“No; I left no near relatives in my native land to mourn for me. I had one or two school friends; but they were too happily situated and too well cared for long to lament my unknown fate.”
“And you, Mr.—Rosenthal—am I right?” said the captain, turning to Justin.
“Lord kape yer!” impatiently interrupted Judith—“hev ye got no mimory at all, at all? or are ye afther dhrinking itself, that ye can’t remimber a gintleman’s name, when yer afther hearing it so often! It’s Rosenthal, sure—thal, thal, thal! There! twist that round yer tongue, and lave off staring at me as if ye’d ate me!”
The captain of the Sea Scourge laughed, and once more turned to Justin, saying:
“Mr. Rosenthal, how have you borne this long separation from home and friends, and this utter lack of news from the world outside, for nearly two years?”
“As I hinted before, neither my health nor spirits have suffered materially. I left a venerated father and a beloved sister and many friends. I know that my father and sister have mourned me as dead; and that they continue to remember me with affection; but I also know that religion and time have combined to soothe their sorrows and regrets. As for the world from which I am separated, I feel that the Lord took very good care of it before I was born into it, and can continue to take very good care of it now that I am exiled from it!”
“Mr. Rosenthal, you are a philosopher.”
“Nevertheless, I shall be very glad to get back, with my companions in misfortune, to our native country,” said Justin.
“And it will confer upon myself more happiness than I ever received in my life to take you all back,” said the captain, earnestly.
“Thanks! I can well believe it,” replied Justin, warmly.