FullReads

Master d’Arfet had left off cracking his joints, and for a while after the end of the story sat drumming with his finger-tips on the table. At length he looked up, and says he–

“I may suppose, Count Zarco, that as governor of this island you have power to allot and sell estates upon it on behalf of the King of Portugal?”

“Why, yes,” answered Gonsalvez; “any new settler in Funchal must make his purchase through me: the northern province of Machico I leave to Tristram Vaz.”

“I speak of your southern province, and indeed of its foreshore, the possession of which I suppose to be claimed by the crown of Portugal.”

“That is so.”

“To be precise I speak of this Gulf of Cedars, as you call it. You will understand that I have not seen it: I count on your promise to take me thither to-morrow. But it may save time, and I shall take it as a favour if–without binding yourself or me to any immediate bargain–you can give me some notion of the price you would want for it. But perhaps”–here he lifted his eyes from the table and glanced at Gonsalvez cunningly–“you have already conveyed that parcel of land, and I must deal with another.”

Now Gonsalvez had opened his mouth to say something, but here compressed his lips for a moment before answering.

“No: it is still in my power to allot.”

“In England just now,” went on Master d’Arfet “we should call ten shillings an acre good rent for unstocked land. We take it at sixpence per annum rent and twenty years’ purchase. I am speaking of reasonably fertile land, and hardly need to point out that in offering any such price for mere barren foreshore I invite you to believe me half-witted. But, as we say at home, he who keeps a fancy must pay a tax for it: and a man of my age with no heir of his body can afford to spend as he pleases.”

Gonsalvez stared at him, and from him to me, with a puzzled frown.

“Bartholomew,” said he, “I cannot understand this gentleman. What can he want to purchase in the Gulf of Cedars but his wife’s grave? And yet of such a bargain how can he speak as he has spoken?”

I shook my head. “It must be that he is a merchant, and is too old to speak but as a haggler. Yet I am sure his mind works deeper than this haggling.” I paused, with my eyes upon Master d’Arfet’s hands, which were hooked now like claws over the table which his fingers still pressed: and this gesture of his put a sudden abominable thought in my mind. “Yes, he wishes to buy his wife’s grave. Ask him–” I cried, and with that I broke off.

But Gonsalvez nodded. “I know,” said he softly, and turned to the Englishman. “Your desire Sir, is to buy the grave I spoke of?”

Master d’Arfet nodded.

“With what purpose? Come, Sir, your one chance is to be plain with us. It may be the difference in our race hinders my understanding you: it may be I am a simple captain and unused to the ways and language of the market. In any case put aside the question of price, for were that all between us I would say to you as Ephron the Hittite said to Abraham. ‘Hear me, my lord,’ I would say, ‘what is four hundred shekels of silver betwixt me and thee? Bury therefore thy dead.’ But between you and me is more than this: something I cannot fathom. Yet I must know it before consenting. I demand, therefore, what is your purpose?”

Master d’Arfet met him straightly enough with those narrow eyes of his, and said he, “My purpose, Count, is as simple as you describe your mind to be. Honest seaman, I desire that grave only that I may be buried in it.”

“Then my thought did you wrong, Master d’Arfet, and I crave your pardon. The grave is yours without price. You shall rest in the end beside the man and woman who wronged you, and at the Last Day, when you rise together, may God forgive you as you forgave them!”