“I could not help saying thank you,” she said.
“Mr. May, sir!” cried Jennings, almost crying, and looking round for Harry, as a sort of protector—“tell them, sir, please, it was only my duty—I could not do no less, and you knows it, sir,” as if Harry had been making an accusation against him.
“We know you could not,” said Margaret, “and that is what we would thank you for, if we could. I know he—Mr. Ernescliffe—must have been much more at rest for leaving my brother with so kind a friend, and—”
“Please, miss, don’t say no more about it. Mr. Ernescliffe was as fine an officer as ever stepped a quarter-deck, and Mr. May here won’t fall short of him; and was I to be after leaving the like of them to the mercy of the black fellows—that was not so bad neither? If it had only pleased God that we had brought them both back to you, miss; but, you see, a man can’t be everything at once, and Mr. Ernescliffe was not so stout as his heart.”
“You did everything, we know—” began Dr. May.
“‘Twas a real pleasure,” said Jennings hastily, “for two such real gentlemen as they was. Mr. May, sir, I beg your pardon if I say it to your face, never flinched, nor spoke a word of complaint, through it all; and, as to the other—”
“Margaret cannot bear this,” said Richard, coming near. “It is too much.”
The sailor shook his head, and was retreating, but Margaret signed him to come near again, and grasped his hand. Harry followed him out of the room, to arrange their journey, and presently returned.
“He says he is glad he has seen Margaret; he says she is the right sort of stuff for Mr. Ernescliffe.”
Harry had not intended Margaret to hear, but she caught the words, smiled radiantly, and whispered, “I wish I may be!”