'I will take my rest here, on this locker.'
The captain bowed to him. 'You have had no refreshment. May I,' said he, 'offer you something to eat?'
'I will thank you for a biscuit and a drop of that brandy.' He spoke with reluctance, the ill-breeding of which caused his daughter to fix one of her handsomest though gloomiest stares upon him.
When the sun rose the brig was standing down Channel. Sail was heaped on her. She often foamed to her catheads. She was making a triumphant course, swift and fine. The sea about her lay in frosted silver, and the ships around her leaned in shafts of light. The commander early made his appearance. Observing his daughter Ada to be standing alone at the taffrail, he accosted her.
'Do not you think yourself a very unnatural child?'
'I am free. Leave me, father, or forbear at all events from criticising my behaviour,' answered the girl, flashing her hottest looks upon him.
'You know that Captain Jackman deliberately stole fifteen hundred pounds of the moneys of his owners for the purpose of fitting out his brig for a piratical enterprise?'
'You must prove all that,' she cried.
'He has fired upon a revenue cutter, and stands to be transported for life.'
'And what then?' she cried, with a bold laugh of contempt. 'Wherever he goes he'll find me near.'