“Oh, Master Syd, don’t.”
“Yah! you swab, be quiet!” said Barney, giving his unfortunate son another shake. “Wait till the admiral’s pronounced court-martial on you; and then—”
He did not finish, but followed close behind Sydney, who drew a long breath, walked boldly up to the open French window, looked in a moment on where the two fine old veterans were sitting talking sadly together, and then stepped in.
“What!” roared the admiral, rising from his chair, and oversetting his glass of port.
“You here, sir!” cried Captain Belton. “Why have you come back?”
“Because I’ve been thinking all night, father,” said Syd, quietly, “and I’ve found out I was a fool.”
Chapter Nine.
There was a dead silence in the dining-room at the Heronry for some time, during which Syd stood with his head erect gazing at his father, who was erect by the table as he might have stood in old times upon his quarter-deck with some mutineer before him; the admiral dropped back into his arm-chair, stared from one to the other as if astounded by his nephew’s declaration, while the light shone full upon Syd, who looked pale, shabby, and dirty, but with a frank daring in his face which kept the two old men silent.