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 must have been great when I was not to be found amongst the passengers. He waved his hat, however, on seeing me as I bent over the side of the vessel, and pressing his hand to his heart he pointed towards the shore—it told me that he intended to fulfil his promise of guarding well the sacred trust I had confided to him.

Through the narrows and out in the broad ocean we soon were; but I stood immovable with my eyes turned to that dear shore where all my hopes were centred. I could not realize it—what! voluntarily to leave the only creature on earth to whom I was attached?—she, too, who had chosen me when poor and unknown. Could I not be content with the independence that my own honest labour procured, but must I show how much more I valued money than the pains to us both of such a bitter separation—a separation that might be for ever! Before the pilot left us I had serious thoughts of returning with him; but the captain was at my elbow, and assuming a kind of authority; I was forced to see him depart without me. The wind blew fresh, and before night there was a heavy gale; yet I cared not, my feelings were too strong even for that to subdue. I could not go down to dinner, nor was I disposed to sit with strangers at the supper table; but the captain showed so much good natured solicitude that I yielded and took my seat beside him.

I do not recollect now how many of the passengers were at supper, but they were not all there, for some were already seasick and in their berths. I only remember that opposite to me sat a young lady who looked at me very frequently, and who could scarcely keep from laughing, although the gentleman next her reprimanded her once or twice for her ill breeding. I could not imagine what had caused her mirth, unless it were the melancholy