Somers?
If so, he is in here."
The clerk jumped into the compartment and handed a letter to Mr.
Somers. Then he emerged again and waited. Somers read the letter and
tore off a blank sheet from the end of it, on which he hastily wrote
some words. He passed it to me to give to Briggs, and I could not help
seeing what was written. It was: "Too late now. God bless you, my dear
father. I hope we may meet again. If not, try to think kindly of your
troublesome and foolish son, Stephen."
In another minute the train had started.
"By the way," he said, as we steamed out of the station, "I have heard
from my father, who enclosed this for you."
I opened the envelope, which was addressed in a bold, round hand that
seemed to me typical of the writer, and read as follows:
"My Dear Sir,--I appreciate the motives which caused you to write
to me and I thank you very heartily for your letter, which shows
me that you are a man of discretion and strict honour. As you
surmise, the expedition on which my son has entered is not one
that commends itself to me as prudent.
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