“That is how the mistake occurred,” Alice said, seeing at last the truth. “You said nephew; and he, knowing from Frank’s own lips, that he had called at your house and had seen your daughter, thought it was he. Probably he the more thought so, because Frank told him how very pretty your daughter was, and Captain Bradshaw warned him not to call again, because he might be losing his heart.” “He never did call but once, Miss Heathcote,” Carry said, glad even now to know why Frank Maynard had never come again to see her. “But we never knew that Mr. Maynard was Captain Bradshaw’s nephew. Indeed, how should we? We always thought that—that he was the only nephew.” “I see it all now, Mr. Walker. You thought Captain Bradshaw had only one nephew, and accused him. Captain Bradshaw knew one of his nephews had been to your house and admired your daughter, and naturally thought at once of him. Poor Frank, poor Frank!” “But why did not Mr. Maynard defend himself, Miss Heathcote?” “He never had an opportunity,” Alice said. “My uncle wrote to him a very violent letter, not, I believe, mentioning the exact offence, but turning him off for ever; and as they had not been,”—and Alice coloured a little,—“on very good terms for some little time before, I suppose Frank was too high spirited to reply. Though I wonder he did not write, too. Still, I can’t blame him for that. But oh!” she burst out, as the thought struck her,—“oh, the wickedness, the vileness of the other! He knew the fault for which Frank was turned off, and which made him my uncle’s sole heir, and yet all this time he has encouraged the mistake, and taken Frank’s place, while Frank has been working for his bread.” “And has he really done that?” Carry asked. “Has he really let Mr. Maynard be accused all this time?” “He has; and more, he has twitted me, who he knew cared for Frank as a brother, with his conduct.” “Papa,” Carry said solemnly, turning to her father, “let me thank God that I did not marry this man. A thousand times better as it is, with the shame, and the disgrace, and the sorrow, than the life I should have led with such a wretch as this. To think,” she said bitterly, “that I could have loved him and believed in him. Thank God—thank God for my escape.” “And now, Mr. Walker,” Alice Heathcote said, “it is very late, but I must ask you to come round with me to my uncle. I cannot rest until I have shown him what a terrible wrong we have committed towards poor Frank. You will come to-morrow morning to see James?” she asked Carry, taking her hand. “It will be an act of real kindness.” “Yes,” Carry said, “I will come without fail. Here, papa, is your hat and coat, and mind how you come back.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XIV WAITING FOR THE SHIP.