did. You will, when you have heard it, be the first to allow that you

yourself, an impulsive man, would have acted exactly as he did; you will see that a tissue of falsehood has been thrown round you by Fred Bingham. Bad as you believe him to be, you know absolutely nothing of what he is capable. If you will but listen, Frank, fairly and dispassionately, you will, I am sure, grant that there is nothing which can prevent you with the highest feeling of self-respect, standing in the place as your uncle’s heir, from which Fred Bingham has been cast out for ever.”

The last words of Prescott had more effect with Frank Maynard than all that he had previously said.

“If that is the case, Prescott, I shall be easily satisfied. God knows I have never courted my uncle’s money; that I loved him for his kindness to me as a boy, and not with any idea of the money he might leave me. If I only know that Fred Bingham will not be his heir, I should care not one single scrap if every farthing were to go to the Charities of London.”

“Then you will give me a patient hearing, Frank?”

“Yes, Prescott, I will,” and Frank sat down resolutely to listen. Step by step Prescott went through the whole story, and explained every particular of the deep-laid scheme by which Frank had been made to bear the blame of another’s sin. Frank had promised to be a patient listener, but he hardly kept his promise. He constantly interrupted Prescott’s story with ejaculations of rage, questions, and furious outbreaks. When Prescott had finished, Captain Bradshaw said,—

“There, Frank, now you see how I was deceived; can you forgive an old man for having been taken in by a scoundrel, and for having doubted you?”

“My dear uncle, my dear, dear uncle,” Frank cried, leaping up and taking the old man’s two hands; “forgive? There is nothing to forgive! I am so glad to find that it has all been a mistake, and that as I am restored to you, you are restored to me. I don’t care a rap for the property, uncle; leave it to whom you like; but I am very happy to feel that we are to each other what we used to be.”

“And you will leave the ship, Frank, and come ashore with us?”

“I don’t know, uncle,” Frank said, doubtingly; “My Katie’s a very proud little woman in her way, and she has been sorely tried. I am quite ready to forget all the past, but I cannot answer for her. She will not move an inch for the sake of position or money—indeed they will, I know, make her more resolute to go than she might otherwise be. I shall tell her the story, uncle, and leave it in her hands.”

“Quite right, Frank, but you need not tell her the story. I think she knows it by this time. Alice is with her.”

“Mind, uncle,” Frank said, leading the way out, “I leave it with Katie; if she is the least sore—and you know she will naturally be less ready to make allowances than I am—if she is the least sore; if she says to me, ‘I would rather go, Frank;’ I go. I shall be very, very glad to know that I go friends with you, uncle—that this miserable misunderstanding is cleared up; but, whatever the pecuniary consequence to me, however much you may be grieved or offended, I abide by Katie’s wishes. Halloa, Charley boy,” he broke off, as his child came running up to him, holding up his arms to be lifted up. “Where’s mamma?”

“Down in cabin, Pappy; left Charley here with Jane; gone down with lady.”

Frank went down-stairs with his uncle and Prescott. He went to his cabin door, and opened it. Kate was sitting on the berth, with her arms round Alice Heathcote’s waist. Both had evidently been crying.

“Come in, Frank; here is a friend.”

There was no hesitation on Alice’s part. She rose from her seat, and fell crying into Frank’s arms. “Oh, Frank, Frank, can you forgive us?”

Frank kissed her cheek, and said, “There is nothing to forgive, Alice. It has been a cruel mistake, but none of us are to blame; it is all over now.” Then releasing her, he turned to Kate. “Kiss me, darling. Thank God all this is over, and we are all friends again. This is my uncle.”

“Will you kiss me, Katie?” the old man said, “I have been an old fool, but Frank has forgiven me. Will you forgive me, too?”

“Yes,” Kate said, kissing him frankly; “it is all over now.”

“It is left to you, Katie,” the old man said. “All our future is in your hands. Frank is my heir in any case; in any case he will have an income at once to live here, or wherever he chooses. It is for you to decide, Katie. Frank has left it entirely in your hands. Will you go out to Australia, and be happy in each other, or will you stay here and cheer an old man’s life?”

This time Kate gave a kiss without being asked, and said simply, “I always hated the thoughts of going out of England. If Frank really wishes to stay, I shall be very, very glad.”

And so it was settled. A short conversation only was necessary to arrange as to details. Captain Bradshaw himself proposed that as the things they had got could be of no possible use to them in England, it would be the best plan to divide them among the emigrants. The captain being called in, agreed to get them on deck during the voyage, to put them all up to auction, and divide the proceeds among the poorer emigrants. And then summoning the astonished and delighted Evan and Jane, the party—after a great hand-shaking, and many good wishes between Frank and Kate and their late fellow-voyagers—got into their boat, and, amid three hearty cheers from the emigrants, pulled for shore.