“An’ to think dat ole Aunt Artics o’ his turned out to be a’ uncle, aftah all!”
That night in my stateroom my Uncle Nicholas and I talked until near morning. I told him of events that had come and gone, and of family changes. Then more fully of our expedition, my love for Edith Gale, and how, as matters had turned out, I did not feel justified in claiming the promise she had made me.
He listened quietly and when I had finished, he said:
“It’s the money difference you feel most, isn’t it?”
I nodded.
“I have only a few thousand dollars,” I said, “a mere drop with a man like Gale.”
He took my hand.
“Never mind, my boy. Money isn’t everything. You are about to give to the world a knowledge it has long hungered for, and true love is of more value than either. Besides you are—or would have been—my heir, if my ship had come into port. As it is, perhaps I can help a little. I have had a good deal of time to prospect, over yonder, during the past twenty years, and I have found indications that may develop something in the way of mining. We’ll go over to-morrow, and take a look. Good night, now—I mean good morning—you must try and rest some.”
I retired, but sleep seemed far from me. The events of the day had been too momentous. And then my uncle’s words had left in me a spark of comfort—of hope. Yet, from somewhere out of the spaces sleep did come, and the sun was pouring into the uptilted port-hole of my stateroom when I awoke.
We were off for the island again, immediately after breakfast. My uncle, trimmed, and arrayed in one of Captain Biffer’s uniforms, made now a most imposing figure, and this time Captain Biffer himself, with Chauncey and Edith Gale, completed the party.