“The Captain expects to get off between ten and eleven to-morrow,” said Pereira, as he stepped on to the verandah, thoughtfully dusting his silk hat with a pocket-handkerchief. “There is a lot of produce from the Bremer Factory as well as mine, so he may be later. You can go off with the last boat-load.” “Very well; sufficient for the day is the evil thereof; and now let us drown our sorrows in the tea-pot and go for a walk.” We walked that evening along the beach towards the village of Vojé, and I was glad that Pereira made one of the party, as his presence decided the question whether I should speak to Isabel or leave matters as they were until I came back. My own feeling had been that it would be hardly fair to make any kind of declaration as I was going away on so perilous an enterprise, and I was relieved at not being left alone with her and so tempted to make confidences that I might afterwards have regretted. On my last night at Quittáh I will not dwell. We all tried to make it as festive an occasion as possible, but with only very moderate success. Enthusiasm respecting the treasure refused to revive, and we separated at length in a quiet and thoughtful mood. Eleven o’clock on the following morning found us on the beach watching the loading of the last boat. The time of separation had come, and we stood, with our hearts too full for speech, watching the blue Peter flutter down from the steamer’s mast-head. The canoe-men stood up to their knees in the water, holding on to the surf-boat, which reared like a restive horse as each wave rolled in to the shore, and waving their trident-shaped paddles as they shouted their hoarse chant. And now the last bag of kernels was flung into the boat and my little trunk laid on the heap. The steamer was hooting impatiently, and the boatswain called to me to hasten. The old man seized both my hands and prayed God to bless me and bring me back safe; Isabel and I clasped hands in silence for a moment, and then I leaped into the boat. The keel ground upon the sand, the boat reared and swept down on the back wash, and amidst a chorus of shouts from the canoe-men, and a shower of spray, we charged into the surf. I sat on the swaying thwart, with my back to the sea, watching the two figures on the shore until they had dwindled to the size of dolls, and the green waves heaved up and hid them from my sight. And even after I had climbed the ladder and stood upon the deck, my eyes turned shoreward until the surf-fringed beach had faded out of sight and the land was but a grey streak upon the sea-horizon. CHAPTER X. I TAKE TO THE ROAD.