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"Pshaw! Bill, he couldn't hurt Spotba, the womper, could he?" What could such an association as this end[Pg 450] in, but in such a love between the two as must prove irresistible sooner or later as an appeal? O'Dule had cut a window in the cabin, installed an old stove, table and chairs, and succeeded in making the place home-like enough to suit his simple taste. To-night he stood by the stove, frying potatoes and humming an Irish song. On the table lay a loaf of bread and some butter in a saucer, while close beside it a coal oil lamp gave a smoky light to the room. In the center of the table reposed a huge blue-grey cat, its amber eyes on Harry and its forepaws curled contentedly beneath its furry breast. All about the room hung the skins of wild animals—deer, bear, lynx and coon. A pile of skins lay in one corner. This was O'Dule's bed..
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"But the cabin is motionless, madam," said Mr Lawrence. "It is the tumbling of the sea that makes you ill. Here we are as restful as a painting." "Coming up from behind, so Moll says." It proved as the Admiral had said. After a little brandy and water had been poured between the ashen lips, Mr Lawrence opened his eyes. They opened full upon his father, whose face was stooped close to him. Consciousness was tardy in her awakening, but on a sudden the prostrate, bleeding man recognised his father, and with that look of[Pg 440] recognition there must have come to him some vision of memory presenting scenes of his past. He frowned, sighed, turned his eyes upon Captain Acton, and closed them, but not as though he had fainted, for the lids were firm set. He bade her good-morning with profound respect. Her dog barked in his face, and she silenced it by lifting it under her arm..
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