“Whom did you get the letter from? Did you see my father?”
“Come, youngster, don’t you go for to question me. Go below d’rectly, an’ stop there till ye’r wanted.”
The captain seized the end of a rope as he spoke, so I retreated at once to the bedside of my poor friend Jack, only too glad to escape from the presence of the men whom I now abhorred with all my heart.
“Jack,” said I, eagerly, “here’s a letter from my father!”
He evinced no surprise, but, looking up solemnly, said, in a faint voice, “Read it.”
Breaking the seal, I read as follows:—
“My Beloved Son,—I forgive you. You have sinned deeply in thus leaving me; but I know that you have repented. I know that your own conscience has rebuked you more sternly than any earthly parent could do. You cannot now recall the past—you cannot undo what you have done; you must now continue your voyage, and, in order to relieve your oppressed heart, I give you my blessing. I commend you, my dear boy, to Him who is the Saviour of sinners.
“Beware of the captain. Obey him in all that is right, but do not serve him. Again, I say, beware of him. There are secrets concerning him that I cannot unfold. I have just been to see Jack’s mother. She sends her forgiveness and blessing to her son. God bless you, boy.—Your loving father,
“John Smith.”
My father understood human nature. No reproaches that he could have heaped upon me would have cut half so deeply into my heart as did this kind, forgiving letter. My heart was full. Yet I felt a deep undercurrent of joy at knowing that my father loved me still. I looked at Jack. He seemed to be asleep, but he was not. A single tear coursed over his pale cheek as he looked up and whispered—