"
Tristram held out a hand and took his father's.
"Forgive me, sir, for my coldness just now. Remember that I had
never seen, had scarcely heard of, you before. You are very good to
me. I believe, by looking in your eyes, that you love me; and I
believe--I know--that in time I should love you greatly in return.
But you must pardon that which I am going to say. Sir, I cannot help
loving best those who have dealt lovingly with me all my life. I was
homesick--" he broke off, as a lump rose in this throat.
"You shall go home," said Captain Salt.
Still holding his hand, Tristram stared at him incredulously.
"Why should you doubt me, my son? Do you think I despise those
feelings, or can neglect them? No; I honour them, though bitterly
regretting that, as fate has willed it, they can never be entertained
for me."
"Don't say that, my father."
"Why should I blink the truth?" Captain Salt turned and brushed away
a fictitious tear. "No, Tristram; you shall go back to those you
love better. I only ask you to be patient for a few days; for,
indeed, I have but a certain amount of influence with those who
enlisted you to-day against your will. Listen. Early to-morrow the
squadron sets sail. If the wind holds we shall be within the Maese
by Sunday morning.
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