As for the Major, himself, he was evidently far from being
unconcerned, something having occurred to disturb him. So very
apparent was this, that I commenced the discourse by asking if he were
unwell.
"Always _that,_ I fear, Miles," he answered; "my physician has
just told me frankly, unless I get into a cold climate as soon as
possible, my life will not be worth six months' purchase."
"Then sail with me, sir," I cried, with an eagerness and heartiness
that must have proved my sincerity. "Happily, I am not too late to
make the offer; and, as for getting away, I am ready to sail
to-morrow!"
"I am forbidden to go near Bombay," continued the Major, looking
anxiously at his daughter; "and that appointment must be abandoned. If
I could continue to hold it, there is no probability of a chance to
reach my station this half-year."
"So much the better for me, sir. In four or five months from this
moment, I will land you in New York, where you will find the climate
cold enough for any disease. I ask you as friends--as guests--not as
passengers; and to prove it, the table of the upper cabin, in future,
shall be mine. I have barely left room in the lower cabin to sleep or
dress in, having filled it with my own private venture, as is my
right."
"You are as generous as kind, Miles; but what will your owners think
of such an arrangement?"
"They have no right to complain.
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