He regretted the undutiful words the instant they escaped his lips. But he was too proud to ask pardon for them. As for the old man, he stood silent for a long time, looking down at the boy, who looked not up again at him. And there was a tremor in his lip, and a dilatation in his eye, which at length grew misty with a tear that gathered, but did not fall. And with a sigh, he turned away. "Well, be it so!" Frank heard him say, as if to himself. "I thought--I hoped--but no matter." He thought--he hoped--what? That his early faith in love and friendship, which had so long been dead, might be raised to life again by this boy, for whom he had conceived so singular a liking, and who, like all the rest, proved ungrateful and unworthy when the hour of trial came. Alas! such is the result of our transgressions. Once having offended our own souls, we are quick to offend others. And vice makes us irritable, ungenerous, unjust. And not a crime can be committed, but its evil consequences follow, not the author of it only, but also the innocent, upon whom its blighting shadow falls. "Frank, if you want some fun!" said an eager whisper, with a promise of mischief in it; a hand at the same time twitching the boy's coat. It was Ned Ellis, who had come for him, and was hastening away again. Frank followed--all too ready for any enterprise that would bring the balm of forgetfulness to his hurt mind. The boys entered the hold of the vessel, where, in the hush and obscurity, a group of their companions; stood or sat, among the barrels and boxes, still as statues, until they recognized the new comers. "All right! nobody but us," whispered Ned, clambering over the freight, accompanied by Frank. "Come along, and make no noise, if you value your hides," said Harris. "Here, Frank, is something to console ye for your bad luck." And he held out something in a tin cup. "What is it?" said Frank; "water?" "Something almost as good," said Harris. "It was water the boys came down here in search of; and they've tapped five barrels of sirup in the operation, and finally they've stuck the gimlet into a cask of--taste on't." Frank knew what it was by the smell. It was not the first time he had smelt whiskey; or tasted it, either. But hitherto he had stopped at the taste, having nothing but his curiosity to gratify. Now, however, he bad something else to gratify--a burning thirst of the body, aggravated by his feverish excitement, and a burning thirst of the soul, which demanded stimulus of any kind whatsoever that would allay the inward torment.