“And I'll go with you,” said Reginald Falcon.
CHAPTER XX.
“Heaven forbid!” said Phoebe. “No, my dear, no more diamonds for us. We never had but one, and it brought us trouble.”
“Nonsense, Phoebe,” replied Falcon; “it was not the diamond's fault. You know I have often wanted to go there, but you objected. You said you were afraid some evil would befall me. But now Solomon himself is going to the mines, let us have no more of that nonsense. We will take our rifles and our pistols.”
“There—there—rifles and pistols,” cried Phoebe; “that shows.”
“And we will be there in a week; stay a month, and home with our pockets full of diamonds.”
“And find me dead of a broken heart.”
“Broken fiddlestick! We have been parted longer than that, and yet here we are all right.”
“Ay, but the pitcher that goes too often to the well gets broke at last. No, Reginald, now I have tasted three years' happiness and peace of mind, I cannot go through what I used in England. Oh, doctor! have you the heart to part man and wife, that have never been a day from each other all these years?”