"Here, Amos," said he, "you have made an error in judging of this lady—she is no more fit to go a missionary than I am. She—she goes about with the air of a princess!"
Mrs. Esthwaite exclaimed, and Mr. Amos took a look at the supposed princess's face, as if to reassure or inform his judgment. Apparently he saw nothing to alarm him.
"I am come to prove the question," he said composedly; then turning to Eleanor,—"I have heard at last of a schooner that is going to Fiji, or will go, if we desire it."
This simple announcement shot through Eleanor's head and heart with the force of a hundred pounder. An extreme and painful flush of colour answered it; nobody guessed at the pain.
"What's that?" exclaimed Mr. Esthwaite getting up again and standing before Mr. Amos,—"you have found a vessel, you say?"
"Yes. A small schooner, to sail in a day or two."
"What schooner? whom does she belong to? Lawsons, or Hildreth?"
"To nobody, I think, but her master. I believe he sails the vessel for his own ends and profits."
"What schooner is it? what name?"
"The 'Queen Esther,' I think."