"Verily, he is a scheming man, who will swindle you out of the eight hundred pounds when you have secured it." "Hugh Price agrees with them." "Does he?" asked Mrs. Stevens. "He does." "I don't believe it." Hugh Price was, in her estimation, the perfection of manhood. He was of the same church, a thorough royalist and a close friend of Sir William Berkeley the deposed governor. "Dorothe, I said he recommended it. Pray do not doubt it." The matter was settled next day when Hugh Price himself said to Mrs. Stevens that it was best for her husband to go. She secretly resolved that during her husband's absence she would enjoy herself. "John," she said, "if you are going away to London to enjoy yourself, you must leave with me two or three hundred pounds." John Stevens interrupted her with a sarcastic laugh. "Dorothe, had I two or three hundred pounds, I would not go." "Verily, how do you expect me to pass the dreary interval of your absence, if I have no luxuries." "Luxuries in our poor country are uncommon, and what few we have are expensive. Think not of luxuries, but rather of necessities. Husband the little money I shall be able to leave you and be prepared against adversity. I may never return." "Wherefore not?" cried Mrs. Stevens. "Do you contemplate an elopement? You were seen holding converse with Susan Colgate." Mrs. Stevens had, among other weaknesses, enough of the "green-eyed monster" to make herself miserable. Susan Colgate was a pretty maiden at Jamestown, whose charms John Stevens had praised in his wife's presence. He smiled at her interruption and, after assuring her that he had no intention of eloping, said: "The ship may sink; then you and these two little children will be unprovided for. I beseech you, husband the little I leave." "Have no fears, I shall care for them in some way; but I am not going to forego anything in anticipation of disaster. Surely you will come back. My great grief at the absence of my husband will rend my heart so sorely that I must needs have some pleasure to drive away the sorrow and perpetuate the bloom on these cheeks and the brightness in these eyes for you." Silly John Stevens yielded to his wife and consented to set apart for luxuries some of the small amount he was to leave. Mrs. Stevens was born to squander. Ann Linkon had said of her: "She could cast from the window more than the good husband could throw in at the door." But Ann was adjudged of slander, and ducked for the charge. John paid his mother a visit before departing. That sweet, gentle mother greeted her unhappy son with, tears. It was seldom Dorothe permitted him to visit her. His mother knew it and always assumed a cheerfulness she was far from feeling. Ofttimes poor John had a hard struggle between duty to his mother and fidelity to wife. It was a struggle in which no earthly friend could aid him.