Bartlett—[As if he hadn’t heard.] Since I come back to you, almost. Did ye ever stop to think o’ how strange it be we’d ever come to this? I never dreamed a day’d come when ye’d force me to sleep away from ye, alone in a shed like a mangy dog!
Mrs. Bartlett—[Gently.] I didn’t drive you away, Isaiah. You came o’ your own will.
Bartlett—Because o’ your naggin’ tongue, woman—and the wrong ye thought o’ me.
Mrs. Bartlett—[Shaking her head, slowly.]
It wasn’t me you ran from, Isaiah. You ran away from your own self—the conscience God put in you that you think you can fool with lies.
Bartlett—[Starting to his feet—angrily.] Lies?
Mrs. Bartlett—It’s the truth, Isaiah, only you be too weak to face it.
Bartlett—[With defiant bravado.] Ye’ll find I be strong enough to face anything, true or lie! [Then protestingly.] What call have ye to think evil o’ me, Sarah? It’s mad o’ ye to hold me to account for things I said in my sleep—for the damned nightmares that set me talkin’ wild when I’d just come home and my head was still cracked with the thirst and the sun I’d borne on that island. Is that right, woman, to be blamin’ me for mad dreams?
Mrs. Bartlett—You confessed the rest of what you said was true—of the gold you’d found and buried there.
Bartlett—[With a sudden fierce exultation.] Aye—that be true as Bible, Sarah. When I’ve sailed back in the schooner, ye’ll see for yourself. There be a big chest o’ it, yellow and heavy, and fixed up with diamonds, emeralds and sech, that be worth more, even, nor the gold. We’ll be rich, Sarah—rich like I’ve always dreamed we’d be! There’ll be silks and carriages for ye—all the woman’s truck in the world ye’ve a mind to want—and all that Nat and Sue’ll want, too.