She made no reply to this, but turned away to give an order to the sailors.
The last of Delia’s furniture was hardly aboard, when we heard great shouts of joy, and saw the men returning that had gone to search the cliff. They bore between them three large oak coffers: which being broke, we came on an immense deal of old plate and jewels, besides over L300 in coined money. There were two more left behind, they said, besides several small bags of gold. The path up the cliff was hard to climb, and would have been impossible, but for the iron ladder they found ready fix’d for Master Tingcomb’s descent. In the hole (that could not be seen from the beach, the shelf hiding it) was tackle for lowering the chest: and below a boat moor’d, and now left high and dry by the tide. Doubtless, the arch-rascal had waited for his comrades to return, whom Matt. Soames and I had scar’d out of all stomach to do so. His body was nowhere found.
The sea had wash’d it off: but the sack they recover’d, and found to hold the choicest of Delia’s heirlooms. Within an hour the remaining coffers and the money bags were safe in the vessel’s hold.
The sun was setting, as Delia and I stood on the beach, beside the boat that was to take her from me. Aboard the Godsend I could hear the anchor lifting, and the men singing, as, holding Molly’s bridle, I held out my hand to the dear maid who with me had shar’d so many a peril.
“Is there any more to come?” she ask’d.
“No,” said I, and God knows my heart was heavy: “nothing to come but ‘Farewell!’”
She laid her small hand in my big palm, and glancing up, said very pretty and demur—
“And shall I leave my best? Wilt not come, too, dear Jack?”
“Delia!” I stammer’d. “What is this? I thought you lov’d me not.”