She spoke with so sweet a pathos in her voice that Dutch’s heart beat painfully, and the words were on his lips to say, “Come to me, darling, I do believe you;” but they were not spoken, for she slowly descended the stairs to the cabin, leaving him gazing wistfully after her. Then, walking to the side, he leaned his head upon his hands, praying in the bitterness of his heart that this painful time might end, and listening, as it were, to adverse promptings of his spirit, seeming to hear the sweet innocency of her life proclaimed to him on the one side, while on the other, in hateful repetition, came the scenes he had witnessed, the dreamy vision, the strange alteration in her manner, Lauré’s triumphant sneers, and the shadow on the blind.
“If heaven had but given me the strength of mind that has been given to my outward frame, I could have been happy,” he groaned.
“If you lean there and doze, so close to these forests, friend Pugh, we shall have you down with fever,” said the captain, laying his hand upon his shoulder.
Dutch started up, for he had not heard him approach.
“I was only thinking,” he said, hastily.
“I know what about, Pugh; and, from what my girl Bessy has said to me, I should like to talk to you. But I can’t help feeling that matters are coming right without my interfering. There, I’ll say no more. I only wanted to have a chat with you quietly. I’ve been talking to Parkley, and I wanted to tell you that I have made the strictest arrangements for guarding against surprise. Regular watch will be kept, just as if we were at sea; for, of course, before long it is probable that we may have many thousand pounds’ worth of metal on board. But at the same time I think we have circumvented the enemy.”
“You have seen nothing to excite your suspicions, then,” said Dutch.
“No. Nor you?”
“Nothing whatever.”
“That’s well; but, all the same, we will not relax our watchfulness. Parkley and the doctor have both promised, and you must do the same.”