e talk so much. But when I come home I require
something. I see, I see. Instead of an idle, fashionable lounging-place
for nincompoops from London, instead of flirtation and novel-reading,
vulgarity, show, and indecent attire, and positively immoral bathing,
we will now have industry, commerce, wealth, triumph of mechanism, lofty
enterprise, and international good-will. A harbor has been the great
want of this coast; see what a thing it is at Newport! We will now have
a harbor and floating docks, without any muddy, malarious river--all
blue water from the sea; and our fine cliff range shall be studded with
good houses. And the whole shall be called 'Erema-port.'"

Well, Erema must be getting very near her port, although it was not at
Bruntsea. Enough for this excellent man and that still more excellent
woman that there they are, as busy and as happy as the day is
long--which imposes some limit upon happiness, perhaps, inasmuch as to
the busy every day is short. But Mrs. Hockin, though as full of fowls as
ever, gets no White Sultans nor any other rarity now from Sir Montague
Hockin. That gentleman still is alive--so far, at least, as we have
heard of; but no people owning any self-respect ever deal with him, to
their knowledge. He gambled away all his father's estates, and the
Major bought the last of them for his youngest son, a very noble Captain
Hockin (according to his mother's judgment), whom I never had the honor
of seeing. Sir Montague lives in a sad plight somewhere, and his cousin
still hopes that he may turn honest.

But as to myself and far greater persons, still there are a few words
to be said. As soon as all necessary things were done at Bruntsea and at
Castlewood, and my father's memory cleared from all stain, and by simple
truth ennobled, in a manner strictly legal and consistent with
heavy expenses, myself having made a long deposition and received
congratulations--as soon as it was possible, I left them all, and set
sail for America.

The rashness of such a plan it is more easy for one to establish than
two to deny. But what was there in it of peril or of enterprise compared
with what I had been through already? I could not keep myself now from
going, and reasoned but little about it.

Meanwhile there had been no further tidings of Colonel Gundry or Firm,
or even Martin of the Mill himself. But one thing I did which showed
some little foresight. As soon as my mind was made up, and long before
ever I