All were silent as the grave whenever Yeo made any allusion to that lost child. Ayacanora only, pleased with Amyas's commendation, went humming on to herself—
“And heave, my mariners all, O!”
Yeo started up from the gun where he sat.
“I can't abear it! As I live, I can't! You, Indian maiden, where did you learn to sing that there?”
Ayacanora looked up at him, half frightened by his vehemence, then at Amyas, to see if she had been doing anything wrong; and then turned saucily away, looked over the side, and hummed on.
“Ask her, for mercy's sake—ask her, Captain Leigh!”
“My child,” said Amyas, speaking in Indian, “how is it you sing that so much better than any other English? Did you ever hear it before?”
Ayacanora looked up at him puzzled, and shook her head; and then—
“If you tell Indian to Ayacanora, she dumb. She must be English girl now, like poor Lucy.”
“Well then,” said Amyas, “do you recollect, Ayacanora—do you recollect—what shall I say? anything that happened when you were a little girl?”