Soon Dorothy spoke again. “Frank,” she said, “tell me! How did you escape from prison? I don’t understand.”
Howard hesitated. Then: “I can’t tell you very much about it, dear. But this I will say: An officer on my last ship—one, too, for whom I am ashamed to say I had never cared much—stood my friend all through the trial, and at the end aided me to get away. He——”
“It was Mr. Loving! I know it was Mr. Loving!”
“Hush! Even the sea-weed has ears. You must never say anything about it, or it would get him into terrible trouble. Yes, it was Loving. Do you know him?”
Dorothy twisted and untwisted her fingers. “Yes,” she murmured, “I know him. It—it was on his account that I went to Porto Rico.”
“On his account?”
“Yes. He—he wanted to marry me, and father wanted me to accept him, and I couldn’t. I couldn’t! I knew you must exist somewhere, Frank—you—the only man in the world for me—and I ran away from New York to avoid him. You are not angry, are you, Frank?”
“Angry! At what? But I’m afraid I’ve made a terrible botch of things; saddled a convict husband on you, and robbed my best friend of his bride.”
Dorothy raised her hand to his lips. “Hush! dear,” she said. “I wouldn’t exchange my husband for any man in the wide world; and as for Mr. Loving—well, he couldn’t be robbed of what he never had, and never could have had.”
The note of the engines suddenly changed, and Howard, bending over, glanced at the accumulator dial. “The battery is fully charged, dear,” he said, as he shut off the engine. “And it is certainly time to rest.”