Fisher had cried for her lost darling until she cried herself asleep. She
was lying on a little couch of leaves and such-like (I made the best
little couch I could for them every night), and Miss Maryon had covered
her, and sat by her, holding her hand. The stars looked down upon them.
As for me, I guarded them.

"Davis!" says Miss Maryon. (I am not going to say what a voice she had.
I couldn't if I tried.)

"I am here, Miss."

"The river sounds as if it were swollen to-night."

"We all think, Miss, that we are coming near the sea."

"Do you believe now, we shall escape?"

"I do now, Miss, really believe it." I had always said I did; but, I had
in my own mind been doubtful.

"How glad you will be, my good Davis, to see England again!"

I have another confession to make that will appear singular. When she
said these words, something rose in my throat; and the stars I looked
away at, seemed to break into sparkles that fell down my face and burnt
it.

"England is not much to me, Miss, except as a name."

"O, so true an Englishman should not say that!--Are you not well