“If that is all, then,” he said, “I think he must excuse me. I deserve no thanks. I consulted my own inclination, as much as his comfort. I am glad he is better. Tell him he is heartily welcome, and ask him if there is anything more I can do.”
The next morning, as “Cobbler” Horn stood talking, for a minute or so, to the captain, the obsequious attendant once more appeared. Touching his cap with double emphasis, in honour of the captain, he handed a letter to “Cobbler” Horn.
“From the gentleman in your cabin, sir. No answer, sir——I was told to say,” and, once more touching his cap, the polite functionary marched sedately away.
“‘From the gentleman in your cabin, sir.’”
—[Page 158].
“I must leave you to read your letter, Mr. Horn,” said the captain; and, with the word, he withdrew to attend to his duties in another part of the ship.
“Cobbler” Horn’s letter was brief, and ran as follows:
“Dear Sir,
“Though I may not in person express my gratitude for your great kindness, I have that to tell which you ought to know. Poverty, sickness, loss of dear ones, perfidy of professed friends, and ills of all imaginable kinds, have fallen to my lot. I am an American. I have a young wife, and a dear little girl in New York. I have been to Europe upon what has turned out a most disastrous business trip. I came on board this vessel a battered, broken man, not knowing, and scarcely caring, whether I should live to reach the other side. Faith in Christianity, in religion, in God Himself, I had utterly renounced. But I want to tell you that all that is changed. I now wish, and hope, to live; my health is vastly improved; and—will you let me say it without offence?—I find myself able once more to believe in God, and in such religion as yours. I will not again ask you to see me; but if, after reading this letter, you should feel inclined to pay me a visit, I need not tell you how delighted I should be.
“I am,