Frank's interview with him on this occasion was short but significant--
"Art," said he, "you know I never was a man of many words; and I'm
not goin' to turn over a new lafe now. To scould you is not my
intention--nor to listen to your promises. All I have to say is, that
you have broken your word, and disgraced your name. As for me, I can put
neither confidence nor trust in you any longer; neither will I."
A single tear was visible on his cheek as he passed out of the room;
and when he did, Art's violent sobs were quite audible. Indeed, if truth
must be told, Frank's distress was nearly equal to his brother's.
What, however, was to be done? He was too ill to attend his business,
a circumstance which only heightened his distress; for he knew that
difficult as was the task of encountering his master, and those who
would only enjoy his remorse, still even that was less difficult to
be borne than the scourge of his own reflections. At length a thought
occurred, which appeared to give him some relief; that thought he felt
was all that now remained to him, for as it was clear that he could no
longer depend on himself, it was necessary that he should find something
else on which to depend. He accordingly sent an intimation to his master
that he wished to have a few minutes' conversation with him, if he could
spare time; M'Carroll accordingly came, and found him in a state which
excited the worthy man's compassion.
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