“Oh, Mr Evelin! what is this you say?” exclaimed Blanche eagerly. “Have you, indeed, met with anyone in the course of your wanderings, whose history is such that you believe him to be my dear little long-lost cousin, Dick? I do not think you would speak heedlessly or without due consideration upon such a subject; and if your supposition should be correct, and you can furnish a clue to the discovery of my missing relatives, you will give new life to my uncle, and lay us all under such an obligation as we shall never be able to repay.”
“Do not place too much confidence in the idea that it would be quite impossible to repay even such an obligation as the one of which you speak,” said Lance in a low and meaning tone which somehow caused Blanche’s cheek to flush and her heart to flutter a little. “You are right in supposing,” he continued, “that I would not make such an assertion without due consideration. I have thought much upon the story you confided to me; and, comparing it with another which I have also heard, I am of opinion that I have discovered a clue which is worth following up, if only for the satisfaction of ascertaining whether it be a true or a false one. If true, your poor aunt is without doubt long since dead; but your cousin is still alive, and—there he stands!” pointing to Bob, who was in the waist leaning musingly over the lee rail.
“Where?” asked Blanche, looking quite bewildered.
“There,” replied Evelin, again pointing to Bob. “If my supposition is correct, that lad Bob is your cousin, Miss Lascelles.”
“Impossible!” exclaimed Blanche. “Oh, Mr Evelin, tell me:—What has led you to think so?”
“I will,” answered Lance. “But I hope the idea is not very distressing to you. It is true that the lad’s present position is—well, not perhaps exactly worthy of the cousin of—”
“Oh no; do not say that, Mr Evelin, I beg,” interrupted Blanche. “I was not thinking of that in the least. If Bob indeed prove to be my cousin, I shall certainly not be ashamed of him—quite the contrary; but you took me so completely by surprise. I have ever pictured my lost cousin as a chubby little flaxen-haired baby boy, from always having heard him so spoken of, I suppose; and I had forgotten for the moment that, if alive, he must necessarily have grown into a young man. But let me hear why you have come to think that Robert may be my cousin; I am all curiosity and impatience—woman-like, you see—in the presence of a mystery.”
“Well,” said Lance, “you doubtless remember that on one occasion I remarked upon the striking resemblance he bears to you; and, I might have added, the still more striking resemblance between him and your uncle, Sir Richard. My somewhat bungling remark, as I at the time considered it, led to your relating to me first the history of your friend Bob, and then that of your uncle’s loss. As I listened to you, the idea dawned upon me that Bob and your lost cousin might possibly be one and the same individual I got the lad to tell me his story, which was naturally somewhat more full and circumstantial than your own sketch; and comparing dates and so on, I have been led to the conclusion that he may indeed prove to be Sir Richard’s son. In the first place, his age, which of course can only be approximately guessed at, is about the same as your cousin’s would be, if alive. Next, there is the very extraordinary likeness, almost too striking, I think, to be merely accidental; and lastly, the clothes he wore when found, and which are still in existence, I understand, are marked with the initials R.L., which may stand for Richard Lascelles, the name, as I understood you, which your cousin bore.”
At this moment Captain Staunton made his appearance at the head of the saloon staircase, and calling to the chief mate, said—
“Mr Bowles, pass the word for the carpenter to come aft to the saloon at once, if you please. Let him look smart.”