Martin was overwhelmed and silent, and the other went on,--“Half the fellows in 'ours' had the same story to tell,--of estates wasted, and fine fortunes squandered in what are called improvements. If the possession of a good property entails the necessity to spend it all in this fashion, one is very little better than a kind of land-steward to one's own estate; and, for my part, I 'd rather call two thousand a year my own, to do what I pleased with, than have a nominal twenty, of which I must disburse nineteen.” “Am I again to remind you that this is not the question before us?” said Martin, with increased sternness. “That is exactly the very question,” rejoined the Captain. “Mary here coolly asks you, in the spirit of this same improvement-scheme, to relinquish a year's income, and make a present of I know not how much more, simply because things are going badly with them, just as if everybody has n't their turn of ill-fortune. Egad, I can answer for it, _mine_ has n't been flourishing latterly, and yet I have heard of no benevolent plan on foot to aid or release me!” To this heartless speech, uttered, however, in most perfect sincerity, Martin made no reply whatever, but sat with folded arms, deep in contemplation. At length, raising his head, he asked, “And have you, then, no counsel to give,--no suggestion to make me?” “Well,” said he, suddenly, “if Mary has not greatly overcharged all this story--” “That she has not,” cried Martin, interrupting him. “There 's not a line, not a word of her letter, I 'd not guarantee with all I 'm worth in the world.” “In that case,” resumed the Captain, in the same indolent tone, “they must be in a sorry plight, and _I_ think ought to cut and run as fast as they can. I know that's what _we_ do in India; when the cholera comes, we break up the encampment, and move off somewhere else. Tell Mary, then, to advise them to keep out of 'the jungle,' and make for the hill country.'” Martin stared at the speaker for some seconds, and it was evident how difficult he found it to believe that the words he had just listened to were uttered in deliberate seriousness. “If you have read that letter, you certainly have not understood it,” said he at last, in a voice full of melancholy meaning. “Egad, it's only too easy of comprehension,” replied the Captain; “of all things in life, there's no mistaking a demand for money.” “Just take it with you to your own room, Harry,” said Martin, with a manner of more affection than he had yet employed. “It is my firm persuasion that when you have re-read and thought over it, your impression will be a different one. Con it over in solitude, and then come back and give me your advice.” The Captain was not sorry to adopt a plan which relieved him so speedily from a very embarrassing situation, and, folding up the note, he turned and left the room.