It was decided that Mark should continue in the Rancocus for another
voyage. It was known the ship was to proceed to some of the islands of
the Pacific, in quest of a cargo of sandal-wood and bêche-le-mar, for
the Chinese market, and that her next absence from home would be longer,
even, than her last. By the time the vessel returned, Mark would be of
age, and fit to command a ship himself, should it be thought expedient
for him to continue in his profession. During the period the vessel
still remained in port, Mark was to pay occasional visits to his wife,
though not to live with her; but the young couple might correspond by
letter, as often as they pleased. Such was an outline of the treaty made
between the high contracting parties.

In making these arrangements, Doctor Yardley was partly influenced by a
real paternal interest in the welfare of his daughter, who he thought
altogether too young to enter on the duties and cares of the married
life. Below the surface, however, existed an indefinite hope that
something might yet occur to prevent the consummation of this most
unfortunate union, as he deemed the marriage to be, and thus enable him
to get rid of the hateful connection altogether. How this was to happen,
the worthy doctor certainly did not know. This was because he lived in
1796, instead of in 1847. Now-a-days, nothing is easier than to separate
a man from his wife, unless it be to obtain civic honours for a
murderer. Doctor Yardley, at the present moment, would have coolly gone
to work to get up a lamentable tale about his daughter's fortune, and
youth, and her not knowing her own mind when she married, and a ship's
cabin, and a few other embellishments of that sort, when the worthy and
benevolent statesmen who compose the different legislatures of this vast
Union would have been ready to break their necks, in order to pass a
bill of divorce. Had there been a child or two, it would have made no
great difference, for means would have been devised to give the custody