“Then you don’t love him, mother?”
“I shall never love any one again, Harry. My love was buried in your father’s grave.”
“I am glad of that, at any rate; glad that you don’t love this scoundrel—”
“Harry, Harry, don’t talk so, I beg of you.”
“Mother, I have good reason for all I say. I know Squire Turner better than you.”
“How can you know him so well, when you have been away for more than a year?”
“Have you any idea why I went away so suddenly? I don’t mean to New York; but how it happened that I disappeared from New York?”
“No, Harry, I know nothing of it.”
“Then I will tell you. Squire Turner, whom you think so kind, had me kidnapped on board a vessel bound for China, and I started on my long voyage without any chance of letting you know what had become of me.”
“This is a strange story, Harry. Are you sure of it?”