“Yes, sir,” he faltered—he dared not say, “Yes, uncle.”
“Had anything to eat?” whispered the old admiral.
“No, sir.”
The door closed, and the boy’s spirits rose a little, for with all his fierceness it was evident that the old admiral was kindly disposed. But his spirits went down again. Uncle Tom was only a visitor, and his father was horribly stern and harsh. His voice had thrilled the boy, who again and again had wondered what was to be his fate.
“I’ll tell uncle how sorry I am, and ask him to side with me,” thought Sydney; and he had just made up his mind to speak to him if he came again, and surely he would after coming to ask him about the food, when the door-handle rattled slightly, and the boy involuntarily turned to meet his uncle just as the door was pressed open a little, and he found himself face to face with his father, who remained perfectly silent for a few moments as Syd shrank away.
“Hungry, my lad?” he said at last.
“Yes, father—very.”
“Hah!”
The door closed, and the prisoner was left once more to his own thoughts.