Chapter LVIII

           

           ThetimecameformydeparturefromTahiti.Accordingtothegraciouscustomoftheisland,presentsweregivenmebythepersonswithwhomIhadbeenthrownincontact—basketsmadeoftheleavesofthecocoa-nuttree,matsofpandanus,fans;andTiaregavemethreelittlepearlsandthreejarsofguava-jellymadewithherownplumphands.Whenthemail-boat,stoppingfortwenty-fourhoursonitswayfromWellingtontoSanFrancisco,blewthewhistlethatwarnedthepassengerstogetonboard,Tiareclaspedmetohervastbosom,sothatIseemedtosinkintoabillowysea,andpressedherredlipstomine.Tearsglistenedinhereyes.Andwhenwesteamedslowlyoutofthelagoon,makingourwaygingerlythroughtheopeninginthereef,andthensteeredfortheopensea,acertainmelancholyfelluponme.Thebreezewasladenstillwiththepleasantodoursoftheland.Tahitiisveryfaraway,andIknewthatIshouldneverseeitagain.Achapterofmylifewasclosed,andIfeltalittlenearertoinevitabledeath.

           NotmuchmorethanamonthlaterIwasinLondon;andafterIhadarrangedcertainmatterswhichclaimedmyimmediateattention,thinkingMrs.StricklandmightliketohearwhatIknewofherhusband’slastyears,Iwrotetoher.Ihadnotseenhersincelongbeforethewar,andIhadtolookoutheraddressinthetelephone-book.Shemadeanappointment,andIwenttothetrimlittlehouseonCampdenHillwhichshenowinhabited.Shewasbythistimeawomanofhardonsixty,butsheboreheryearswell,andnoonewouldhavetakenherformorethanfifty.

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