“Oh, father!”
“No, my dear, it won’t do. It’s all been a muddle, and I ought to have known better, instead of being a proud old fool, pleased as could be to see my lassie growing into a lady. There, I may as well tell you the truth, lass, at once.”
“The truth, father?” she said sharply.
“Yes, my dear, though it goes again me to hurt your poor little soft heart.”
“What do you mean, father?” she cried, startled now by the keeper’s looks.
“It must come, Judy; but I wish you’d found it out for yourself. Young Robert isn’t the man his dead father was. He’s a liar and a scoundrel, girl, and—”
She sprang from him with her eyes flashing, and a look of angry indignation convulsing her features.
“It’s true, my girl. He never meant to marry you, only to make you his plaything because he liked your pretty face.”
“It isn’t true,” said the girl harshly; and the indignation in her breast against her father made her wonderfully like him now.
“It is true, Judy, my pretty. I wouldn’t lie to you, and half break your heart. You’ve got to face it along with me. We’re sent away because the captain is going to marry.”