“No, Sir; but better eyes than mine did, and they could see that he had no cap on his head.”
“And they were sure it was he?”
“There’s no mistakin’ him among a thousand!”
“If they deceived me—if this was false——” he stopped and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. “There, I see her now. She’s rounding to—she’s going to anchor. I have been poorly of late, Moriarty,” said he, in a low, subdued tone; “things fret and worry me, that I’d not let annoy me if I were stronger. Men of your stamp fancy there can never be much amiss with men of mine, because we have enough to eat and drink. What’s that noise without? Who is talking there?”
The door opened suddenly, and Harry, with flushed face and wildly disordered hair, and with clothes all wet and dripping, stood before his father. He made no motion to embrace, nor even approach him, but stood within the door respectful, but not abashed, and as if waiting for leave to advance farther.
Luttrell’s cheek trembled, and changed colour twice, but, subduing his emotion with a great effort, he said, in a tone of affected indifference, “You had rough weather—did you make Westport?”
“No, Sir; we lost the boat.”
“Lost the boat! how was that?”
“She filled; at least, she took so much water that she would not answer her helm, and then she heeled over and went down.”
“Down all at once?”