“My duty’s hard to know,” declared Vivian.
“Then leave it,” answered the other. “Here’s Fate busy working for you. Why for keep so glum about it? Let me advise, for I know I’m right. Take the next ship home an’ set out all afore your faither. He’ll say what’s proper to do. I’ll bury these sinners, an’ you can bear the tale home along; an’ when he’s heard all, Sir Reginald will know very well how to act. Trust him!”
“And you, Sweetland?”
“I’ll tell you what I think about myself so soon as I be through with this job. One thing’s clear as mud: the sooner we’re out of Tobago the better. If you can only trust the second in command at the Pelican works to carry on for the present, I say ‘be off.’ Then this scarey business will right itself. The bad man fades away from memory. His sins are forgotten. Never was a case where silence seemed like to suit everybody best an’ do the least harm.”
In his heart Henry Vivian felt somewhat nettled to find an untutored man rising to strength of character and practical force greater than his own at this crisis. But he could not fail to feel the sense of Dan’s advice. Moreover, he was awake to the immense debt he owed to Sweetland.
That night, while fireflies danced over the raw earth of the grave under the snake-gourd, Henry Vivian and the sailor held solemn speech together. They talked for hours; then Daniel had his way.
It was at length determined that Sir Reginald’s son should return home at once. Having yielded slowly to Dan’s strong entreaties in this matter, Vivian asked a question.
“And what do you do, Sweetland? Or, I should ask, what can I do for you? Your welfare is mine henceforth. This tragedy has merely obscured the problem with respect to you. I return home and convince my father that what has happened was really for the best. We will take it that he agrees, presently appoints a new overseer, and leaves this scoundrel in his unknown grave. So much for me and the issue of my affairs; but now what happens to you, my lad? One thing is to the good: you’ll have the governor on your side when he hears you saved my life.”
“Well,” answered Dan, “I was waiting for us to come to my business. To tell you the truth, I’ve thought of myself so well as you, Mister Henry. An’ this is what I’ve got to say. You’ll think I’ve gone cracked, I reckon, yet I beg you’ll hear me out, for I’ve given a lot of thought to the matter, you may be sartain; an’ mad though it do sound, if you think of it, you’ll see that ’tis about the only way. If you count that you owe me ought, I beg you’ll fall in with my plan; then I shall be in your debt for everlasting.”
“I owe you everything, Dan. I owe it to you that I’m not dead and buried in that old fiend’s garden, where he lies himself. Tell me what’s best to be done for you, and be sure if it’s in my power that I’ll do it.”