Chapter 4 - Page 2

beyond hope of cure."

"M. Letourneur," I answered, "you take more than your share of
the affliction which has fallen upon you and your son. That M.
Andre is entitled to the very greatest commiseration no one can
deny; but you should remember, that after all a physical
infirmity is not so hard to bear as mental grief. Now, I have
watched your son pretty closely, and unless I am much mistaken
there is nothing, that troubles him so much as the sight of your
own sorrow."

"But I never let him see it," he broke in hastily. "My sole
thought is how to divert him. I have discovered, that in spite
of his physical weakness, he delights in travelling; so for the
last few years we have been constantly on the move. We first
went all over Europe, and are now returning from visiting the
principal places in the United States. I never allowed my son to
go to college, but instructed him entirely myself, and these
travels, I hope, will serve to complete his education. He is
very intelligent, and has a lively imagination, and I am
sometimes tempted to hope that in contemplating the wonders of
nature he forgets his own infirmity."

"Yes, sir, of course he does," I assented.

"But," continued M. Letourneur, taking my hand, "although,
perhaps, HE may forget, I can never forget. Ah, sir, do you
suppose that Andre can ever forgive his parents for bringing him
into the world a cripple?"

The remorse of the unhappy father was very distressing, and I was
about to say a few kind words of sympathy when Andre himself made
his appearance. M. Letourneur hastened toward him and assisted
him up the few steep steps that led to the poop.

As soon as Andre was comfortably seated on one of the benches,
and his father had taken his place by his side, I joined them,
and we fell into conversation upon ordinary topics, discussing
the various points of the "Chancellor," the probable length of
the passage, and the different details of our life on board. I
find that M. Letourneur's estimate of Captain Huntly's character
very much coincided with my own, and that, like me, he is
impressed with the man's undecided manner and sluggish
appearance. Like me, too, he has formed a very favourable
opinion of Robert Curtis, the mate, a man of about thirty years
of age, of great muscular power, with a frame and a will that
seem ever ready for action.

Whilst we were still talking of him, Curtis himself came on deck,
and as I watched his movements I could not help being struck with
his physical development; his erect and easy carriage, his
fearless glance and slightly contracted brow all betokened a man
of energy, thoroughly endowed with the calmness and courage that
are indispensable to the true sailor.