She did not hear him, or, if she did, she did not heed him.
She went straight to her father, making a low wailing or moaning noise as she walked. The boatswain exclaimed:
'No harm was intended to him, miss. 'Twas him that shot Mr. Tweed.'
She stooped, moaning, but so as to be scarcely audible, and looked closely into her father's face. He lay on his back, staring with white eyes, half-closed, at the sky. He had fallen as though shot through the heart. A great, livid weal, dreadful to see, blackened and lifted his brow. A little blood that had trickled from one ear lay glazed close beside the gray hair of his whiskers.
'Is he dead?' she asked, looking round at the men, and speaking in a voice sunk with fear.
'Let's carry him aft to his cabin. It's not right the young lady should see him lying there,' said Gordon.
Thereupon, Gordon, Allan, and Jones picked the body up and bore him aft, followed by Miss Vanderholt, who often staggered as she walked. They got him into a cabin, and put him down upon a sofa.
'An ugly job!' said one of the seamen.
'Who did it?' the girl asked.
The men made no answer.