Mary had already spent a longer time than she had intended listening to the old man’s history. She rose to go away. He kept her small hand in his shrivelled palms.
“I should wish my last gaze on earth to be on your face, Mary; I should die more easily, and yet I do not fear death as I once did when I strove to put away all thoughts of it. I know it must come before long; it may be days, or weeks, and you will then know how my poor wretched heart has loved you.”
Mary, not understanding him, answered—
“You have shown me that already, Mr Shank, and I hope you may be spared to find something worth living for.”
“Yes, if I had health and strength I should wish to assist in benefiting those poor Africans of whom you have so often told me, and putting an end to the fearful slave trade; but I cannot recall my wasted days, and I must leave it to you, Mary. If you have the means to try and help them, you will do so, I know, far better than I can.”
“I shall be thankful if I can ever benefit the poor Africans,” said Mary, smiling at what appeared to her so very unlikely. “But I must stop no longer, or Aunt Sally will fancy that some harm has befallen me.”
Mary wished him good-bye, summoning Mrs Mason as she went out.
On Mary’s return to Triton Cottage she found Lieutenant Meadows, who had come to wish her and her aunt good-bye, his turn of service on the coast-guard having expired.
He inquired whether they had received any news of the “Hope.”
“She must have been round the Cape long ago. Hanson and his people should by this time have landed, so that you would get letters from the Cape, or perhaps even from Zanzibar, in the course of a week or two. You will write to me and say what news you receive in case Charley’s letters should miscarry.” Miss Sally promised, without fail, to write as Mr Meadows requested, and he gave her his address. When he was gone, Miss Sally and Mary had no one to talk to on the subject nearest their hearts. They discussed it over and over again by themselves, in spite of Aunt Sally’s declaration that it was of no use, and that they had better not speak about the matter; yet she was generally the first to begin, and Mary would bring out the map, and they both would pore over it, the elder lady through her spectacles, as if they could there discover by some magical power where Ned was, and the point the “Hope” had reached. They were cheerful and happy, though nothing occurred to vary the monotony of their everyday life, until the post one morning brought a letter addressed to Miss Sarah Pack.