It was William Smith who spoke. To this man Mr. Hart told his grief.
"Didn't I tell you to come to me if you wanted anything?" cried William Smith in reproachful tones. "And here you are, throwing me over, and saying you haven't a friend in the world! You want to go home and see your little girl--well, it's natural, and I wish I could accompany you and see my old mother. But you shall go and see her instead, and you shall tell her that you came straight from her Billy, and you shall paint before her old eyes a picture of the Margaret Reef and the William Smith quartz-crushing machine, bang-banging away, pounding out the gold for W. S. Here are ten twenty-pound notes; get gold for them, and start for the port to-morrow. O, don't fret! I never give away nothing for nothing. I want a picture of my old mother's face, just as you see it, a day or two after you land in the old country. You're a painter, and can paint it, and here's payment in advance. There aren't many men in the world that William Smith would trust, but you're one of them. No wonder Philip loved you. I love you! As I hope to be saved, I love you! And--there!--I don't intend to say another word. Good-bye, dear old fellow, and God Almighty bless you!"
And William Smith pressed the old man in his arms, and ran down the hill in a stumbling fashion, for he was almost blinded by his tears; while Mr. Hart, like one in a dream, gazed after his retreating figure until it was lost to his sight. Another besides himself watched this man running away:
Margaret, who had heard every word that had passed.
"You're going home," she said, with her hand pressed to her bosom.
"Yes, ah! yes," he replied. "I have waited too many times. Home, dear home!"
"And me?" she asked, in a low supplicating tone. "What is to become of me?"
"You, Margaret You, my dear child! You go with me, of course! What did I promise Philip? I will be a father to you until I place you in his father's arms. Ah, Margaret, let us kneel down and thank God for all His goodness! for He is good, dear child, in the midst of our greatest afflictions. Ah, that's good--that's good!" For her tears were flowing now for the first time since Philip's death, and she lay in his arms, sobbing.
The next day they bade good-bye to Silver Creek; and shortly afterwards they were on board the Good Harvest, and the white sails of the ship were spread for England.