“I remember perfectly,” Prescott said, “Frank coming up to my rooms and telling me. I know he said, ‘Uncle’s a good old boy, and I won’t go there any more.’ And I really don’t think he did. Frank is as open as the day, and he would have been certain to mention it to me.”
“I am sure he is, Mr. Prescott; but like an old fool, as I was, I doubted him afterwards, and you must confess I had reason. Somewhere about a year afterwards, Frank was married, and went off on his travels. Well, a fortnight after that a man came to me, nearly out of his mind. He said his name was Walker, that his daughter had been seduced by my nephew under a promise of marriage, that he had promised solemnly to marry her secretly at once, and to make it public at my death, which, he thought, could not be far off. The old man offered to show me letters proving this, and said that his daughter had drowned herself at the news of my nephew’s marriage, and he had just been down to see her body. Now, Mr. Prescott, I appeal to you, how could I doubt that Frank Maynard was a miserable scoundrel?”
Prescott was perfectly thunderstruck.
“But it could not be true, sir. I will wager my life it was not true.”
“But it was true, Mr. Prescott; the proofs are undoubted; every word the old man uttered was truth, except that he was mistaken as to the body; for his daughter, after all, did not commit suicide, and is still alive. Now, Mr. Prescott, what could Miss Heathcote and myself think, but that Frank Maynard was utterly unworthy of our esteem?”
“I do not, of course, doubt what you say, Captain Bradshaw,” Prescott said, warmly; “I have no doubt you are confident in the proofs you have received; but only from Frank Maynard’s own lips will I believe this terrible charge against him.”
“Ah,” the old man said, sadly; “that’s what I ought to have done. I ought to have gone to Frank and said, ‘This is the charge. You shall be your own judge. Can you, after this, ever be anything to me again?’ But then, Mr. Prescott, you must remember, that much as I loved Frank Maynard, and well as I believed I knew him, you knew far more of him than I did. A father can know but little of his son’s private life. His familiar friend can judge him much better than a father can. You know what each other does; there are no secrets between you. Young men know young men as they are; old men only know them as they choose to be known. You see you had the advantage of me. Knowing Frank’s inner life, you consider yourself capable of being assured he would not do this. Knowing Frank only as an old man knows a young one, I was obliged to believe the evidence was true.”
“But, Captain Bradshaw, your telegram said it had been all a mistake, and yet you now say the evidence was perfectly true.”
“And both statements are correct, Mr. Prescott. Mr. Walker told me my nephew had basely seduced his daughter, under promise of marriage, and he spoke truly. I, knowing that Frank knew her, of course supposed that the accusation was against him. Mr. Walker did not even know Frank was my nephew, but yet he spoke the truth. My nephew did seduce his daughter, under promise of marriage; but only last night did I find out that the nephew who did it was Fred Bingham, who, as far as Walker knew, was the only nephew I had.”
“I see it all now,” Prescott said, delighted. “But do you mean to say, sir, is it possible, that Fred Bingham has all this time known the reason of Frank’s disgrace, has taken his place in your affections, and allowed him to be disgraced for his own crime?”