“Well, Fred, what do you think of that letter?” his uncle asked at last. “It is conclusive, is it not?”
“Quite so, uncle. Nothing could be better. But——”
“But what, Fred?” Captain Bradshaw asked.
“Well, uncle, I agree with you, of course, that nothing can be more base and heartless than Frank's conduct; but still—still, you see, he has only just married. I am not attempting, much as I wish I could do so, to urge any point in Frank's favour. At the same time, uncle, think of the misery of his wife, if he gets that letter the first day he returns home, and opens it before her. He might, for instance, laughingly ask her to open his letters, and tell him what they were about; your letter especially, knowing your handwriting, he would suppose could contain nothing she might not read. Imagine the poor girl's feelings. Her happiness would be destroyed for life. Surely, uncle, Frank's punishment would be too severe. Now, if you were to write a letter, using any language you like towards him—abusing him as much as you please, telling him he has forfeited all place in your esteem, and is henceforth to be a stranger—such a letter would not have the same effect upon her. No doubt he would be able to make some excuse which would satisfy her, and at the same time his conscience would tell him the cause of your indignation, and he would be able to write and make any excuses he could for his conduct. If he did not write, you would know it was because he had nothing whatever to urge in palliation.”
“Very right, and very kindly thought of, my boy,” Captain Bradshaw said, warmly. “God knows, there has been mischief enough done already. I do not wish to wreck another young creature's life. Yes, I will write exactly as you advise. As you say, it will leave it open for him to make any plausible explanation he likes to her, and his own conscience will tell him what it means. As for his making any excuses to me, I am afraid that is altogether out of his power.” And the old man sighed deeply.
“It is, indeed, a most distressing affair, uncle, and I am indeed sorry for your sake, and for that of Alice also, for I know she was very fond of Frank. Does she know of the sad business?”
“Yes, Fred; I was obliged to tell her. She must have been informed why all connection with Frank is to cease. She is terribly cut up, but clings to the hope that Frank may have some sort of apology or explanation to make. I confess I don't see that it is possible.”
“We must hope that he will, uncle. It is a sad business, and I am truly sorry for your sake. Good-night, now. I shall be up again in a week or so, and will then bring my wife to see you.”
“Do, Fred, do; I shall be very glad to see my new niece.”