“And if Frank hesitates, if he will not make friends with my uncle, Katie, will you persuade him?”
“Yes, Alice; I have been willing enough to go with Frank, but I love the old country, and shall be very, very glad to stay here.”
Frank Maynard had entered the captain’s cabin, and there had at once seen Prescott.
“My dear old man,” he exclaimed, “this is kind of you; come to say a last good-bye, eh? Well, I can tell you we are as jolly as possible. Katie is a capital sailor, and the cubs are as good as—” and here he stopped abruptly, seeing the third person in the cabin, whom, standing a little behind the door, he had hitherto not noticed. For a moment an indignant flush flew up over his face, and then his expression softened, and he said,
“Uncle, you here! Well, I am glad. You were a very kind friend in old days, and I am glad to find you have come to say, God speed you on your journey.”
The old man was much affected.
“Oh Frank, Frank! it has all been a mistake; a cruel mistake; but it is not too late, my boy; I will make it up.”
“Stop, uncle,” Frank said, coldly, “I wish to have no excuses. You have believed you had good reasons for casting me off. That is all past now. You have come to say good-bye, and I am ready to say good-bye, uncle, with all my heart. I wish to carry no regrets with me in my new life. We will shake hands, if you please, without any excuses.”
“No, no, Frank, you do not understand me. It has all been a terrible mistake, but it is all cleared up now, I want you to come back with me and live with me, to be my heir, and—”
“Thank you,” Frank said, bitterly, “I have had enough of trusting in others. I have done with it. Fool as I was, I believed that men I loved and trusted, loved and trusted me. I have done with that—I believe in my own right arm now, and trust to that alone. Please God, I will earn a living in future without thanks to any man. No, uncle, I go on my own path, and trust to myself alone for the future.”