"That is nothing; he saved my life again, and again, and again."
"God bless him for it! and God bless you for coming and telling me of it! Oh, madam, he was always brave, and gentle, and just, and good; so noble, so unfortunate."
And the old man began to cry.
Helen's bosom heaved, and it cost her a bitter struggle not to throw her arms around the dear old man's neck and cry with him. But she came prepared for a sore trial of her feelings, and she clinched her hands and teeth, and would not give way an inch.
"Tell me how he saved your life, madam."
"He was in the ship, and in the boat, with me."
"Ah, madam," said Michael, "that must have been some other Robert Penfold; not my son. He could not come home. His time was not up, you know."
"It was Robert Penfold, son of Michael Penfold."
"Excuse me a moment," said Michael; and he went to a drawer, and brought her a photograph of Robert. "Was it this Robert Penfold?"
The girl took the photograph, and eyed it, and lowered her head over it.