Mr. Robert Carlaw again agitatedly indicated the letter. "My boy, forgive me, I beg. This is a moment when indiscretion, hastinesses of temper, may be forgotten. This is a moment that comes but once in every man's life. You are not--not too young to understand. My boy, I have sought for you"--he swept his arm vaguely toward the horizon--"everywhere. I have been cut--cut to the heart at the thought that I--I had driven you from me. My son, thank Heaven I have found you!" He took off his hat, breathed heavily, and mopped his face with a delicate handkerchief. They looked at him in astonishment, not unmixed with awe; he appeared to be so terribly in earnest. "Is anything the matter?" asked the captain, breaking a silence which began to be oppressive. Robert Carlaw replaced his hat at a greater angle than usual, struck himself on the breast, laughed, and shook the letter at the little captain with ferocious playfulness. "Matter, sir? Matter enough! No longer can it be said that Robert Carlaw and his son hide their heads under a bushel--or under two bushels; this letter, sir, contains the promise of fortune--fortune rightly bestowed. No longer shall my son live obscurely, as his wretched parent has been compelled to do; no longer shall he herd with the sons of tradesmen and commoners; henceforth he takes that brilliant path which Fortune has mapped out for him." He laughed again, and stretched out his arms again toward Brian, who was sitting up, staring at him in amazement. "I'm afraid we don't understand," said the captain mildly. Robert Carlaw, feeling that he had to deal with inferior minds, came down from the heights. "My dear sir, the matter, bluntly, is this. We are friends here, and there is no reason why all the world should not know such news as I have to tell. This, sir"--he indicated the paper he held--"is a letter from an eccentric lady, of--er--excellent birth--in point of fact, my sister; older than myself, a spinster, and childless. She writes, in her dear eccentric fashion--sweet woman, but, like myself, a spice of brimstone in her--to say that her loneliness tells upon her with advancing years; that she seeks some one to whom she may give what tenderness is in her, some one who shall become her heir. She suggests--nay, in her eccentric fashion, demands--my son. He is to fill the vacant place in her heart, and in her house; he is to become, when it shall please the good Lord"--Mr. Carlaw raised his eyes piously, and touched the brim of his hat with his fingers--"to call her from us, the possessor of her wealth." "That's very fine for the boy," said the captain slowly.