“Tom,” he continued, after a pause of about a minute, “on board the old Ocean Pride I once told you the story of my love for Gerty; and I told you also all I knew about dear father’s difficulties. We both know now how complete daddy’s financial ruin is, but I have never yet told you the true story of Gerty’s engagement to Sir Digby Auld. I’ll tell you now, and you won’t think so hard of the poor girl when I have finished.”
Jack Mackenzie spoke for fully a quarter of an hour without intermission, ending with these words: “So you see, brother, the dear girl is positively immolating herself on the altar of filial love, and what she considers duty. She loves the old man Keane surely more dearly than daughter has any right to love a father; and her main ambition and object in life is to see the lonely man happy and respected in his old age. So, dear Tom, don’t bid me leave my fool’s paradise yet a while. You have your happiness; I—”
He paused, and sighed a weary kind of sigh.
Tom was touched to the very bottom of his heart. He stretched his arm across the walnuts and grasped his friend’s hand.
“Poor Jack!” he said. “Live in your paradise and be happy. Would that I could give you hopes that your lease will be a very long one.”
“Besides,” continued Jack, excusing himself a little more, “with a light heart I shall be able to drub the French more cheerfully.”
Tom’s eyes sparkled.
“Ah yes!” he said; “and for the very same reason I too feel in the finest of form for drubbing the French.”
“And we’ve had no single-ship action with the Dons yet.”
“Their time is coming.”