At this moment the Captain re-entered.
Mr. Talton beheld with concern his encreasing melancholy, and for some time strove to divert it; but finding all his efforts ineffectual, he at last said—
"What, Howard, is the cause of the dejection which oppresses you? That cloud on your brow is by no means flattering to my present visit, and but little accords with your professions of friendship, or the honest pleasure that yesterday enlivened your features. I know you too well to think it occasioned by any trivial circumstances: what then, my friend, is the reason?—Your wife, you say, is well."
"Name her not, I entreat," replied the Captain, severely hurt at the reproach of his friend. "She is, indeed, the source of all my unhappiness!"
"The source of your unhappiness!" repeated Mr. Talton. "Surely, Howard, I do not understand you, or your sentiments are strangely altered since the time I gave the lovely Ellenor Worton to your arms. Then—"
"Oh, Talton," interrupted the Captain, "cease this subject, I conjure you. Ellenor Worton! My God, what ideas does that name recall! Yes, far above my life I prized her: but those days are for ever fled! I am wretched, and she is now a friendless fugitive in a merciless world!"
"What mean you, Howard?" asked Mr. Talton. "There is a mystery in your words I do not understand."
"Then I will explain them," returned the Captain. "Your friendship, your honour, I have proved; and when you hear my tale, you will not wonder why, on beholding the friend of my earlier days, instead of smiles, my countenance should thus wear the semblance of sorrow and regret."
Frederick would here have retired, as imagining what his uncle had to impart, he might wish should only reach the knowledge of his friend; but the Captain bade him resume his seat.—"From my errors," he added, "you may learn to avoid their attending unhappiness."
Frederick obeyed; and the Captain, addressing Mr. Talton, continued.