothing evil happened to the boat, the child could not be more safe in the best cradle that was ever rocked. With her was the maid-servant and some stranger who was also going down to Greytown.
In the second boat were the same number of men to paddle, the Indian guide being one of them, and there were the mails placed. Then there was a seat arranged with blankets, cloaks, and cushions, for Mrs. Arkwright, so that she might lean back and sleep without fatigue, and immediately opposite to her her husband placed himself. “You all look very comfortable,” said poor Abel from the bank.
“We shall do very well now,” said Arkwright.
“And I do think I shall see mamma again,” said his wife.