“No, Fred; there is no mistake. It is too true. There was no mistaking the man's manner. He was terribly in earnest.”
Fred Bingham said no more for a while, but sat thinking deeply on the course to pursue. At last he said,—
“And what do you mean to do about Frank, uncle? Do you mean to write and tell him what you have discovered?”
“I have been writing this afternoon: I have not sealed the letter. There, you can read what I have said. If he has any excuse to offer for himself—not that he can possibly have any—he will write and urge it.”
Fred Bingham took the letter and read it through very slowly, in order to give himself the more time to think. The letter recapitulated the incidents connected with Frank's first knowledge of the tobacconist, recalled the warning given to him respecting the pretty daughter, and his promise not to call there again, and then recited Stephen Walker's visit, and the terrible charge brought against him. It concluded by cutting off all connection whatever with him, and forbidding him ever to speak to his uncle again.
Fred saw at once that Frank, upon the receipt of this letter, would insist upon an explanation, would go to the tobacconist and bring him round in triumph to prove his innocence, and that his own guilt would infallibly appear.
“Well, Fred, what do you think of that letter?” his uncle asked at last. “It is conclusive, is it not?”
“Quite so, uncle. Nothing could be better. But——”
“But what, Fred?” Captain Bradshaw asked.
“Well, uncle, I agree with you, of course, that nothing can be more base and heartless than Frank's conduct; but still—still, you see, he has only just married. I am not attempting, much as I wish I could do so, to urge any point in Frank's favour. At the same time, uncle, think of the misery of his wife, if he gets that letter the first day he returns home, and opens it before her. He might, for instance, laughingly ask her to open his letters, and tell him what they were about; your letter especially, knowing your handwriting, he would suppose could contain nothing she might not read. Imagine the poor girl's feelings. Her happiness would be destroyed for life. Surely, uncle, Frank's punishment would be too severe. Now, if you were to write a letter, using any language you like towards him—abusing him as much as you please, telling him he has forfeited all place in your esteem, and is henceforth to be a stranger—such a letter would not have the same effect upon her. No doubt he would be able to make some excuse which would satisfy her, and at the same time his conscience would tell him the cause of your indignation, and he would be able to write and make any excuses he could for his conduct. If he did not write, you would know it was because he had nothing whatever to urge in palliation.”