Gilbert Bidaud saw that she was reflecting upon the new view he had presented to her, and he did not disturb her meditations. Presently she said:
"Uncle, I have had some good news." "It delights me," said Gilbert Bidaud. "In your own good time you shall confide it to me."
"I will confide it to you now. Basil is coming home."
"See now," said Gilbert, in a tone of great good-humour, "how you have misjudged me. Here have you, my ward, over whom I have the right to exercise some authority, been corresponding with a young gentleman between whom and myself there are differences of opinion. Candidly I admit that I did not look upon him with love. Know now for the first time that on the plantation I was warned against him, that he had enemies who spoke of him as an adventurer. How was I to know that those who spoke thus spoke falsely? You may answer, being a woman who has cherished in her heart a regard for her Australian friend, 'You should have asked me; I would have told you the truth about him.' Ah, but consider. What were you? A mere infant, innocent, guileless, unsuspecting. I venerate childhood, and venerate it the more because it has no worldly wisdom. Happy, happy state! Would that we could live all our lives in ignorance so blissful! Then there would be no more duplicity, no more cheating and roguery. But it is otherwise, and we must accept the world. Therefore the young gentleman and I crossed swords on the first day we met, and from that time have misunderstood each other. In my thoughts, perhaps, I have done him wrong; in his thoughts, perhaps, he has done me wrong. And my niece, the only child of my dear brother, sided with the stranger against me. I was wounded, sorely wounded; and when I discovered that you and he were writing to each other secretly, I spoke harshly to you; I may even have uttered some foolish threats. What man, my child, can be ever wise, can ever say the right words, can ever do the right things? None, not one, and I perhaps, who have peculiar moods and temper, less than many. But see, now, what came of those harsh words, those foolish threats? You still correspond with your friend Basil, and I stood quietly aside and interfered not. Could I not have stopped the correspondence, if I had been seriously determined to do so? Doubt it not, my child. At any moment I could have done so. But I said, 'No, I will not spoil Annette's pleasure; it is an innocent pleasure; let it go on; I will not interfere. One day my niece will do me justice. And it may be, that one day her friend Basil and I will better understand each other.' Is it not so?"
"Indeed, uncle," said Annette, timidly, "it is I who have been in the wrong."
"No, no," said Gilbert, interrupting her, "I will not have you say so. The fault was mine. What say the English? You cannot put an old head on young shoulders. I expected too much. From to-day we commence afresh. Eh, my dear child?"
"Yes, uncle."
"So be it," he said, kissing her. "We misunderstand each other never again. It is agreed. Our friend Basil--I will make him my friend if he will let me; you shall see--is coming home. He shall be welcome."
"Uncle, you remove a weight from my heart."
"It is what I would do, always. A weight is also removed from mine. How long will our friend Basil be before he appears."