“Mulgrave, Mulgrave!” he repeated to himself, when she had told him her name. “Of course, I remember Captain Mulgrave was the owner of the old ruin on the cliff at Presterby, popularly called ‘Sea-Mew Abbey.’ ”
“Yes, that’s it,” cried Freda, with much excitement. “That is my father. Oh, sir, what is he like? Do you know him?”
“Well, I can hardly say I know him, but I’ve met him. It’s years ago now though; I haven’t been in Yorkshire for nineteen years.”
“But what was he like then?”
“He was one of the smartest-looking fellows I ever saw. But he’s a good deal changed since then, so I’ve heard. I was only a youngster when I saw him, and he made a great impression upon me. Of course he was older than I, high up in his profession, while I hadn’t even entered upon mine.”
“And what is yours?” asked Freda simply.
“I have a situation under government,” he answered, smiling at her ingenuousness. “The way I came to hear of the change in Captain Mulgrave,” he went on, “was through a brother I have in the navy. Of course you have heard the circumstances: how Captain Mulgrave shot down four men in a mutiny——”
“What!” cried the girl in horror, “my father—killed four men!”
“Oh, well, you are putting it too harshly—as the authorities did. Those who know best said that if only there had been one of our periodical war-scares on, a couple of shiploads of such fellows as he shot would have been better spared than a man of the stamp of Captain Mulgrave. But the affair ruined him.”
“My poor father!” whispered Freda tremulously.