"Look, John!" said Caleb, exultingly, "look here! My own boy from the Golden South Americas! My own son! Him that you fitted out, and sent away yourself; him that you were always such a friend to!"
The Carrier advanced to seize him by the hand; but recoiling, as some feature in his face awakened a remembrance of the Deaf Man in the Cart, said:
"Edward! Was it you?"
"Now tell him all!" cried Dot. "Tell him all, Edward; and don't spare me, for nothing shall make me spare myself in his eyes, ever again."
"I was the man," said Edward.
"And could you steal, disguised, into the house of your old friend?" rejoined the Carrier. "There was a frank boy once—how many years is it, Caleb, since we heard that he was dead, and had it proved, we thought?—who never would have done that."
"There was a generous friend of mine, once: more a father to me than a friend:" said Edward, "who never would have judged me, or any other man, unheard. You were he. So I am certain you will hear me now."
The Carrier, with a troubled glance at Dot, who still kept far away from him, replied, "Well! that's but fair. I will."
"You must know that when I left here, a boy," said Edward, "I was in love: and my love was returned. She was a very young girl, who perhaps (you may tell me) didn't know her own mind. But I knew mine; and I had a passion for her."
"You had!" exclaimed the Carrier. "You!"