It failed to tell him the truth; but it forced a question on his mind which he had not ventured to ask himself before.  “Is it her gratitude, or her love; that is speaking to me?” he wondered.  “If I was only a younger man, I might almost hope it was her love.”  That terrible sum in subtraction which had first presented itself on the day when she told him her age began to trouble him again as he left the house.  He took twenty from forty-one, at intervals, all the way back to the ship-owners’ office in Cornhill.

Left by herself, Magdalen approached the table to write the line of answer which Miss Garth requested, and gratefully to accept the proposal that had been made to her.

The second letter which she had laid aside and forgotten was the first object that caught her eye on changing her place.  She opened it immediately, and, not recognizing the handwriting, looked at the signature.  To her unutterable astonishment, her correspondent proved to be no less a person than—­old Mr. Clare!

The philosopher’s letter dispensed with all the ordinary forms of address, and entered on the subject without prefatory phrases of any kind, in these uncompromising terms: 

“I have more news for you of that contemptible cur, my son.  Here it is in the fewest possible words.

“I always told you, if you remember, that Frank was a Sneak.  The very first trace recovered of him, after his running away from his employers in China, presents him in that character.  Where do you think he turns up next?  He turns up, hidden behind a couple of flour barrels, on board an English vessel bound homeward from Hong-Kong to London.

“The name of the ship was the Deliverance, and the commander was one Captain Kirke.  Instead of acting like a sensible man, and throwing Frank overboard, Captain Kirke was fool enough to listen to his story.  He made the most of his misfortunes, you may be sure.  He was half starved; he was an Englishman lost in a strange country, without a friend to help him; his only chance of getting home was to sneak into the hold of an English vessel—­and he had sneaked in, accordingly, at Hong-Kong, two days since.  That was his story.  Any other l out in Frank’s situation would have been rope’s ended by any other captain.  Deserving no pity from anybody, Frank was, as a matter of course, coddle d and compassionated on the spot.  The captain took him by the hand, the crew pitied him, and the passengers patted him on the back.  He was fed, clothed, and presented with his passage home.  Luck enough so far, you will say.  Nothing of the sort; nothing like luck enough for my despicable son.