"Hem—well, my lad, in so far as that does damage to you, I'm sorry for it; but as regards society at large, I rather think that Swankie havin' tripped his anchor is a decided advantage. If you lose by this in one way, you gain much in another; for your mate's companionship did ye no good. Birds of a feather should flock together. You're better apart, for I believe you to be an honest man, Spink."
Davy looked at the captain in unfeigned astonishment.
"Weel, ye're the first man that iver said that, an' I thank 'ee, sir, but you're wrang, though I wush ye was right. But that's no' what I cam' to tell ye."
Here the fisherman's indecision of manner returned. "Come, make a clean breast of it, lad. There are none here but friends."
"Weel, sir, Ruby Brand——"
He paused, and Minnie turned deadly pale, for she jumped at once to the right conclusion. The widow, on the other hand, listened for more with deep anxiety, but did not guess the truth.
"The fact is, Ruby's catched too, an' he's awa' to the wars, and he sent me to—ech, sirs! the auld wuman's fentit."
Poor Widow Brand had indeed fallen back in her chair in a state bordering on insensibility. Minnie was able to restrain her feelings so as to attend to her. She and the captain raised her gently, and led her into her own room, from whence the captain returned, and shut the door behind him.
"Now, Spink," said he, "tell me all about it, an' be partic'lar."
Davy at once complied, and related all that the reader already knows, in a deep, serious tone of voice, for he felt that in the captain he had a sympathetic listener.