“Yes! We found an old Spanish galleon with five or six millions on her, and brought away all we could. Look! There’s another boat coming. Is that your father on her, Dorothy? And—why, yes, it’s Loving, too, isn’t it? How frightfully ill he is looking.”
Another boat was close at hand. Dorothy looked at her, and clasped her hands with excitement. “Oh! It is!” she cried. “Father! Father! Don’t you know me?”
The gray-bearded civilian stood up. “Dorothy! Dorothy!” he trumpeted. “Is it you! Is it really you?”
“Yes! Yes!” As the boat touched the Seashark, the girl fairly sprang into her father’s arms. “Oh! father! father!” she cried. “How good it is to see you.”
Meanwhile, Lieutenant McCully had turned to Howard and the others, who had now climbed up on the deck. “The Duluth is moving,” he explained. “Captain Morehouse probably intends to come alongside without being asked. Hadn’t you all better get into this boat, and let my men fasten your manhole down? The waves from the Duluth might swamp her, you know.”
“Thank you. If you’ll be so kind. But first let me present my fellow travelers.”
In a few moments the Seashark was made safe against swamping, and her former passengers were about to enter the cutter, when Dorothy called to Howard: “Frank, dear, I want you.”
Everybody started. Not one there was ignorant of Howard’s record, and the use of his Christian name by the girl was somewhat surprising.
“Frank, dear!” cried the girl, alive with excitement. “This is my father. Father, this is Lieutenant Frank Howard, who saved me from death and from worse than death. See, I wear his ring.”
She held up her hand, and, at the sight of the plain gold band, Colonel Fairfax’s outstretched hand dropped heavily to his side. “A wedding ring,” he gasped.