"Yet needs must we adventure it," said I gloomily.
"You must, Martin; but as for me, I bide here."
"Here?" said I, glancing around on the barren, unlovely spot. "Sir, you talk wildly, I think; to stay here is to die."
"Aye, Martin, so soon as God shall permit."
"Surely our case is not so hopeless you despair thus soon?"
"Sit down, here beside me," said he, smiling up at me. "Come and let us reason the matter, since 'tis reason lifteth man above the brutes."
So there, on the coast of this vast, unknown wilderness, sat we two poor castaways, the great hound at our feet, his bright eyes looking from one to other of us as we spake and reasoned together thus: Sir Richard: First of all, we are destitute, Martin.
Myself; True.
Sir Richard: Therefore our food must be such game as we can contrive to take and kill empty-handed.
Myself: This shall be my duty.
Sir Richard: Second, 'tis a perilous country by reason of wild Indians, and we are scant of arms. Third, 'tis a country of vasty mountains, of torrents, swamps and thickets and I am a mighty poor walker, being weak of my leg-joints.
Myself: Then will I aid you.
Sir Richard: Fourthly, here is a journey where though one may succeed, two cannot: full of peril and hardship for such as have a resolute spirit and strong body, and I am very weak.
Myself: Yet shall your resolute spirit sustain you.
Sir Richard: Fifthly and lastly, I am a cripple, so will I stay here, Martin, praying God to bring you safe to your weary journey's end.
Myself: I had thought you much stronger of late.
Sir Richard: Indeed so I am, but my joints have been so oft stretched on the rack that I cannot go far and then but slowly, alas!
There was silence awhile, each of us gazing out across the troubled waters, yet I, for one, seeing nothing of them. Glancing presently at Sir Richard, I saw his eyes closed, but his mouth very resolute and grim.
"And what of Joan?" I demanded. "What of your daughter?"
Now at this he started and glancing at me, his mouth of a sudden lost its grimness and he averted his head when he answered: "Why, Martin, 'tis for her sake I will not hamper you with my useless body."
"So is it for her sake I will never leave you here to perish!"
"Then here," says he in a little, "here is an end to reason, Martin?"
"Aye, indeed, sir!"
"God love thee, lad!" cried he, clasping my hand. "For if 'tis reason raiseth us 'bove the brutes 'tis unselfishness surely lifts us nigh to God!"