The Doctor bowed.  “Ah, madam,” sighed he, “if only Fate had timed your adventure two years ago; or if, departing with the treasure, you could even now leave me to regrets—­in peace!”

“My good sir,” said Miss Belcher, sharply, “I haven’t a doubt you mean something or other; but what precisely it is, I cannot conceive.”

“You will go, madam, leaving my island twice empty.  That is Fate, and I consent with Fate.  But the devil of it is, ma’am—­if I may use the expression—­your removing the treasure will not prevent others coming to look for it, and annoying an old age which has ceased to set store on wealth, or on anything that wealth can purchase.”

She looked at him oddly.  “Well, now,” she confessed, “you are a mystery to me in half a dozen ways; but if on top of all you mean to turn pious—­”

He laughed, and when the laugh was done it seemed to prolong itself inside him for fully half a minute.

“You are right, ma’am.  Let us be practical again; and, as the first practical question, let me ask you, or Captain Branscome, what you propose to do with this man?  Obviously, we cannot take him along with us after the treasure.”

“Well, I imagine we are returning to the schooner.  He can be left on board, in charge of Mr. Rogers.”

“But I was about to suggest that we take Mr. Rogers along with us.  In some ways, he is the most active of the party, and we can hardly spare him.”

“Of Goodfellow, then, or whomsoever Captain Branscome may appoint to take charge of the ship.”

The Doctor sat silent, as though busy with a thought that had suddenly occurred to him.  After a minute, he lifted his head and threw a quick glance upward at the sky.

“The breeze is freshening again, Captain,” he announced.  “If you care to hoist sail, the rowers can take a rest, at least until we reach Cape Fea.”

Captain Branscome gave permission to hoist sail, and soon we were running homeward with as much as we could carry.  There was no danger, however, for beyond the northern point of Try-again Inlet the water lay smooth all along the shore.  Dr. Beauregard here called on Plinny to admire the scenery, and, borrowing her sketchbook and pencil, dashed off a bold drawing of Cape Fea as, rounding a little to the westward, we caught sight of it standing out boldly against the afternoon sun.  As he drew it, he guided the talk gently back to ordinary topics—­to England and English scenery, to the charm of English domestic architecture, and particularly of our great country seats, to gardens and gardening, of which he professed himself a devotee.

“Ah,” he sighed at length, drawing a long breath; “if you, my friends, only knew how much of what is happiest in life you carry in your own breasts!  I used—­forgive me—­to laugh at such pleasures as I am enjoying at this moment, I see that nothing but gaiety and a simple heart can bring a man peace at the last—­and now it is too late to begin!”