At once Mrs. Cromwell's face grew dark and troubled. It was an aristocratic face, and plainly indicated that the lady had seen better days.
"Yes, he was here, Bob."
"And what did he say?"
"We must leave on Monday. The cottage has been sold over our heads."
Tears stood in Mrs. Cromwell's eyes as she spoke.
"Sold!"
"Yes, my boy. He said he could wait no longer. He believes, as do all in
Sea Cove, that your father is dead."
"Perhaps he is," sighed Bob. "It is now over six months since the Bluebell went down. If he escaped in a small boat we should have heard from him before this."
"Oh, I cannot believe your father dead, Bob," cried the mother, bursting into tears. "If I thought that—" She did not finish.
Bob sat down to the supper table in silence. He had little heart to eat, and swallowed the food mechanically.