"My dear, dear son!—doubly endeared to me by the dangers you have undergone on my account—I am thankful that my altered fortunes now enable me to gratify what I know to be the dearest wish of your heart. Go to her, John—go to Miss Winterton—she is worthy of you: no longer restrained by the clog of poverty, you may freely indulge the feelings of your heart."
As the father and son were walking along the road, they saw two men approaching them at some distance.
"Whom have we here?" said John Hamilton.
"One of them is old Willie Duncan, a cottar of mine; and who the lame man is that is with him I know not. By the by, I heard that his son was returned from sea; perhaps that's the man."
Willie Duncan respectfully saluted his master, when he approached, and said—
"I was just bringing my son to——"
"Good heavens!" exclaimed John Hamilton, gazing earnestly at the disabled man; "it cannot be—yes, it is—my brave deliverer! My gallant fellow," continued he, shaking him heartily by the hand, "how rejoiced I am to see you, and to have an opportunity to prove my gratitude to you! I heard you were dead—how did you escape?"
"Why, blow me, your honour, if you didn't take me quite aback. I couldn't make you out at first—you're twice the man you were when I see'd you on the pirate's deck; and I'd never no thoughts of falling in with you so near home. I'm right glad, however, to see your honour once more."
"Duncan," said Hamilton, senior, with a trembling voice, "I owe you a debt I can never repay. You lost your limb in saving the life of my son—it shall be my endeavour to make the loss to you as light as possible."
"And is the gentleman the son of my father's good master? Then a fig for the leg!—it couldn't have been lost in a better cause. And, as for gratitude, sir, you owe me none; his honour, here, would have done the same for me, if the case had been reversed, like—if he'd been the sailor, and I'd been the gemman."