"Christie," was the response.
"Hast thee no other?"
"I am sometimes called Tomlinson, but that is not my name. I am an orphan, and live with my aunt."
"Where is thy native place?"
"Campbell's Island," said Christie, in a slightly tremulous voice.
"Ah!" said the man, in some surprise, "if I had known that I would not have brought thee here. I thought thee was a stranger. Does thee belong to the Campbells?"
"No, sir; I lived with Mrs. Tom, the widow who resides in the island."
"Yes, yes, I see," said the host, thoughtfully; "I have seen the woman thee means. But, how came thee, child, to be lying stabbed on the beach that stormy night?"
"Sir, there is a long story connected with that—which at present, you must excuse my not telling. I cannot do so without involving others, and that I do not wish to do," replied Christie, trying to steady her trembling voice.
"As thee pleases, child, as thee pleases," said the man, kindly. "Do not speak of it, if it hurts thy feelings. I merely asked from the interest I take in thee. But how about returning to thy friends? Thee wishes to do so, I suppose?"