deserted him!

There was no room, indeed, to doubt the treachery of the wretched
being who had so basely treated him. As he looked, a ship under full
sail stood away to northward. In vain the unhappy man made wild
signals from the shore with his tattered garments. No notice was
taken of them. His companion must deliberately have suppressed the
other's existence, and pretended to be alone by himself on the
island.

"And his name?" Jack asked of the poor old man, horrified.

The stranger answered without a moment's pause:

"His name, if you want it--was Vivian Callingham."

"And yours?" Jack continued, as soon as he could recover from his
first shock of horror.

"And mine," the poor castaway replied, "is Richard Wharton."

As Jack told me those words, another strange thrill ran through me.

"Richard Wharton was the name of mamma's first husband. Then I'm not
a Callingham at all!" I cried, unable to take it all in at first in
its full complexity. "I'm really a Wharton!"

Jack nodded his head in assent.

"Yes, you're really a Wharton," he said. "You're the baby that died,