“Alice,” he said, “I am a miserable old man. I drove my daughter from her home in a fit of rage. I tried afterwards to find her, but I never heard of her until it was too late, and the news came to me she was dead—had died of want, Alice, think of that!—and now I hear all, these years afterwards, that she has left a son behind her, and he has grown up a cripple, brought up by the charity of some poor people, whom,” said the old man solemnly, “may God bless for their goodness!”
Alice was too surprised to make any comment upon this story, but could only kiss her uncle soothingly. Then she turned to Prescott for further explanation.
“Sit down, Captain Bradshaw,” he said, “for a few minutes and recover your composure. I will tell you all I know about it.”
The two sat down, while Prescott related all he knew of the story, beginning with his first meeting the lad; telling Mrs. Holl’s story as nearly in her own words as he could recall it, at which point the tears flowed fast again from the eyes of both the old man and Miss Heathcote. He then simply said that the boy Evan, who was with Frank down in Yorkshire, had recognised the crest, upon an old letter of Captain Bradshaw’s, as being identical with the one owned by James’s mother. When he had done, Captain Bradshaw said:—
“Thank you very much for what you have done in this case; and now how shall we get the boy here?”
“I think, sir, if you will allow me, I will go down to the livery stables at Knightsbridge and get an invalid carriage, and order it to come round here at once with a couple of men. Then we will walk round together, and I will go in first and prepare him for it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Prescott; thank you very much.”
And Alice Heathcote looked a thank-you which far more than repaid Prescott for his exertions.