Soon after we had buried our mother, I consulted Martha, as to what we should do. I was still desirous of returning to Liverpool; and, of course, taking my sister along with me. I proposed that we should start, without further loss of time.
“I am sorry you are not pleased with the colony,” said she. “I know you would be, if you were to stay here a little longer. Then you would never wish to return.”
“Do not think me so foolish,” I answered, “as to believe that I have come to this place with the intention of remaining; and wish to leave it, without giving it a fair trial. I came here on business, that is now accomplished; and why should I stay longer, when business calls me elsewhere?”
“Rowland, my brother!” cried Martha, commencing to weep. “Why will you go and forsake me?”
“I do not wish to forsake you, Martha,” said I. “On the contrary, I wish you to go along with me. I am not a penniless adventurer now; and would not ask you to accompany me to Liverpool, if I were not able to provide you with a home there, I offer you that, sister. Will you accept of it?”
“Rowland! Rowland!!” she exclaimed; “do not leave me! You are, perhaps, the only relative I have in the world. Oh! you will not desert me.”
“Silence, Martha,” said I. “Do not answer me again in that manner; or we part immediately, and perhaps for ever. Did you not understand me? I asked you to go with me to Liverpool; and you answer, by intreating me not to desert you. Say you are willing to go with me; or let me know the reason why you are not!”
“I do not wish to go to Liverpool,” replied she; “I do not wish to leave Sydney. I have lived here several years. It is my home: and I don’t like to leave it—I cannot leave it, Rowland!”
Though far from a satisfactory answer, I saw it was all I was likely to get, and that I should have to be contented with it. I asked no further questions—the subject was too painful.