My heart was bursting whilst I listened to him, but the great God, who knew that my sweetheart was a cruelly and terribly wronged man, gave me, of His mercy, heart and spirit. I had much to say, and the moments were flying. I looked at him with a smile and grasped his hand in both mine. He struggled faintly, but I continued to hold his hand. ‘Tom, you are not dishonoured, you are not ruined. You are wronged. Only that, my darling; no more. Hear me, dear,’ and I softened my voice, for I was sensible of the deep thrill of my earnestness in every syllable that fell from me. ‘I have come to tell you that my love is unchangeable; that my love for you now is sanctified by your misery, and that it is deeper, truer and holier, Tom, than ever it was before. Oh, hear me, love, and take heart! Wherever you go, I will go. I shall learn where they send you and accompany you or follow you. Nothing but death can separate us. I have walked night after night beside the prison walls that I might be near you, and whilst you are here I shall be near you. They cannot separate us. Always believe, always know, that whilst you are in this ship--yes, whilst they are trying to break your heart ashore--I am present--oh, not in sympathy, not in love, not in spirit only, Tom, but near you, but close as they will let me be to you in my own person. Does that comfort you?’ He lifted my hand and bowed his head upon it. ‘Something may happen at any time to prove your innocence,’ I continued. ‘What could happen, Marian? Will Rotch ever admit that he perjured himself merely to get charge of my ship and to punish me for reporting him and for my treatment of him at Valparaiso?’ ‘But your banishment is not for life, Tom.’ ‘It is! It is!’ he cried. ‘Who ever returns from transportation?’ ‘They will give you your liberty after a time; you will be free, and I shall be with you. I have money, and we will establish ourselves and be happy, my darling.’ ‘My noble heart, your love breaks me down!’ he cried, looking up and grasping me by the hands, then covering his eyes. ‘I was talking with a man before you came, Tom. He is the deputy-governor. Yonder he stands. He tells me that you will be allowed to write and inform me when you are to sail. You will receive the news and have leave to convey it. Will you do so?’ He viewed me in a shrinking way. ‘Oh, Tom, Tom, you must swear to write to me!’ I cried in a sudden fit of despair. ‘Swear it! If you do not write, how shall I know when you have gone and where you have gone? Swear you will write! Swear it! Swear it!’ I clutched him by the arm in my passion of eagerness and desire, repeating: ‘Swear it!’ ‘You must not follow me. You must not leave your home for me.’ ‘Swear it, Tom!’ ‘I shall be a servant, a slave out in Australia, a convict always, whether freed or not.’ ‘Oh, swear it, Tom!’ ‘They may flog me--chain me in a gang----’ ‘Swear to write and tell me when you sail.’