It now became a duty, as well as a pleasure, to seek Major Merton, whom I had seen but once or twice during the last two months. He had passed that time at Whampao, while I had been either at the factories, or on board. The Major was occupied when I called; and Emily received me alone. When she learned that I was ready to sail for home, and had come to take my leave, it was easy to see that she was uneasy, if not distressed. I felt unhappy at parting too, and perhaps I had less scruple about saying as much.
“God only knows, Miss Merton, whether we are ever to be permitted to see each other again,” I remarked, after the preliminary explanations had been made.
The reader will remember that I am now an old man, and that vanity no longer has any of that influence over me which it might be supposed to possess over one of more juvenile hopes and feelings; that I relate facts, without reference to their effect on myself, beyond the general salvo of some lingering weaknesses of humanity. I trust, therefore, I shall be understood in all my necessary allusions to the estimation in which I was apparently held by others. Emily fairly started when I made this remark concerning the probable duration of the approaching separation, and the colour left her cheek. Her pretty white hand shook, so that she had difficulty in using her needle; and there was an appearance of agitation and distress about the charming girl, that I had never before witnessed in one whose manner was usually so self-possessed and calm. I now know the reason why I did not throw myself on my knees, and beg the charming girl to consent to accompany me to America, though I wondered at myself afterwards, when I came to reflect coolly on all that passed, for my stoicism. I will not affirm that I fancied Emily's agitation to be altogether owing to myself; but I confess to an inability to account for it, in any other manner, as agreeable to myself. The appearance of Major Merton at that instant, however, prevented everything like a scene, and probably restored us both to a consciousness of the necessity of seeming calm. As for the Major, himself, he was evidently far from being unconcerned, something having occurred to disturb him. So very apparent was this, that I commenced the discourse by asking if he were unwell.
“Always that, I fear, Miles,” he answered; “my physician has just told me frankly, unless I get into a cold climate as soon as possible, my life will not be worth six months' purchase.”
“Then sail with me, sir,” I cried, with an eagerness and heartiness that must have proved my sincerity. “Happily, I am not too late to make the offer; and, as for getting away, I am ready to sail to-morrow!”
“I am forbidden to go near Bombay,” continued the Major, looking anxiously at his daughter; “and that appointment must be abandoned. If I could continue to hold it, there is no probability of a chance to reach my station this half-year.”
“So much the better for me, sir. In four or five months from this moment, I will land you in New York, where you will find the climate cold enough for any disease. I ask you as friends—as guests—not as passengers; and to prove it, the table of the upper cabin, in future, shall be mine. I have barely left room in the lower cabin to sleep or dress in, having filled it with my own private venture, as is my right.”
“You are as generous as kind, Miles; but what will your owners think of such an arrangement?”
“They have no right to complain. The cabin and passengers, should any of the last offer, after deducting a very small allowance for the ship's portion of the food and water, are mine by agreement. All the better food I find at my own charge; and, should you insist on remunerating the owners for the coarser, or such as they find, you can do so, it will be less than a hundred dollars, at the most.”
“On these conditions, then, I shall thankfully profit by your offer; attaching, however, one more that I trust you may be permitted to fulfil. It is important to me that I reach England—can you touch at St. Helena?”