They were now reaping an abundant harvest, doubtless a part of the luck which their hospitality to the stranger had brought to them, and they were rich. They did not want to be rid of their invalid,—not they. No hospitality was more genuine than theirs.
If they could only conceal their riches from the knowledge of the dacoit chief,—who commanded his band of scoundrels from a neighbouring village among the hills at a little distance,—they might, should their treasure of a sick man recover,—and after all his money was spent, not before,—conduct him to the nearest English military station, and be paid all over again by the innocent white-faced Thakins there for their kindness to their countryman.
So the virtuous Burman sang and laughed over his work, in his simple gaité du coeur; and gathered the jungle flowers and fruit which cost him nothing at all, but which the Thakin would doubtless be so grateful to them for bringing to him.
And Kirke lay pondering as to what course he must pursue when he should recover.
In the first instance he must write to his father, confess his sense of the sins which he had committed, and ask pardon for his conduct.
But, after that, what? Would it be necessary to give himself up to English justice, and to permit the law to take its way with him for his attempt to lose the raft? That would be a very bitter pill to him,—must it be swallowed? At anyrate, moving was impossible at present, though he was recovering fast; that question must wait, but he could write to his father and keep the letter by him, waiting for some chance of sending it. He would be more at peace with himself were the confession made on paper, even were no one ever to read it. He would feel more in earnest as to his repentance.
Many days were spent over that letter, and it was a very pathetic one when finished, for it was simple and manly in its tone. In it he confessed his sorrow for his past life, and his hope that he might be spared to redeem it, in some measure, by his future career. "If I can," he wrote, "I would wish to get something to do here, rather than return home. I would like to prove to you that I can and will work hard at some honest employment before asking you to receive me into your presence again. I am recovering from a severe attack of jungle fever, and I cannot say where I shall go, or what I must do when I can move; but if you forgive me, please write to the Herfords' house in Rangoon, from whence I will endeavour to obtain letters as soon as may be. I hope that God will give me a fresh chance; but if I die, will you try to believe that I am truly sorry for the past."
He wrote and rewrote this letter, now fearing that it did not express enough humility and contrition, then dreading lest it should seem servile; but he completed it at last, and laid it carefully aside.