All But Lost: A Novel. Vol. 3 of 3

by G. A. Henty

“Has there?” James said; “I am sorry for that. I knew Mr. Maynard, he came twice to mother’s, and he was so frank and cheery, and so kind-hearted too. Why, it was he who sent out, at his own expense, Bessy Holl—she was mother’s sister, you know—to Australia to join her husband. I never saw such a fine fellow, so generous and kind. Evan would lay down his life for him. And he is very poor now, very, Evan said so in his letter. He lost all his money when the Great Indian Bank broke. What could grandfather have quarrelled with him about? Why, Alice, you are crying. I have not offended you, have I? I beg your pardon.”

“No, no, James, I am foolish, that’s all. And now, James, I will tell you a secret. Once I loved Frank Maynard, loved him with all my heart. I thought he loved me, but it was all a mistake. You understand, James, he was not the least to blame. Well, when I found out my mistake I tried hard to cure myself, and had come, when he married, to look upon him quite like a brother. Well, James, we found out—at least uncle found out, and told me—that he was not what we had thought him, and that he had done a very wicked thing. I can’t tell you what it was, James. Well, uncle wrote to him, and he never answered, never tried even to excuse himself. It was so bad a thing, James, we could never esteem him or know him again. It almost broke uncle’s heart, and it made me suffer very much too, James, just as if it had really been a brother who had done it. When we heard he had lost all his money, we sent some to a bank for him without saying who it came from; but I suppose he guessed and so would not accept it—anyhow he sent it back. I know he is very poor, and that it must be dreadful to be under Fred Bingham. Everyone speaks well of Frank. Mr. Prescott likes him so much, you tell me how kind he was, and I know, yes I know, how frank and straight-forward and true he was, James, and I do so wish it could be made up and forgiven. He has been punished, and his conscience must have punished him more than uncle’s anger could do, but we ought not to cast him out all his life for one sin, I was as angry and sorry as uncle was at first, James, but I do so grieve over it, I do so fret when I think of him, and how he wants a friend now. I cannot ask uncle to forgive him. I have been as hard as he has, but would you, James? He will not refuse you anything; you could put it on the ground of what he did for your aunt when she was in distress. Poor Frank, I do feel for him so.”

And Alice, who had tried hard to speak steadily, again broke down.

“Certainly I will ask it, Alice. I do not think my grandfather will refuse me,” and James sat for some time with a look of sad thought on his face. “I will speak to him to-night, after dinner.”

After dinner, accordingly, James refused to go upstairs as usual with Alice, and had his chair wheeled close to his grandfather. For some time they talked upon ordinary subjects, and then there was a pause. James sat toying with a dessert-knife in his thin hands, and coughed once or twice with the short hacking cough that went to his listener’s heart.

“May I tell you a story, grandfather?”

“Certainty, James,” Captain Bradshaw said.

“Some time ago, uncle, nearly three years now, I was at work at my flower-making, you know, when a very tall, good-looking gentleman, came in about some business with mother. He was very kind, and talked for some time in a bright, cheery way. He bought some of my flowers, and sent me down a great box of books to study.”

“God bless him!” Captain Bradshaw said, interjectionally.

“Some time after, uncle, we were in great trouble. John Holl’s brother William was sentenced to be transported as a head Chartist, and his poor wife, Aunt Bessy, as I used to call her, was in terrible grief. The same gentleman happened to hear of it, and came down and paid her expenses to join her husband in Australia, which she did a few months afterwards. This gentleman is now very poor, he has lost all his money, and has quarrelled with a rich relative, His name is Frank Maynard. Grandfather, it is of no use deceiving ourselves. I know I am dying, I know I cannot live many months; let my one request to you be that for my sake you forgive him, and let him be to you what I would have been.