Buch lesen: «Joshua Marvel», Seite 35

"You women," he said, "are too soft-hearted for justice: if a scoundrel who has wronged you comes crying to you, you look kindly on him, and cry with him, out of the tenderness of your hearts. But for me, when I think of the many years we've lived here, with never a black mark against us-when I think of the good turns we've done for this one and that one, and of the manner in which they have returned our good offices, I'm fit to choke with passion. They tried to disgrace me, and would have seen us starve without offering us bit or sup. But now that we're going, well off as they think, they come whining round us, sorry for the mud they threw at us. The mud didn't stick, that's one comfort. I could dash my fist in their faces when I think of it!"

So matters went on until the morning came when they were to go aboard the ship at Blackwell. They had a few little odds and ends to take with them, and a cart was at the door to convey them to the docks. All the women and children in the neighborhood flocked round the cart to see the last of the emigrants. First Ellen, with her child, got in; the women kissed their hands to her, and murmured to each other that she looked older than her years. Ellen's eyes were blinded with tears as she looked up at the old house and at the familiar faces in the crowd. Susan was the next: she looked vacantly at the throng, and turned her eyes to her lap, taking no further heed of them. Dan followed with his birds, and listened gravely, and not without tenderness, to the farewells which greeted him. After him came Mr. and Mrs. Marvel.

"Good-by, my dear; God bless you! God take you safely over, my dear!"

In twenty different ways were these farewells and good wishes expressed, and Mrs. Marvel pressed her hand upon her heart, and sobbed till she could not distinguish a face in the crowd that surrounded her.

"Get in Maggie," said George Marvel; and then, deliberately and gravely, stooped and took off his shoes. He climbed into the cart in his stockings, and bending over the wheel, shook the dust from his shoes. "I'll take no dust from here with me," he said in a loud tone; "I leave that and your lying words behind me. I loved you once, and loved these streets; but I've hated you and them from the time you turned upon us and made our lives bitterer than misfortune had already made them. By and by, you can tell the men I've worked with and been kind to, that I was glad to go from the place where I was born, and that I shook the dust from my feet before I went away."

Then, amid a dead silence, the cart lumbered away from Stepney on to Blackwall. There they found the Old Sailor waiting for them. "I will keep with you until you are fairly off," he said. They were thankful enough for his company, and as he did what he could to cheer them, and they had plenty of work to do in their cabins, they soon became more cheerful and hopeful than they had been for many a day. Soon the ship was at Gravesend, a place fraught with sad and sweet memories-for Ellen especially. Mrs. Friswell, at whose house the wedding was celebrated, came aboard to see them, and admired the baby, and whispered to all of them in turns, that if there ever lived a man with a heart tender enough for twenty men, that man was the Old Sailor, and no other. No need to say with what heartiness they all indorsed this sentiment.

A surprise awaited them. On the morning of the ship's sailing, there came climbing up the side Solomon Fewster. He accosted them gayly.

"You were wondering, I dare say, why I hadn't been to wish you good-by."

"We thought you would be sure to come although at the last moment," answered Dan.

Solomon Fewster first rubbed his hands and then his chin.

"No need to say good-by," he said, with a conscious look at Ellen; "I am going with you."

They were too much astonished to reply.

"Yes," he continued; "when my best friends were going, I didn't like the idea of stopping behind. So I've sold my business upon capital terms-capital terms. A good sum down, and a share in the profits for the next ten years. Shall be able to make plenty of money in Australia, eh, Mr. Meddler?"

"No doubt, no doubt," said the Old Sailor, with a disturbed look.

Solomon Fewster, divining that his absence would be agreeable to them, hurried away to look after his boxes.

"I am sorry he's going," said Dan; "but it can't be helped. We must make the best of every thing not the worst."

In the tender conversation that ensued, consequent upon their parting from the Old Sailor, Solomon Fewster was forgotten.

"Write to me as often as you can," said the Old Sailor, "and I will do the same to you, though my old joints are getting stiff. You'll soon be settled down somewhere, and you can let me know. 'Tis a sad word-good-by. But I shall soon be saying good-by to all the world, my dears."

He sat among them until the last moment, and first wished Susan good-by.

Then said George Marvel, as he and the Old Sailor stood hand in hand, amidst the confusion of ropes and cases, "If there had been hearts like yours among our neighbors, my poor Josh's name would not have been blackened. Heaven will reward you. I couldn't honor my own father more than I honor you."

The Old Sailor quivered at the stroke; he could better have stood a hard knock. He kissed Ellen tenderly, and she him; and he put a ribbon round baby's neck with a little silver whistle at the end of it. "In memory of me, my dear," he said.

"I will teach her that it is the symbol of the heart of a good man, dear sir," said Ellen, her eyes full of tears; "and when she is an old woman-if she lives to be such-it may happen that she will show it to her children, and tell them her mother's sad story, and how her life was sweetened by the kindest, dearest, best" – Sobs choked her voice.

The Old Sailor waited a while until she recovered, and then said, with exquisite tenderness, -

"If she will sound the whistle sometimes when she is a young woman, and I am in my grave, I shall hear her perhaps." He smiled thoughtfully at this conceit. And then folded Ellen in his arms, and saying, "God bless you, my lass!" released her and turned to Dan and Mrs. Marvel. She took his hand and kissed it; she could have knelt to him, her heart was so full-too full to speak.

"I know, I know, my dear," he said, and kissed her. "I asked you once if you would like to be a sailor, Dan; do you remember?" His arm was resting on Dan's shoulder, and Dan drew it round his neck and laid his face upon it. The action conveyed such tender meaning, that the tears rolled down the Old Sailor's cheeks.

"When I see Joe," said Dan, "I may tell him that you never doubted him?"

"Ay, Dan," replied the Old Sailor aloud; but thought, "I shall see him before you do, my lad." He would not disturb Dan's faith by uttering the thought.

"Do I remember your asking if I would like to be a sailor?" continued Dan. "Ah, yes! what of that day can I ever forget? You taught me to splice a rope, and I showed you Jo's heart and mine spliced, so that nothing could sever them. And the poor birds shipwrecked, as Jo is. We little thought then, did we, sir?" The Old Sailor grasped Dan's hand, and the next minute was in his boat; and the ship was swinging round, hiding him from the loving gaze of his friends.

Through the river that runs to the sea the ship makes its way slowly and grandly. In the ship's stern, looking with dimmed eyes over the bulwarks, are Dan and Ellen and Mr. and Mrs. Marvel. Good-by, dear friend! Good-by, dear heart! Smaller and smaller grows the ship in his eyes. Can they see him still? he is lost in the whirl of boats. No; he is standing up, cap in hand. Good-by, faithful simple heart, richer in your honest goodness than if you were endowed with all the jewels that lie concealed in earth's depths. He is lost to them now, and they shall see him no more-here!

Lost? No. He is with them every night in their prayers-he dwells in their hearts. To their dying days they think of him tenderly. Blessings on the dear Old Sailor!

CHAPTER XXXIX
SO NEAR AND YET SO FAR

"Minnie!"

"Yes, Joshua."

"That is all; I thought you were asleep."

"You are very kind to me, Joshua. I feel a little better to-day, I think."

"That's a good hearing, Minnie. Get strong, my dear, for my sake."

"Ah! If I could; but I fear-I fear." (This last to herself under her breath.) "Sit nearer, Joshua."

Many moons had passed, and with the exception that Minnie had grown very weak, only one event of importance had occurred since the departure of Rough-and-Ready and Tom the sailmaker. That event was the death of the Lascar; and the discovery made a deep impression on Joshua. It occurred within a few weeks of the parting of the tribes. The tribe of which Opara was the chief, observing that Minnie was drooping, resolved to return to the spot where they had found her. By easy stages they travelled near to the rocks where the castaways had landed, and rested there some days, in the belief that Minnie would regain her health. The mysterious influence she had over them was never weakened, and as she and Joshua were inseparable, he shared in the favor which was shown to her. She saw this, and would not allow him to quit her side, fearful lest harm should befall him. One evening she and Joshua had wandered from the native camp to the pool where the Lascar had stolen upon him, with the intention of killing him; and they talked together of the villain, and wondered what had become of him. They saw a wonderful sight as they sat and talked. From the distant woods rose an immense army of flying foxes, not less than four or five thousand in number, flying in a straight line to a distant pool. When they arrived over the water, they dipped down to drink in regular order, keeping their ranks, so that presently they presented the shape of a perfect curve. Joshua and Minnie watched the singular flight until the last of the animals had satisfied its thirst; shortly afterwards the entire flock disappeared. As they retraced their steps to the native camp, Joshua observed something unusual lying on the ground. It looked like a crouching animal, and Joshua drew Minnie aside fearing that it might be a dangerous creature; but it remained perfectly still, and Joshua, drawn thereto by an irresistible impulse, slowly approached the spot. To his horror he found that it was a human creature-dead; and turning the face recognized the Lascar. So! his enemy was dead, and this was the end of his animosity. The circumstances of the eventful meeting when he had rescued Susan from the Lascar's pursuit came to Joshua's mind as he looked upon the dead form. "His hate of me would not have lived so long," thought Joshua, "if it had not been fed by other means. Whom did he refer to when he spoke of his master the day he stole upon me with the stone? But that is past discovery now!" The dead man's face was distorted by agony, as if he had died in torture, and Joshua looked around for the cause of death. There were a variety of trees near the spot-among them some stinging trees. Joshua knew the fatal effect of the deadly tree, and divined that the Lascar had fallen from one of the higher trees, which he must have climbed in search of food, into the poisonous nettles, and so been stung to death. He could not have been dead above a few hours. Joshua turned away, and told Minnie.

"You will not leave him there unburied, Joshua?" said Minnie.

"No, Minnie, it would not be right. He was our enemy, but there is an end to all that now. Sit down on this trunk, my dear, and I will be kinder to him in death than he was to me in life." With his knife and a stout stick he removed sufficient soil to lay the dead man in; as he moved the body, a silver watch fell from a pocket. Joshua picked it up, and involuntarily opened it. There was an inscription on the case, roughly scratched in, and Joshua read, "From Solomon Fewster to his Lascar friend." Joshua's heart beat loudly as he read these words. He felt that he was on the eve of a discovery. "They knew each other," he thought in amazement; and then, like a flash, it came upon him that Solomon Fewster was the master for whom the Lascar said he was working. Eagerly he searched the Lascar's pockets for more evidence; and found it in the shape of the following document: "To my Lascar friend: I give you twenty-five pounds in gold, and a silver watch and two knives for services you have rendered me in connection with J. M. And I promise you twenty-five pounds more in gold, if; when you return in the 'Merry Andrew,' you have accomplished what has been agreed upon between us. – S. F."

Joshua read this document twice, and then looked round, as if in expectation of meeting Solomon Fewster face to face.

"Let me fix the villain's features in my mind," he thought; "I will raise him before me, so that when we meet, in this world or the next, I may bring his treachery home to him." With the eyes of his mind he saw Solomon Fewster's false face, and he dashed his fist into the air with a loud cry. "Fool!" he muttered, recovering himself; "am I growing as much a savage as those amongst whom I live? Was it Fewster or this villain who stabbed me when I came home?" He looked down, and seemed to find his answer. "It was your hand that struck the blow, and he employed you. He was too much of a coward to do it himself, and he paid you for your services as you have told me. And he wanted to get me out of the way, so that he might win the love of my Ellen." A bitter smile came to his lips, passed away, and a sweeter expression took its place. "To win the love of my Ellen! No, he can never do that; she is mine till death, and after it, and is as true to me as I am to her. Ellen, dear wife! hear me, and be comforted."

Concealed beneath his covering of fur, was a small bag, made of stout skin, well dried, containing Ellen's portrait, her lock of hair, Dan's Bible, and the page from Captain Liddle's log-book, appointing him captain. Into this bag he put the silver watch and Fewster's document.

"Rest there," he muttered. "When I am dead, chance may direct these relics into the hands of my friends. I will write a statement myself of certain things, and place it with these. Be merciful, O God! and keep firm the faith of my friends."

The appeal was like a prayer, and its utterance soothed him. He laid the Lascar's body in the shallow grave, and covered it as well as he could with earth and leaves and branches. Then he returned to Minnie, and they walked to the camp. He did not tell her of his discovery. It would have made her more unhappy.

On another occasion they were sitting together in the woods, in silence and resignation. They had sat so for full half an hour, and not a word had passed between them; their thoughts were with their friends, thousands of miles away. Suddenly there came to their ears the tinkle of a bell. They started, and looked at each other in wonder. A wild hope entered Joshua's heart. The sound was faint but distinct. It was like an evidence of approaching civilization. Presently it sounded again, and was followed by other bells of different tones, but each note being clearly uttered. Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle! till the woods were filled with music. Creeping slowly and softly in the direction of the sounds, they discovered the cause. The sounds were not produced, as they had hoped, by bells on the necks of cattle, but by a congregation of small birds of a greenish-yellow color, who, perched upon the branches of trees, in a spot where the trees formed a circle, were singing to each other their sweetest songs. Disturbed by the approach of footsteps, the birds hid themselves among the leaves, and were silent; but Minnie and Joshua remained perfectly still, and soon the sweet sounds were heard again, and the concert was resumed, to the delight of the hearers.

For many evenings after this Joshua and Minnie came to the spot to listen to the melody of the bell-birds. It was on one of these evenings that an idea in association with the birds presented itself to Joshua. Why should he not employ a little of his idle time in training some of the birds with which the beautiful woods abounded, as Dan and he used to do in their boyish days? He trembled with delight at the thought, and was eager to begin. It seemed to bring him nearer to Dan and the beloved ones at home. He told Minnie of his fancy, and she encouraged it. He would set about it at once; but first he must make a cage. He made one of wickerwork, sufficiently large to hold a score of birds; and in a very little while his cage was inhabited by birds as beautiful and almost as docile as any he had taught at home.

All this while they were allowed by the natives to do pretty well what they pleased. Food was supplied to them regularly, and they were not expected to work or hunt for it. Scarcely a night passed without Joshua played his accordion in the shade of their hut, and the singular fancy which the natives entertained respecting Minnie was strengthened by these mysterious melodious sounds. From time to time the natives shifted their camp, according to the seasons, and they invariably regulated their day's walking by Minnie's strength. Uncultured and savage as these ignorant creatures were, they were tender and kind to Minnie and Joshua, and showed them a thousand little attentions which could only have been prompted by the most delicate consideration. Joshua's fancy about the birds was quite a natural thing in their eyes. Minnie wanted the birds to talk to; she understood the mysterious voices of birds and trees. Their reverence for her was increased when they saw her one day with a golden-crowned honey-sucker upon her finger. This was one of the first birds which Joshua had tamed; he was careful to give it its favorite food, – the blossoms of the blue gum-tree when it was in flower, and at all times honey and sweet leaves, and had anticipated the effect it would produce upon the natives, when they saw it perching contentedly upon Minnie's finger.

"See!" said Opara, "the birds know our Star; she talks to them the language of the trees. From us they fly, and hide themselves in clouds; but she bids them come, and they rest upon her bosom."

Soon other birds were tamed and trained; and the wonder spread to distant tribes, who made long journeys to see the Star of Opara's tribe, who understood the voice of Nature, and talked with all the children of the Great Mother; for so the simple savages interpreted it.

But Minnie grew weaker and weaker. She concealed her weakness as much as possible from Joshua, who was very tender to her, very, very kind. He had quite forgiven her; no cloud disturbed the harmony of their strange lives. Bearing always in mind the advice which Rough-and-Ready had given them to endeavor to make their way southward, and knowing the one great wish of Joshua's heart, she had used all her influence with the tribe to induce them every time they shifted their camp to move in that direction, and had succeeded so far, that every season found them nearer to the settled districts. But, although three years had passed, they had not seen the slightest signs of civilization.

Once Joshua was in a terrible state of agitation. He was gathering sweet leaves for his birds, when "Crack!" went the sound of a whip. He uttered a joyful cry, and threw himself upon the ground with all his heart in his ears, for he had not caught the direction of the sound. "Crack!" went the whip again. He ran swiftly towards it, and listened again. Rough-and-Ready had told him many times to keep his ears sharp open for the crack of a whip, and here it was, at last, after weary, weary waiting.

"You will find most likely," Rough-and-Ready had said, "that it is a stockman looking after some stray cattle. Then you will be all right."

The thoughts that crowded upon Joshua's mind in the few moments that elapsed between the cracking of the whip would occupy an hour to describe; they may be summarized thus: "That is a stockman's whip. Thank God for it! I shall see him presently, and he will wait while I fetch Minnie. Then we will go to where his companions are, and I will get some presents for our kind friends the natives. Minnie will soon grow strong; thank God! We will go down to Sydney, and get passage home in the first ship. Then-then-O Ellen, Ellen! O Dan, dear friend! dear mother and father! All will come right-all will be set right. Thank God!"

"Crack, crack!" Nearer-nearer. He was close to it, but saw nothing. He looked round carefully, watchfully. "Crack!" Over his head. He turned his eyes to the clouds, and saw a bird-the whip-bird-flying over the trees, uttering its "crack!" as it flew, taking his hopes with it, and bearing them away to where perhaps he would never meet with them again.

And Dan is sitting in a wooden hut built near the banks of a beautiful river. Seas do not divide him from his friend. They both live on the same bit of land, ignorant of each other's whereabouts. The same continent holds those two faithful hearts. What is Dan doing? who are with him? what kind of a place is this where he and they reside?

A village in which dwell not more than a few hundred inhabitants. Not free from care, for care is human; but happier than inhabitants of great cities are. There is plenty of work for hands to do; more than there are hands to do it. What luxury there is, is the luxury of nature-rich fruits, bright flowers, clear atmosphere, sweet air, lovely skies, grand sunrises and sunsets, and sparkling watercourses whose banks teem with graceful shapes and lovely color. Here a city is to be formed, and they who live in it and are content shall see it grow up to strength-ay, to manhood-and shall have a share in its increasing wealth. First, tents of canvas to live in; now huts of wood; by and by houses of stone. But these last, though they be stronger, will not bring more enduring happiness. And here is Dan, with his birds, as usual. He earns money enough now. Not a hundred miles away, in the capital of the colony of which this little village is a speck, lives a dealer who comes regularly to Dan's wooden house, and buys such birds as he has trained, and pays handsomely for them. Not Solomon Fewster. He also is in that rising capital, and Dan will not sell him a bird. Not that Solomon Fewster needs them; for he is making money fast, and the miserly passion of accumulation is growing very strong in him. His business carries him often to Dan's village, – twice a month, perhaps; and regularly every two or three months he makes some kind of overture to Ellen, who shakes her head, and sometimes answers him, and sometimes evades the subject. Dan has remonstrated with him, and has begged him never to refer to the subject again. But he answers, -

"I cannot help it, Dan. If you knew what love was, you would know that a man can no more help loving than he can help feeling. It was love that first brought me to your house in Stepney. I didn't want the birds; but so that I might have the privilege of coming to the house-and of doing you and Ellen a good turn at the same time, mind, Dan-I took a deal of trouble to find dealers in birds who would buy them of me at the same price I paid you for them; and I shouldn't be telling an untruth if I said that I lost money by many of the birds I paid you for. One man I sold to failed, and I had to take a composition. Well, I didn't know then that Ellen loved Joshua; nothing was said between them; and when he first went away he wasn't old enough to know his own mind. He came back, and when he was ill I didn't show a bad spirit to him. After Ellen and he were engaged, I did not desert you; and I didn't annoy Ellen by forcing my attentions upon her. You spoke to me once about that unfortunate canary that died in my hand when I bade Joshua good-by. You can't think that I killed it purposely. But you may be able to form some idea of my feelings (which can't always be suppressed, Dan), and of the restraint I had to put upon myself when in the presence of the man who had taken from me the most precious thing in the world to me-Ellen's love-and you can put down the poor canary's death to that cause. I've no need to say any thing more. I've loved Ellen all along, and I've always treated her with respect and consideration. You mustn't debar me from the chance of being happy; Ellen may change her mind one day. It is many years now since I first saw her, a girl; and that I am content now to wait and hope ought to be sufficient proof of my disinterestedness and sincerity."

To such-like pleading Dan finds no reply, and so they go on as usual.

To Dan, as he sits with his birds, comes Ellen with her peaceful sad face. She has not found happiness, but she has found peace. Solomon Fewster is not her only suitor. Every single man in the village is enamoured of her, and would be glad to make her his wife. But she tells her story to all with a womanly purpose. She is married, and her husband went out as third mate of the "Merry Andrew," and the ship was lost and all hands, as it is supposed. But she cannot believe that her husband is dead; something tells her that he is alive-living upon some uninhabited shore mayhap, and looking forward to the time when, by the mercy of God, they shall be together again. Her story is repeated from one to another; and some kind souls who have been in the colony a few years come to her and Dan with little scraps of information concerning the "Merry Andrew," such as the finding of a piece of a figure-head which belonged to her husband's ship, and other similar evidence, which convince them that the "Merry Andrew" was lost off the Australian coast. "Is it not possible," asks Dan, "that some of the crew may have been saved, and may be dwelling now on some part of the uninhabited Australian coast?" "Quite possible," they answer: and they relate such instances as they know of vessels being wrecked, and of some of the sailors being saved and found years after they were supposed to be lost. Dan and Ellen derive much comfort from these narrations.

Ellen's little child Maggie is the pet of the village. At the present moment she is playing with her goat in the paddock at the back of the house, breathing in health with fresh air. To-night, when she says her prayers, she will pray that God will please send her father home-a prayer joined in by all of them every night.

Who is this? Susan. In no whit changed. With the same strange watchful manner upon her as in the old days in Stepney, but never uttering a word concerning Joshua. Sometimes she will go for days without speaking to a soul, and a smile never crosses her lips.

And this gentle woman, going about the house quietly, doing her work cheerfully, with a sweet smile for every one she comes across, and by whose side the little Maggie is content to sit in silence with her hands folded in her lap? This is Mrs. Marvel. You would know her if you had only seen her once, although her hair is nearly white now; for hers is one of the peaceful faces that dwell in your memory and remind you of your mother. As for her hair being nearly white-for the matter of that, so is Mr. Marvel's. It would not do for him to pay for every white hair that is pulled out of his head, as at the commencement of this story.

They sit together on this evening, as is their wont, and as they used to do in the dear old kitchen in Stepney, and talk of Joshua. And George Marvel smokes his pipe, and his wife darns-more slowly than in the old days, for her sight is not so strong as it was-and Dan trains his birds and reads to his friends. They have been sorely afflicted, but faith and love have banished despair.

On this very evening, hundreds of miles away, Joshua is sitting on the ground in his gunyah, amusing himself and Minnie with his birds. She is reclining on her 'possum-skin rug, looking affectionately and gratefully at Joshua, who has grown very wise in the different habits and natures of the strange birds he has before him. With what care he has collected them! Here is the quaint kingfisher, flitting about as contentedly as it used to flit among the dead trees that lie on the banks of creeks. Joshua, watching it one day, saw it suddenly dart into the water with such eagerness that it was completely submerged; he thought it was drowned, but the next instant it appeared above the surface with a small fish in its mouth, with which it hopped, exultant, into the woodland again. It is a handsome bird, and a singular-looking one too, with its beak about a quarter as long as its body, and its light crimson breast and azure back and shrewd brown eyes. Here is the mountain bee-eater, the wondrous blending of colors in whose plumage suggests the fancy that its feathers must have been dyed in the glorious sunsets of the South, and that it first saw the light when rainbows were shining. Here are the honeysuckers, yellow-eared, blue-cheeked, and golden-crowned; and the crimson-throated manakin, with its pleasant song; and the spotted finch, with red eyes; and the scarlet-backed warbler and the pretty thrush, black-crowned and orange-breasted, whose piping in the early morning was the cheerfullest of all the birds; and the yellow-rumped fly-catcher, fussing about, and chattering like a magpie. All these are here, and many others; and Joshua often thinks how delighted Dan would be with them. Joshua and Minnie are clothed completely in fur garments; all their civilized clothes are gone. Joshua's hair has grown so, that his face is quite covered with it.

"Would they know me at home, Minnie, if they could see me as I am?" he asks.

"I doubt it," she replies; "but they would know your voice."

"Shall we ever see them again?" he asks, more of himself than of her.

She sighs, and does not answer. He may; she prays that he will. But she! The breeze sighs with her, as she thinks that she will never again look upon the faces of her friends. Well! perhaps it is better so. She desires no happier lot than to die in Joshua's arms, with his eyes looking kindly upon her. She has been growing weaker and weaker every day; she does not complain, but he often regards her with apprehensive looks, and prays that she may not be taken from him. They live together as brother and sister; the love he bears for her is as pure as the love he bears for his mother. He speaks to her often of Dan, and she listens with sweet patience. But he does not understand that her love for him is part of her very nature, and that it cannot be transferred-that it cannot change. He does not understand it, does not know it; he deludes himself with the hope that, if it should mercifully chance that they should reach home, the dear hope of Dan's life may be realized, and that Minnie's love and Dan's belief in her purity may brighten the days of his friend. She knows that Joshua entertains this hope, and does not pain him by telling him how false it is.