"Well," he said, kindly and seriously, "that is good in one way. It shows that you are becoming a little more cheerful."
She shook her head.
"I shall never again be cheerful; happiness is gone out of my life for ever."
"Philip does not like to hear you say so, Margaret."
Mr. Hart purposely used the present tense. Margaret pondered over the words. "Philip does not like!" That would imply that Philip heard her.
"He does hear you, my dear," said Mr. Hart. "If I believed that you would never see Philip again I should bid you despair; but you and Philip will meet in a better world than this, and that is why I want you to be cheerful, as he would ask you to be, if you could hear his voice."
In this way Mr. Hart aroused to consciousness the religious principle within her, and it may with truth be said that, although Margaret had lived a pure and sinless life, she had never been a better woman than she was now, notwithstanding the deep sorrow which had fallen upon her.
When the Good Harvest had been seventy days out, the skipper said to Mr. Hart that he smelt England. "If all goes well," he said, "we shall be in Victoria Dock in seven days from this."
Mr. Hart immediately went below into his cabin. He mapped out his programme of proceedings. His first task--one of duty--was to see William Smith's old mother. She lived in London, and if he got ashore before midday, he would be able to put Margaret in lodgings, and see the old woman the same day. Then he would draw before her eyes the sketch of the picture which William Smith had paid him to paint, of the Margaret Reef and the William Smith quartz-crushing machine "banging away," and he would delight the old woman's heart by telling her of the grand doings of her son. Mr. Hart calculated that he could accomplish this by the evening, when he would take his sketch away with him and paint the picture from it in the course of the next three or four weeks. His second task was one of love; he would go to see his daughter. Curiously enough, she was in Devonshire, whither he should have to direct his steps in Margaret's interests. Philip's father lived in "dear old Devon," to use Philip's own words; but that and the allusions to the Silver Flagon which had been adopted as the sign of their hotel in Silver Creek, were the only clues which Mr. Hart possessed towards finding old Mr. Rowe. Faint as these clues were (and he had discovered that Margaret could not supply him with any more definite), it was clearly his duty to do his best with them. Margaret, of course, would accompany him to Devonshire, and become acquainted with his daughter Lucy, whose name is now for the first time mentioned. Seated in his cabin, Mr. Hart took out his pocket-book, and wrote in it the order of his proceedings. This being done, he looked over the contents of the book, and came across a blank envelope with a bulky enclosure in it. At first he did not remember how this envelope came into his possession, but he was only in doubt for a moment or two. It was the packet which Philip had given into his charge on his return from his honeymoon. Mr. Hart recalled the conversation that had taken place between them on the occasion, and the promise Philip had exacted from him that he would not give up the envelope until they met in the old country. He sighed as he thought that that meeting could never take place, and he went into the saloon where Margaret was sitting. He asked her if Philip had spoken to her about this trust; she answered, "No," and that she was in complete ignorance of it.
"Now that poor Philip's wish cannot be fulfilled," said Mr. Hart, "you had better take possession of the packet."