He spoke no word after leaving the house, but walked moodily, with his head hanging upon his breast and his arms down by his sides.
Hanson perceived his deep despair, and even his selfish heart was touched.
“Brace up, man! brace up!” he cried, clapping Harcourt heartily on the shoulder, as they passed through the stubble field on their way down to the boat. “You have lost Roma, to be sure, but you are not the first man ever disappointed in love; and this wisdom of the ages declares that ‘there are as good fish in the sea as ever were caught out of it.’ You are very young yet. You will be in love, or fancy yourself in love, with a score of women yet before you are fit to marry.”
Harcourt replied never a word, but walked on like a condemned prisoner before his executioner.
“Oh, come! Pull yourself together! You have lost Roma, to be sure; but just consider what you have saved, man—your life, your liberty, your good name, your future, your ambition, your proud career, your aged mother’s life and peace of mind, your betrothed bride’s honor and reputation—all these that you have saved by one sacrifice, you would have lost, had you been proved a swindler, a sneak thief and a murderer. Be wise, and reflect on the things you have saved, not on the girl you have lost, and who, after your deed, must have been lost to you in any case.”
Still Harcourt did not speak.
They went down to the sands, where the boat was waiting.
“Good-by! Bon voyage!” cried Hanson, gayly lifting his hat as Harcourt went slowly, mechanically into the boat and dropped upon his seat.
The men, without a word, laid themselves to their oars and rowed rapidly to the steamer that lay waiting off the coast.
She was already getting up steam, and as soon as the men and passenger boarded her, and the boat was hauled up, she started on her southern course.