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The voice of Lucy within cried out: "Is anybody there?",

"Then come on!" shouted Billy.,

Caleb waited until his daughter turned to execute his order, then the frown melted from his face and a wide grin took its place. "The young reprobate," he muttered. "What'll that boy be up to next, I wonder? I've got t' teach him a lesson, ding me! if I haven't. It's clear enough t' me that him and that young Keeler are shapin' fer a little excursion, up bush, and this is the way they take to get their fodder.",

He ran out of the cabin. The Admiral pillowed his son's head with his arm, and gazed at the marble-still features. Never could any man appear more stricken, though 'tis hard to tell by posture or by expression of face the depth of human sorrow, the pang of the wound that death alone can heal. His only son—whom he had cursed for his wickedness—whose professional life, extinguished by an act of drunken madness, had swelled the eyes of the father with the unshed tears of the spirit of[Pg 439] a man—lying dead or dying on his arm—self-slain!

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Mr Lawrence started suddenly, stood up, looked round him, and viewed steadfastly for a space Lucy's cabin door. Then muttering to himself, "To-morrow—to-morrow!" he made his way towards the deck.,

The two gentlemen released hands and continued their walk.,

"Now young man," he said grimly, grasping one of Billy's hands and pulling it forward and out, "I'm going to drive that happy smile from your face.",

But this sort of argument did not fall within the frame of Mr Greyquill's picture of integrity. It was a letter lying ready for anybody's hand in a public way; next, it was not addressed; third, it was not signed; and fourth, though the contents were apparently in Mr Lawrence's handwriting, yet some people did write, as Greyquill knew, so wonderfully alike that there was no reason to conclude without strong internal evidence that the letter Mr Greyquill held was written by Mr Lawrence. Whatever else it was, it was certainly a draft roughly pencilled of a letter that had been copied in ink and no doubt despatched. Here and there was an erasure in ink, which proved that it had been copied in ink and corrected in certain places by the pen that was transcribing it. He had not proceeded far when his eyebrows, which, as we have heard, inimitably expressed the aspect of two white mice, arched their backs to an extraordinary degree as though in imitation of a cat when enraged; his mouth took on the posture of a whistle; with his eyes rooted to[Pg 140] the sheet he stopped and scratched his head until he nearly tumbled his hat into the road.