“I should think so,” Frank laughed, “and thank goodness there will be no deck-washing over our heads at five o’clock to-morrow morning.”
The next day the party were installed at Torquay. James greeted Frank Maynard with a quiet warmth. He had been rather better during the time that his uncle had been away, and seemed very happy under the quiet nursing of Carry Walker. She came to him every day after breakfast, walked out beside his chair, and went home again to her father during the afternoon, which James spent in the drawing-room with his friends. Dinner over he went up to his room, and there Carry and usually Alice Heathcote chatted or read to him until he went to bed. Evan had now taken the place of his former attendant, and drew him in his chair when he went out. And many were the visitors of Torquay, who looked pityingly back at the evidently dying cripple, and at the quiet sad-looking young lady in mourning who walked beside him.
Prescott came down according to promise three or four days after the others, and upon the morning after his arrival, Captain Bradshaw took him aside.
“Now, Mr. Prescott, I want to ask your opinion and advice. I have had a letter this morning from that rascal, Fred Bingham. He says that he is not particularly busy at present, and that he intends to come down here to stop a day or two. He will arrive, he says, to-morrow, in the middle of the day.”
“Do you think of stopping him?”
“No, no,” Captain Bradshaw said, exultingly, “on no account whatever. I only wish I could invite the whole of Torquay to be present at the meeting. I am only debating in my mind whether I will horsewhip the scoundrel or leave it to Frank.”
“No, no, Captain Bradshaw, his punishment will be heavy enough. Not that I pity him, for I do not think any possible punishment would be too great. If I thought horsewhipping would increase his punishment, I would say horsewhip him as much as you please; or rather let Frank do it; but I think quiet contempt, and the utter downfall of all his schemes, will be a punishment greater than any severe personal pain could give him.”
“I am sorry you are not in favour of horsewhipping,” Captain Bradshaw said, discontentedly; “my fingers, old as they are, are itching for it. Don’t you think—eh?”
“No, indeed, sir,” Prescott said, laughing; “besides he would have his action for assault and battery, and we should have a public scandal, which for all our sakes, but more especially for the sake of Miss Walker, we ought to avoid.”
“Yes, yes,” the old man said, “I forgot the poor girl. Of course you are right. What should you advise then?”