Descended from an ancient and wealthy family—an only child—Harland had early been taught to regard merit only in proportion to the birth of the individual; and whilst the actions of his ancestors were recited to raise an emulation in his bosom, they implanted a pride, the partial fondness of his parents but too much tended to increase. Thus regarding himself as superior to the generality of mankind, he expected an observance and obedience few were willing to pay. The Captain's profession of friendship to St. Ledger, after he had so openly avowed his disapprobation of that youth, he looked on as an insult offered to himself, and as such determined to show his resentment by treating him with every mark of contempt in his power. This behaviour, however, failed in the desired effect; and, instead of degrading St. Ledger, was the means of gaining him the notice and protection of the other officers. By the austerity of his manners, Harland had long since rendered himself the object of their dislike; the injustice of his behaviour was therefore exaggerated in their opinion, and, independently of the Captain's avowed partiality, or the interesting manners of the young adventurer, inclined them to regard him with sentiments of commiseration and friendship.
Already had St. Ledger been six weeks on board, during which time the Captain had repeatedly, but vainly, urged him to declare who he was; neither could he be induced to appear when any strangers visited that gentleman; when one day, being importuned by Frederick to accompany them to the house of a friend, he hesitatingly acknowledged it was not safe for him to be seen.
"Not safe, St. Ledger?" repeated the Captain. "Of what action can you have been guilty, that like a midnight assassin, you should thus dread the observation of civilized society?"
"None, Captain," answered St. Ledger firmly. "But the criminal is not the only one who has cause for fear. He who meets the hand of the assassin is in equal danger as he who gives the blow."
"Well, St. Ledger," returned the Captain, "I yield to your reasons, whatever they may be. I entertain too good an opinion of you to think you guilty of any crime which could render you undeserving of the protection I have afforded. When you have known me longer, you may perhaps find me more worthy of your confidence."
St. Ledger felt relieved by their departure, though hurt at the reproach he thought the Captain's last words implied.
For that gentleman, he sunk into a reverie as soon as he was seated in the barge; which Frederick, whose imagination was equally employed in conjectures respecting St. Ledger, never thought of interrupting; and on being landed they silently pursued their way till they arrived at the quay, when Frederick suddenly exclaimed—"I cannot form an idea who, or what St. Ledger is. Above the generality of mankind I must think him."
"I have indeed," said the Captain, "rarely seen his equal, and would freely give a hundred guineas to know who he is, or his reason for wishing to be concealed. If he would intrust me with the secret, it might perhaps be in my power to prove a greater friend to him than I am at present."
The concluding sentence brought them to the place of their destination. On being announced, a gentleman, who was seated with their invitor, hastily rose, and, eagerly surveying the Captain, exclaimed—
"Does my memory deceive me; or is it my friend Crawton I have again the pleasure of beholding?"