“I have found your son, as I promised you I would,” replied Mordacks, speaking rapidly; “healthy, active, uncommonly clever; a very fine sailor, and as brave as Nelson; of gallant appearance—as might be expected; enterprising, steadfast, respected, and admired; benevolent in private life, and a public benefactor. A youth of whom the most distinguished father might be proud. But—but—”
“Will you never finish?”
“But by the force of circumstances, over which he had no control, he became in early days a smuggler, and rose to an eminent rank in that profession.”
“I do not care two pice for that; though I should have been sorry if he had not risen.”
“He rose to such eminence as to become the High Admiral of smugglers on this coast, and attain the honors of outlawry.”
“I look upon that as a pity. But still we may be able to rescind it. Is there anything more against my son?”
“Unluckily there is. A commander of the Coastguard has been killed in discharge of his duty; and Robin Lyth has left the country to escape a warrant.”
“What have we to do with Robin Lyth? I have heard of him everywhere—a villain and a murderer.”
“God forbid that you should say so! Robin Lyth is your only son.”
The man whose word was law to myriads rose without a word for his own case; he looked at his agent with a stern, calm gaze, and not a sign of trembling in his lull broad frame, unless, perhaps, his under lip gave a little soft vibration to the grizzled beard grown to meet the change of climate.