“But you see some one else, Nic?” she said faintly.
“Yes,” said the boy in a very husky voice; “but it must be a seaman: there is some one in a straw hat.”
“And who will that be, Nic?”
“A sailor, I suppose.”
“I do not say. Your father generally wore a straw hat. Can’t you make out his face?”
“No,” said Nic, taking his eye from the glass quickly, and gazing at the boat, which seemed to have suddenly gone back some distance.
“I want to look without the glass,” he added, after a minute or so; and then, forgetful of the glorious panorama spread around beyond the blue lake-like harbour, he held on by the rail, gazing hard at the approaching boat, seeing neither of the others, only that one with the white jacketed men who made the water flash at each dip of the oars.
Then by degrees Nic began to make out the faces, which grew clearer and clearer, till the figure wearing the straw hat rose up and waved it, and the officer in uniform rose up then and took off his hat.
At that moment Nic was conscious of the fact that Lady O’Hara was close by him, waving a white handkerchief.
Then he seemed to see nothing but a blurred picture of boats drawing nearer, as the great Northumbrian, with her sails hanging almost motionless, glided slowly onward through the calm water.