"It's no' right, father, to be speakin' like that o' a man you never set eyes on."
"An' how come it you know him, girl? Where was it you had truck wi' him? Where?"
"I never had truck wi' him. But I see him. Who could help seein' him—he was in an' out o' Shepperd's his last time in."
"Well, take care you see him no more. An'—" A step outside the door caused John Lowe to pause.
"Ah-h—" John Lowe almost smiled.
His wife glanced at the clock. "It will be the trader," she explained.
"Aye, an' now we'll ha' the news—now we'll ha' the news."
A knock followed the step, and, following the knock, the door opened and in stepped the expected trader. No wild daredevil, no sail carrier this, but a smooth, passionless man of business. And he got right down to business.
"By dawn, John Lowe, there'll be two hundred men of the bay drawn up on Half-Tide Beach. And an hour later the Ligonier and all's in her will be lyin' on the bottom of the bay—or so"—he glanced doubtfully at the girl—"or so we planned it. Will you be there, John Lowe?"
"He'll no' be there, Mr. Lackford." Mrs. Lowe half rose from her chair.