made up my mind to offer myself as
such on board the _Inca_. With regard to "John," my apprehensions were
very great. On the first impulse, I thought of no other plan than to
give him the slip, and leave him to go home without me. After a little
reflection, I perceived that that course would never do. John would be
back in the morning with half-a-dozen of his kind--and perhaps my uncle
himself--in quest of me. They would most likely arrive before the ship
should sail, for vessels rarely take their departure at an early hour in
the morning. The bellman would raise the hue and cry. The whole town
would be traversed, and perhaps the ship searched, where, of course, I
should be found, delivered up, carried home, and, beyond doubt, severely
whipped; for I knew my uncle's disposition well enough to believe that
that would most certainly be the wind-up of the adventure. No, no, it
would never do to let John and his cart go home without me.

A little reflection convinced me of this, and at the same time helped me
to resolve upon a better plan. The new resolve was to go back along
with my guardian John, and then take my departure from home itself.

Without imparting aught of my design, or making John in any way my
confidant, I mounted into the cart along with him, and rode back to the
village. I reached home as quietly, and apparently as little concerned
about anything that was passing in my mind, as when I left it in the
morning.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

RUNNING AWAY.

It was near night when we arrived at the farm; and I took care during
the remainder of the evening to act as naturally as if there was nothing
unusual in my thoughts. Little dreamt my relatives and the domestics of
the farmhouse--little dreamt they of the big design that lay hid within
my bosom, and which at intervals, when I reflected upon it, caused my
heart to heave again.

There were moments when I half repented of my purpose. When I looked
upon the familiar faces of home--for after all it was home--the only
home I had--when I reflected that I might never see those faces again;
when I reflected that some of them might grieve for me--some I knew,
_would_ grieve--when I pondered upon the deception I was practising upon
all of them, I in full possession of a design of which they knew
nothing; I say when these thoughts were in my mind, I half repented of
my purpose. I would have given the world for a confidant, while thus
wavering; and no doubt,