“Try, my pet!” he said fiercely; “Heaven knows how I did try, but the drink was too much for me. If we had been brought up to some honest way of making a living, and away from this sham, I might have been different, but it drove me to drink, and I never had any self-command. I’m best where I am; obliged to be sober as the Major’s servant.”
There was a contemptuous look in his eyes as he said this last.
“And that makes it so much worse,” sighed Claire with a sad smile. “If you were only the King’s servant—a soldier—I would not so much mind.”
“Perhaps it is best as it is,” he said sternly.
“Don’t say that, Fred dear.”
“But I do say it, girl. If I had been brought up differently—Bah! I didn’t come here to grumble about the old man.”
“No, no, pray, pray don’t. And, Fred dear, you must not stop. Do you want a little money?”
“Yes!” he cried eagerly. “No! Curse it all, girl, I wish you would not tempt me. So you are not glad to see me?”
“Indeed, yes, Fred; but you must not stay. If our father were to return there would be such a scene.”
“He will not. He is on the pier, and won’t be back these two hours. Where’s Morton?”