Ronald hoped that it would not be long before he should employ his well-gained prize money in the manner his captain suggested. He cared little to which port the “Osterley” might be sent, except that he would have preferred the one at the greatest distance, which might have prolonged the voyage.
Never had Ronald Morton been so happy. He was in the constant enjoyment of the society of Edda Armytage. She no longer concealed her love for him, and his attentions appeared to meet the approval of both her parents. The days thus glided swiftly by. It was with anything but satisfaction to him that the “Osterley” at length made the mouth of the Hooghly. A line-of-battle ship was at the anchorage. As the “Thisbe” brought up, the two men-of-war exchanged numbers, and Morton discovered with infinite satisfaction that she was the old “Lion,” on board of which his father was boatswain.
Ronald was unwilling to leave the “Osterley” even for a short time, so he despatched a boat with a note to his father, to inquire after his health, at the same time giving an account of what had occurred, and promising to visit him as soon as he was at liberty. No reply was sent, but in a short time a boat from the “Lion” came alongside the “Osterley,” and Rolf Morton himself stepped on board. Ronald welcomed his father with the affection of a son. He thought not of the subordinate rank he held in the service, nor of the fine lady and gentlemen passengers who might be making inquiries as to who he was.
After a short conversation on the quarter-deck, they retired to Ronald’s cabin, where a considerable time was spent in giving and listening to accounts of each other’s proceedings.
“And let me hear again this strange story you tell me of these old men,” said Rolf. “I must talk to them, and listen to what, they have to say, though I scarcely expect that any good will result to us from it.”
Rolf Morton had never been of a sanguine temperament; he had become still less so as he advanced in life. Ronald, on the contrary, was accustomed to look on the bright side of objects. He believed that he had obtained a clue which would lead to the discovery of a matter now he felt of so much importance to his future happiness.
The two old men were sent for. They looked at Ronald, and then at his father; but neither seemed willing to speak. Archie Eagleshay, especially, put on a stupid expression of countenance, as if he had lost all recollection of past events. After a time, however, Doull repeated the account he had already given to Ronald, and the other old man nodded his head to confirm the correctness of the statement.
“Would you swear to all this my friends, in a court of law in England?” asked Ronald.
Even Doull hesitated. The idea of a court of law, in consequence of his early transgressions, had terrors for him which he could not overcome. As pale a hue as his sunburnt skin would allow came over old Archy’s face as he heard the words, and Ronald soon discovered that he had made a mistake by putting the question.
“Well, my friends, we will not ask you to do what you do not like,” he remarked. “But do not you think that if it was to serve my father and me, and that we would take care that you suffered no injury, you could swear to the truth of the story you have told us? It is my belief that you see before you the very man you assisted to carry off when a child from his family and his country. He bears you no ill-will in consequence. Surely you would wish to do your best to repair the injury you have done him?”