“Yes, Alice, it is too true. I must tell you, Alice—you must know it all now, that you may agree with me that we must never speak of him again. So it went on, Alice, until the poor girl read in the papers the announcement of his marriage. Then she left her home suddenly, and her father came to-night to tell me that he had been to see her body to-day, at Gravesend.”
Alice gave a little sob of horror, and hid her face on her uncle's knees.
“Oh, uncle, it is too dreadful—it cannot be true!” she cried at last.
“There can be no doubt, no hope, Alice. The man's story is too clear, and he was too terribly in earnest to doubt him for a moment. It seems that he found out something of it, and watched to see if Frank came here in order to test the truth of that part of the story, and he saw him come in. My dear, there is no doubt. Frank is guilty—guilty of a deliberate act of baseness, done under the worst possible circumstances. From this moment he must be to us as if he were dead. We have been utterly deceived in him. Now we really know him, there is an end of all communication between us.”
“But how is it possible, uncle,” Alice pleaded, “that Frank, who has always been so true, and straightforward, and honourable, could have done it? It does not seem possible, uncle.”
“My dear, all things are possible,” the old man said, sadly. “You were reading to me last week a book where a man, seemingly as open and popular and straightforward as Frank, did the same thing, and you did not see any impossibility in it then. Steerforth was just such another as Frank—he treated little Emily just as Frank has treated this poor girl.”
“Oh, uncle, I can't believe it—I can't believe it!” Alice wailed.
Captain Bradshaw was silent. Presently he said,—
“Although there can be no doubt as to the circumstances, Alice, still of course we have only heard one side. Frank may have something to urge in his defence—something which may mitigate, although nothing could possibly excuse, the terrible fault he has committed. I shall write to him to-morrow. If he has anything to urge in his defence, he will do so. I trust that he will. I can never know him again; never. But I should be glad, if possible, to think that he has not been such a cold-blooded rascal as he appears to have been. There, Alice, don't cry any more, dear. Think that it is worse for me than it is for you. You are young, and will make fresh loves, fresh friends. I am old. For me there is no future hope. I have lost my son. I find that my confidence and love have been misplaced. I cannot begin again. You are all I have in the world now, Alice; for although I like him, I can never love the man who must now be my heir.”