‘No, dear,’ replied the young man, his face instantly brightening at the sound of her voice; ‘there’s nothing wrong. I’ve been thinking, that’s all. And how are matters at home? How’s the father?’
‘Just as usual, Harry. Father’s been depressed all the week; but I’ve got him to set to work on his flagstaff and battery with two real guns, so that he’ll be all right.’
‘I wonder what depresses him?’ asked Harry. ‘You’ve always described him as such a jovial old seadog.’
‘I don’t know; but ever since the Fancy Lass was wrecked, he’s been different at times.’
‘And Mr Rodley—has he been annoying you with any of his attentions lately?’ asked Harry.
‘No. But I’ve seen him more than once about our house.’
‘How did he find out where you lived? And what is he doing there?’
Bertha shook her head, and said: ‘I don’t know. I seem to think that there has been some acquaintance formed between father and him. He has never been inside the house, to my knowledge; but I fancy they meet now and then.’
The young man was silent for a few moments; then he continued: ‘Well, never mind, Bertha. So long as we are true to each other, he cannot come between us. He’s a queer fellow, and people say odd things about him. If you remember, he disappeared from Saint Quinians about the same time that my sad business with the bank took place.’
‘You mean, when the bank’s sovereigns were stolen, and you were dismissed for cul—cul—— What was it, Harry?’