Then, still eyeing the officer, he stepped backward, and placed his arm protectingly around his daughter's shoulder.
“Stay outside till I call you, Williams,” said the officer, turning to a leading seaman, who, with drawn cutlass, had followed him inside.
Then he came into the room.
“Who else have you here with you?” he began, when he stopped suddenly in his speech, and raised his cap. “This girl is your daughter, I suppose?”
“My daughter, sir. But what is your business, I ask again? What may you want here, anyway?”
The angry light in the old man's eyes, and the sharp tone of his voice, called the officer to his duty.
“I am sorry to be here, Mr. Swain; but be good enough to ask your daughter to leave us alone for a minute or two. My business is such that I can tell it better to you alone.”
At a sign from her father the girl rose from her seat and reluctantly walked into her room. The officer watched her retreating figure disappear, then he turned sharply round on his heel.
“I am a lieutenant on the United States ship Adirondack and my business is to arrest a man named James Swain, a deserter from the Saginaw and a murderer as well.”
Even in the dim light of the rude lamp the officer saw the rugged bronze of the old trader's face pale to a deathly whiteness, and he leant one hand upon the table to steady himself.