And then there was a lady--with a brat, confound
her!--to be sent to England, and looked after. You see, 'twas honour
moved me in the first case, and chivalry in the second. As a
gentleman, I couldn't withstand the promptings of noble sentiments
like those."
"Well, what then?"
"Why, then I came away. And I hadn't the heart to break the truth to
father, knowing how 'twould cut him up. I thought of the old
gentleman's family pride, his gray hairs--his hair _is_ gray by this
time, isn't it?--"
"And what is it you wish me to do?"
"Why, you see, Culverson hadn't yet found out how things were, when I
left. I pretended I was ill--and so I was, in a way. But he must have
found out by this time, and when he sends after me, by the next
vessel, I'm afraid poor father will have to undergo a severe
trial--you know his weakness for the honoured name of Faringfield."
"By the Lord, Ned, this is worse than I should ever have thought of
you."
"It _is_ a bit bad, isn't it? And I've been thinking what's to be
done--for father's sake, you know. If 'twere broken to him gently, at
once, as nobody but you can break it, why then, he might give me the
money to repay Culverson, and send me back to Barbadoes by the next
ship, and nothing need ever come out. I'm thoroughly penitent, so help
me, heaven, and quite willing to go back."
"And incur other debts of honour, and obligations of chivalry," says
Phil.
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