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"More carving," he said to himself. "That's the way these young idlers employ their long hours. F. A.? Those must be his initials Frank Aldersley. Who carved the letters on the other plank? Frank Aldersley, too?" He turned the piece of wood in his hand nearer to the light, and looked lower down it. More carving again, lower down! Under the initials F. A. were two more letters C. B.
John Want! whatever had you done with your natural senses when you made up your mind to go to sea?" A new voice hailed the cook, speaking from one of the bed-places in the side of the hut. It was the voice of Francis Aldersley. "Who's that croaking over the fire?" "Croaking?" repeated John Want, with the air of a man who considered himself the object of a gratuitous insult. "Croaking?
The valley was full of a lustrous dark haze, through which the ripe corn shimmered, and in which the steam from Minton pit melted swiftly. Puffs of wind came. Paul looked over the high woods of Aldersley, where the country gleamed, and home had never pulled at him so powerfully. "Good-morning, mother," he said, smiling, but feeling very unhappy.
I felt a little anxious, to tell you the truth, about the effect of it; and I have paid my visit to-day before my usual time. Not that I take a gloomy view of the news myself. No! There is clearly a doubt about the correctness of the information, so far as Mr. Aldersley is concerned and that is a point, a great point in Mr. Aldersley's favor.
The young officer was a bright, handsome, gentleman-like lad. Just the person to seriously complicate the difficulty with Richard Wardour! There was no time for making any further inquiries. The band had begun the prelude to the waltz, and Francis Aldersley was waiting for his partner. With a word of apology to the young man, Mrs.
Having stated the moral purpose of his story in those unanswerable words, John Want took himself and his saucepan into the kitchen. A moment later, Crayford returned to the hut and astonished Frank Aldersley by an unexpected question. "Have you anything in your berth, Frank, that you set a value on?" "Nothing that I set the smallest value on when I am out of it," he replied.
A good ax, Master Bateson I wonder where you got it? Something like a grip, my man, on this handle. Poor Crayford! his words stick in my throat. A fine fellow! a noble fellow! No use thinking, no use regretting; what is said, is said. Work! work! work!" Plank after plank fell out on the floor. He laughed over the easy task of destruction. "Aha! young Aldersley!
Was it could it be the man who had carved the letters on the plank? Yes! Frank Aldersley! "Still at work!" Crayford exclaimed, looking at the half-demolished bed-place. "Give yourself a little rest, Richard. The exploring party is ready to start. If you wish to take leave of your brother officers before they go, you have no time to lose."
In one word, I want you to be in a position, before the week is out, to put Miss Burnham's present conviction to a practical test. Suppose you could say to her, 'We differ, my dear, about Mr. Francis Aldersley. You declare, without the shadow of a reason for it, that he is certainly dead, and, worse still, that he has died by the act of one of his brother officers.
On the list of the survivors, the search was vain. Frank's name was not among them. On a second list, headed "Dead or Missing," the first two names that appeared were: FRANCIS ALDERSLEY. RICHARD WARDOUR. In speechless distress and dismay, Mrs. Crayford looked at Clara. Had she force enough in her feeble health to sustain the shock that had fallen on her?
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