“And I’d give a hundred pounds,” said the doctor, “to know the truth.”
“Really,” said Sir James, laughing. “You are the most obstinate man I ever knew.”
“Yes,” said the doctor. “I suppose I am.”
Chapter Forty.
“Huzza! We’re Homeward Bound!”
The first wet day there had been for a month. It seemed as if Mother Nature had been saving up all her rain in a great cistern, and was then letting it out at once.
No glorious sapphire seas and brilliant skies; no golden sunshine pouring down on tawny sands, over which waved the long pinnate leaves of the cocoa-nuts palms; no brilliant-coloured fish that seemed to be waiting to be caught; no glorious life of freedom, with their boat to enable them to glide from isle to isle, where it was always summer; but rain, rain, rain, always rain, pouring down from a lead-black sky.
A dreary prospect, but not half so dreary as Dexter’s spirits, as he thought of what was to come.