Part 21 (1/2)

”Perhaps I should,” said Commander Harley simply. ”Well, I found her at the hospital where he had died, and she died too. This little girl was all she had left. I brought her back. As you see, she is like her mother, only gentler, and her mother brought her up to reverence old Jamie above all things on earth.”

”It was time,” said Mr. Bowdoin dryly.

”She told me St. Clair had got into trouble in New York; and old Jamie had sent them some large sum,--over twenty thousand dollars.”

Mr. Bowdoin started. ”The child told you this?”

”No, the mother. I saw her before she died.”

”Oh,” said his grandfather. ”You did not tell me that.”

”I saw her before she died,” said Harley firmly. ”You must not think hardly of her; she was very changed.” The tears were in Commander Harleston's eyes.

”I will not,” said Mr. Bowdoin. ”Over twenty thousand dollars,--dear me, dear me! And we have our directors' meeting to-day. Well, well. I am glad, at least, poor Jamie has his little girl again,” and Mr.

Bowdoin took his hat and prepared to go. ”I only hope I'm too late.

James, go on ahead. Harley, my boy, I'm afraid we know it all.”

”Stop a minute,” said Harley. ”There was some one else at the hospital.”

”Everybody seems to have been at the hospital,” growled old Mr.

Bowdoin petulantly. But he sat down wearily, wondering what he should do; for he felt almost sure now of what poor Jamie had done.

”The captain of the blockade-runner was there, too. He was mortally wounded; and it was from him that I learned most about St. Clair and how he ended. He seemed to be a Spaniard by birth, though he wore as a brooch a small miniature of Andrew Jackson.”

”Hang Andrew Jackson!” cried the old gentleman. ”What do I care about Andrew Jackson?”

”That's what I asked him. And do you know what he said? 'Why, he saved me from hanging.'”

Mr. Bowdoin started.

”Before he died he told me of his life. He had even been on a pirate, in old days. Once he was captured, and tried in Boston; and, for some kindness he had shown, old President Jackson reprieved him. Then he ran away, and never dared come back. But he left some money at a bank here, and a little girl, his daughter.”

”What was his name? Hang it, what was his name?” shouted old Mr.

Bowdoin, putting on his hat.

”Soto,--Romolo Soto.”

Mr. Bowdoin sank back in his chair again. ”Why, that was the captain.

Mercedes was the mate's child.”

”No. The money was Soto's, and the child too. He told me he had only lately sent a detective here to try and trace the child.”

”The sheriff's officer, by Jove!” said Mr. Bowdoin. ”But can you prove it? can you prove it?” he cried.