Maurice evidently felt a relief in having somebody with him in whom he could confide, and he gave Tom a brief sketch of his short, but misspent life.
“If I had only been a poor man I might have done better,” said he one evening—the day before they reached D’Urban. “But it is a true saying that money unfairly come by brings—”
“Unfairly come by!” ejaculated Tom. “You surely don’t mean that you stole it?”
“Not exactly, my dear fellow,” replied the sick man, with just the ghost of a laugh. “But nevertheless, though legally mine, the best part of my fortune should by rights have gone to another man. My father had a distant relative—a queer, crochety old fellow whom he had never seen and never wished to see—and this distant relative had an only son, a lieutenant in the royal navy, who unfortunately—”
“Why!” interrupted Tom, a sudden light breaking in upon him, “you don’t mean Weston?”
“Weston was the name of my father’s relative; and his son was dismissed the service for striking his superior officer. Do you know anything about him?”
“I should think I did!” was Tom’s reply; “why, my dear chap, Weston is my father’s partner, and Frank Jamieson’s brother-in-law.” And thereupon he proceeded to give Maurice a full account of Mr Weston’s history.
“I am glad to have the opportunity of making a restitution of this property,” said Maurice when Tom finished. “Ask Shipp to give you some paper, and this very evening I’ll draw up a will in Weston’s favour, which, if I live to reach D’Urban, I will have put into regular legal jargon. I shall leave him every penny—no, I sha’n’t though,” he added with a faint smile; “I owe you something, Tom, and as I see that you feel a tender interest in Miss Gracie Weston I shall leave her a share of the property.”
Poor Maurice was as good as his word; he reached D’Urban just in time to draw up a formal will, which was duly attested by the resident magistrate, leaving his fortune to Mr Weston, with the exception of 3000 pounds, which he settled on Miss Grace Weston. Two days later he breathed his last, and after his funeral Frank Jamieson and Tom Flinders took leave of Mr Shipp and embarked on board the Mary Anne cutter, bound for Table Bay, where they landed after a rough passage of a week’s duration.
Our task is ended; but before parting we must ask our readers to accompany us once again to Ralfontein, and to imagine that ten years have elapsed since our hero and his friend escaped from the Caffres.