"Father, isn't Lieutenant Matson on the Xenophon?"
"I suppose he is."
"Surely he is your friend."
"In war there are no friends among the enemy, child, and no enemy among friends. We are simply Americans or British."
"Yet, father, there are personal ties stronger than loyalty to nation or political party."
The old man heard her argument with evident anxiety. He loved his little sea-waif as ardently as ever father loved a child, and for five years he fancied and feared she loved the lieutenant of the Xenophon.
"True, child, you speak the truth, yet my heart tells me that we cannot trust to friendship now, seeing that this quarrel has grown so bitter." He was sorry to say this, for he felt that every word he uttered was like a dagger at the heart of Morgianna. After a painful silence, the old, white-haired seaman added, "Forgive me, Morgianna; but I am an old man, and I may not look at things as you do. I love my country and her flag. I have seen our poor sailors too often enslaved to be a friend to any Englishman while the war lasts."
"What do you mean, father?"
"You love him, Morgianna. I felt it, I knew it all along, but I couldn't help it. I knew I ought to do something, but, child, I didn't know what to do. If you had had a mother she could have advised you, but I didn't."
"Father, you talk so strangely; what do you mean?"