"I've not been below at all, father," she replied, looking up at him with a white, stricken face which troubled his loving heart.
"Do you mean to tell me that you have been on deck during the action?"
"Yes, father, right here. Do you not understand that it was Mr.
Seymour's ship—I could not go away!"
"By heavens! Think of it! And I forgot you completely— The fault was mine, how could I have allowed it?" he continued in great agitation.
"Never mind, father; I could not have gone below in any case. Do you think he—Mr. Seymour—can be yet alive?" she asked, still cherishing a faint hope.
The colonel shook his head gloomily, and then stooping down and looking at the prostrate form of the man on the deck, he asked,—
"But who is this you have here?"
The man opened his eyes at this moment and looked up vacantly.
"William Bentley, sir," he said in a hoarse whisper, as if in answer to the question; and then making a vain effort to raise his hand to his head, he went on half-mechanically, "bosun of the Randolph, sir. Come aboard!"
"Merciful Powers, it is old Bentley!" cried the colonel. "Can anything be done for you, my man? How is it with you?"