“Tell her, from me, that her affection is not misplaced—she deserves it all!” muttered Harry, as he laid his head moodily against the window, and stood lost in thought.
“Here comes the postman. I am expecting a letter from the captain of the Australian packet-ship, in answer to some inquiries I had made in Miss Luttrell’s behalf.”
The servant entered with a packet of letters as he spoke, from which Cane quickly selected one.
“This is what I looked for. Let us see what it says:
“‘Dear Sir,—I find that I shall be able to place the poop cabin at Miss L.‘s disposal, as my owner’s sister will not go out this spring. It is necessary she should come over here at once, if there be any trifling changes she would like made in its interior arrangement. The terms, I believe, are already well understood between us. By the Hamburg packet-ship Drei Heilige, we learn that the last outward-bound vessels have met rough weather, and a convict-ship, the Blast, was still more unfortunate. Cholera broke out on board, and carried off seventy-three of the prisoners in eleven days.’”
There was a postscript marked confidential, but Cane read it aloud:
“‘Can you tell me if a certain Harry Luttrell, who has signed articles with me as second mate, is any relation of Miss L.‘s? He has given me a deposit of twenty pounds, but my men think he is no seaman, nor has ever been at sea. Do you know anything of him, what?’”
“Yes!” said Harry, boldly. “Tell him you know him well; that he was with you when you read aloud that passage in his letter; assure him—as you may with a safe conscience—that he is a good sailor, and add, on my part, that he has no right to make any other inquiries about him.”
“And do you really intend to make this voyage?”
“Of course I do! I told you a while ago I could be as obstinate as my cousin. You’ll see if I don’t keep my word. Mind me, however; no word of this to Miss Luttrell. I charge you that!”