"Gaze elsewhere," said Tomb, "and I will unfold a tale."
In the heat of the moment he put his sleeve into the butter.
Ermyntrude sprang to his assistance. Tomb enfolded her in his embrace.
"This lady is my daughter," he said, turning to Wencheslaus, who stood amazed.
"I will not bother you with the story," said Tomb, "but five and forty years ago I wooed and wed her lovely mother. Twenty-one years ago to-day Ermyntrude was born, and her mother, after lingering two years, died. Leaving the girl in the care of an honest fishwife (when I say honest, I mean, as honest as her profession allowed), I roamed the seas as a Pirate: sorrow made me merciless. Then, when I wished to return to my daughter, I found that I had lost her address."
"Father!" said Ermyntrude.
"My daughter," he exclaimed, "I am a careless man!"
"And I?" said Wencheslaus—"what is the secret of my birth?"