Black Bartlemys Treasure

"Martin!" says she, "O thank God 'tis you! I dreamed these Black Bartlemy's cruel arms about me and I was sick with fear and horror--thank God 'tis you, dear Martin, and I safe from all harms soever. So hold me an you will, Martin, you that have saved me from so much and will do till the end."

"Aye, by God!" says I, bending my head above her that she might not see my face, "And so I will, faithfully, truly, until the very end!"

"Do I not know it--O do I not know it!" says she in choking voice, and here, lying beside me, she must take my hand and hold it to her soft cheek. "Indeed I do think there is no man like you in the whole world."

At this, knowing myself so unworthy, I thought no man in the world so miserable as I, as I would have told her but dared not.

"God make me worthy of your trust!" says I at last.

"'Tis a good prayer, Martin. Now hear mine, 'tis one I have prayed full oft--God make you strong enough to forgive past wrongs and, forgetting vengeance, to love your enemy."

"'Tis thing impossible!" says I.

"Yet the impossible shall come to pass soon or late, Martin, this am I sure."

"And why so sure?"

"My heart telleth me so!" says she drowsily, and looking down I saw her eyes were closed and she on the verge of slumber. And beholding her thus, my self-hate grew, insomuch that her fingers loosing their hold, I stole away my hand and, seeing her asleep, crept from the place. Being come to the stream I stood awhile staring down at the hurrying waters, minded to cast myself therein; but presently I turned aside, and coming amid leafy gloom lay there outstretched, my face hidden from the stars and I very full of bitterness, for it seemed that I was as great a rogue and well-nigh as vile as ever Bartlemy had been. And thus merciful sleep found me at last.