And, determined to go on in his course, he opened his pocket-book, and drew from it a letter which he had received from Tolcarne. It was not long, but it sent the blood dancing through his veins, and nerved him for the fight to come. It ran as follows:—
“Dearest Dick—What shall I say to you in this your great trouble? Can I say more than that I would give anything to be by your side, to try and advise—at all events, to try and help and comfort? Papa was very angry when your letter came, and read it to Aunt Matty; but let that pass, as I tell you only, Dick, that you have a friend in dear mamma, who stood up for you as nobly as did darling little Fin, who had been in unaccountably low spirits before. I tried so hard, Dick, to come to you—to answer your letter and scold you; but they would not let me stir. I dare not tell you what they said; you must guess when I tell you that I was a dreadfully disobedient child, and Aunt Matty declared that no good could ever come to a girl who set herself up in opposition to her father and aunt. Poor dear mamma was left out of it altogether. I say all this, Dick, for fear you should think I fell away from you in your trouble, and would not come to you as you wished; but my heart was with you all the time. And now, Dick, darling, to be more matter-of-fact, what is all this to us? You could not help it; and whether you are Richard Trevor or Richard Lloyd by name, how does it alter you in the eyes of her to whom you said so much? Dick, you don’t know me, or you would never have sent me that cruel letter, so full of your dreadful determination. Oh, Dick, do you think—can you think—I wish to be free? You taught me to love you, and you cannot undo your work. For shame, to write in that desponding tone because of this accident. It was very wicked and dreadful of Mrs Lloyd, but you could not help it; and now you have so nobly determined to make restitution to poor Humphrey, let it all go. My Dick only stands out more nobly than ever. You have your profession, sir—go back to that, and they will only be too proud to have you; but don’t go long voyages, or where there are storms. I lay awake all night listening to the wind, and thinking how thankful I ought to be that you were ashore, Dick, and all the time I felt prouder than ever of my own boy. Oh, Dick, never talk to me of freedom! Nothing can make me change. Even if I saw with my own poor little crying eyes that you cared for me no more, I could not leave off loving; and, dear Dick—dearest Dick—don’t think me bold and unmaidenly if I say now what I should not have dared to say if you had not been in trouble—Dick, recollect this—that there is some one waiting your own time, when, rich or poor, you shall ask her to come to you, when and where you will, and she will be your own little wife—Tiny.
“P.S.—Pin has looked over my shoulder, and read all this as I wrote it; and she says it is quite right, besides sending her dear love to brother Dick.”
Trevor’s forehead went down on his hands as he finished, his face was very pale, and a strange look was in his eyes as he re-perused the note.
“God bless her!” he muttered. “I will do something, and I believe she will wait for me; but I can’t drag her down to share my poverty. But there, I won’t curse it, when I see how it brings out the pure metal from the fire. I can’t go back to the sea, though. Pooh! what chance have I—a poor penniless servant’s son—how should I get a ship. Why, my rank has been obtained by imposture.”
The rugged, hard look came back, but the sight of an enclosure once more smoothed his forehead.
“Here’s dear little Fin,” he said to himself. “Well, after all, it’s very sweet to find out how true some hearts can be.”
Saying this to himself, he opened and read a little jerky scrawl from Fin:—
“My own dear Brother Dick,—I sent you a message by Tiny, but I thought I’d write too, so as to show you that little people can be as staunch as big. Never mind about the nasty money, or the troublesome estate—you can’t have everything; and I tell you, sir, that you’ve won what is worth a thousand Penreifes—my darling little Tiny’s heart—you great, ugly monster! Dear Dick, I’m so sorry for you, but I can’t cry a bit—only pat you on the back and say, ‘Never mind.’ I’ll take care of Tiny for you, in spite of Aunt Matty—a wicked old woman!—for if she didn’t look up from a goody-goody book, and say that she’d always expected it, and she was very glad. Ma sends her love to you, and says she shall come across to Penreife to see you, the first time papa goes over to Saint Kitt’s. She would come now, only she wants to keep peace and quietness in the house. They’re against you now, but it will soon blow over. If it don’t, we’ll win over Aunt Matty to our side by presenting her with dogs. By the way, Pepine has a cold: he sneezed twice yesterday, and his tail is all limp. Goodbye, Dick.—Your affectionate sister,
“Fin Rea.”
Richard’s eyes brightened as he read this, and then carefully bestowed it in his pocket-book.
He then took out and read again the letter that had come by post:—