Hardinge demanded an account of all
that had passed. He applied to me to give it, and I was compelled to
discharge the office of an historian, somewhat against my
inclination. There was no remedy, however, and I told the story in my
own simple manner, and certainly in a way to leave very different
impressions from many of those made by the narrative of Rupert. I
thought once or twice, as I proceeded, that Lucy looked sorrowful, and
Grace looked surprised. I do not think I coloured in the least, as
regarded myself, and I know I did Neb no more than justice. My tale
was soon told, for I felt the whole time as if I were contradicting
Rupert, who, by the way, appeared perfectly unconcerned--perfectly
unconscious, indeed--on the subject of the discrepancies in the two
accounts. I have since met with men who did not know the truth when it
was even placed very fairly before their eyes.
Mr. Hardinge expressed his heartfelt happiness at having us back
again, and, soon after, he ventured to ask if we were satisfied with
what we had seen of the world. This was a home question, but I thought
it best to meet it manfully. So far from being satisfied, I told him
it was my ardent desire to get on board one of the letters-of-marque,
of which so many were then fitting out in the country, and to make a
voyage to Europe.
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