"That is enough," was my joyful reply. "You will leave it to me? Dear girl, I ask no more. God bless and keep you!"
I fell asleep early that evening and did not waken once till the sun had risen. Then the medicine she had given me showed its efficacious power. I was quite able to rise and even to take my breakfast at the table in the sitting-room with her. Once started on the road to recovery each hour showed a rapid gain. In another day I was taken for a short drive. The next I remained dressed from morning till night, though I reclined part of the time on a sofa.
And I could think of nothing but returning to the United States. The sooner the better now, when the wish of my life was to be granted there.
Marjorie showed herself a woman of wonderful capacity in more ways than one. She arranged with the Colonial Bank officials to have a draft all ready for me to sign when I drove up one day for money, thus saving what must have proved a weary wait. She bought new steamer chairs, the others having been left carelessly on the Pretoria. She paid the hotel bill and made all arrangements for our departure, having taken pains to learn which steamer would take us away the soonest. We were to go on a Royal Mail boat, "the Don," (happy omen!) to Jamaica, being sure of plenty of American steamers from that point.
On the day we were to depart I was nearly as strong as ever. Bidding farewell with some regrets to all the guests I knew, to the proprietor, the manager, Miss Byno and the brown-eyed bicyclist, I entered the carriage with really a light heart.
I was going again on a voyage with Marjorie; going, though the route might be slightly circuitous, to a land where she and I were to be indissolubly united. Is it any wonder I was happy?
The crowd of boatmen that assailed us at the water's edge nearly carried me off my feet. Money is too scarce in Barbados to make the possible gain of a dollar a light matter. One of the men caught me, however, by the name of his craft, which he repeated loudly. "Here yo' is, Massa; de Marjorie, dat's yo' boat, Massa!" I engaged him on the spot and a black patrolman scattered the horde of disappointed applicants. Our baggage and ourselves filled the little boat, but we knew we were safe. Off we started for the big black steamer, near which I could discern the American man-of-war "Cincinnati," bringing a leap of patriotic blood to my heart.