Charlie turned pale, staggered, and would have fallen to the ground, but was so near the elm that he fell against it. Walter put his arm around him, and he leaned his head on his friend’s shoulder.
“What made you tell him that way?” asked Ned.
“I didn’t mean to; but when he spoke to me about giving my heart to God, I didn’t know what I said.”
“It’s over, now,” said Charlie, lifting his head from Walter’s shoulder.
“He wasn’t killed, Mr. Bell,” said Ned, “though he was flung overboard for dead. The French picked him up, and we found him in Marseilles, selling baskets.”
“I will go right up to Captain Rhines’s,” said Charlie. “You stop at the house till I come back.”
“I must go home,” said Walter; “and Ned is going with me. I haven’t been home yet. I didn’t want anybody to bring this news but myself and Ned.”
When Charlie—his pale features still manifesting traces of the feelings which had mastered him—entered the sitting-room, the captain, taking him by the hand, pointed to the door of the parlor, which stood ajar.
We will draw a veil over the meeting of father and son; but when, at the expiration of half an hour, they came out together, traces of tears were on the cheeks of both, but they were tears of joy. When Charlie presented his wife to his father, and placed the child in his arms, “I can now,” said the happy grand-parent, “say, in the words of old Jacob, ‘I had not thought to see thy face, and lo! God hath also showed me thy seed.’”