“Egad, I don't know well what I'm for, except it be self-preservation. I mean,” said he, correcting himself, as a sudden glance of almost insolent scorn shot from Kate's eyes towards him,--“I mean that I 'm certain more than half of this account is sheer exaggeration. Mary is frightened,--as well she may be,--finding herself all alone, and hearing nothing but the high-colored stories the people brings her, and listening to calamities from morning to night.” “But still it _may_ be all true,” said Kate, solemnly. “It may be--as Miss Martin writes--that 'there is a blight on the land.'” “What's to be done, then?” asked he, in deep embarrassment. “The first step is to ascertain what is fact,--the real extent of the misfortune.” “And how is that to be accomplished?” asked he. “Can you not think of some means?” said she, with a scarcely perceptible approach to a smile. “No, by Jove! that I cannot, except by going over there one's self.” “And why not that?” asked she, more boldly, while she fixed her large full eyes directly upon him. “If _you_ thought that I ought to go,--if you advised it and would actually say 'Go'--” “Well, if I should?” “Then I'd set off to-night; though, to say truth, neither the journey nor the business are much to my fancy.” “Were they ten times less so, sir, I'd say, 'Go,'” said she, resolutely. “Then go I will,” cried the Captain; “and I'll start within two hours.” CHAPTER VI. MR. MERL'S DEPARTURE Worthy reader, you are neither weak of purpose nor undecided in action; as little are you easily moved by soft influences, when aided by long eyelashes. But had you been so, it would have been no difficult effort for you to comprehend the state of mind in which Captain Martin repaired to his room to make preparation for his journey. There was a kind of half chivalry in his present purpose that nerved and supported him. It was like a knight-errant of old setting out to confront a peril at the behest of his lady-love; but against this animating conviction there arose that besetting sin of small minds,--a sense of distrust,--a lurking suspicion that he might be, all this while, nothing but the dupe of a very artful woman.