ROBINSON CRUSOE. 255

were never all of them true in fact: but it was so warm in my
imagination, and so realized to me, that, to the hour I saw
them, I could not be persuaded but that it was, or would be,
true: also how I resented it, when the Spaniard complained to
me; and how I brought them to justice, tried them, and or-
dered them all three to be hanged. What there was really in
this shall be seen in its place: for however I came to form such
things in my dream, and what secret converse of spirits in-
jected it, yet there was, I say, much of it, true. I own that this
dream had nothing in it literally and specifically true ; but the
general part was so true,—the base, villanous behavior of
these hardened rogues was such, and had been so much worse
than all I can describe, that the dream had too much similitude
of the fact ; and as I would afterwards have punished them
severely, so, if I had hanged them all, I had been much in the
right, and even should have been justified both by the laws of
God and man. But to return to my story: In this kind of
temper I lived some years: I had no enjoyment of my life, no
pleasant hours, no agreeable diversion, but what had something
or other of this in it ; so that my wife, who saw my mind wholly
bent upon it, told me very seriously one night, that she believed
there was some secret, powerful impulse of Providence upon me,
which had determined me to go thither again; and that she
found nothing hindered my going, but my being engaged to a
wife and children. She told me that it was true she could not
think of parting with me: but as she was assured that if she
was dead it would be the first thing I would do; so, as it
seemed to her that the thing was determined above, she would
not be the only obstruction ; for, if I thought fit and resolved
to go [Here she found me very intent upon her words, and
that I looked very earnestly at her, so that it a little disordered
her, and she stopped. I asked her why she did not go on, and
say out what she was going to say? But I perceived that her
heart was too full, and some tears stood in her eyes.] “Speak
out, my dear,” said I ; “are you willing I should go?” “No,”
says she, very affectionately, “I am far from willing ; but if
you are resolved to go,” says she, “rather than I would be the
only hinderance, I will go with you: for though I think it a
most preposterous thing for one of your years, and in your con-
dition, yet, if it must be,” said she, again weeping, “I would
not leave you ; for, if it be of Heaven, you must do it; there
is no resisting it; and if Heaven make it your duty to go, He
will also make it mine to go with you, or otherwise dispose of
me, that I may not obstruct it.”