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Captain Acton listened to her with profound interest. He was greatly impressed and moved by his daughter's exhibition of traditionary genius. She recalled his wife, of whom he was passionately proud and fond. He had never imagined that Lucy had the[Pg 372] talent of an actress, but the dramatic character of her narrative and every point in her extraordinary relation convinced him that she was a born artist, and that accident had compelled her to reveal to herself gifts of power, perception, and imagination of whose existence she had been as ignorant as her father.,

Meanwhile Lucy Acton watched and waited on the quarterdeck of the Aurora. The hour was about half-past four. The breeze was sinking with the sun; it still blew with weight enough to keep the sails of the three ships steady. But the dance of the sea was growing languid, the rolling foam of the breaking head was wanting in brilliance of flash and friskiness of somersault; the blue of the deep was darkening, and spread in violet shot with light blue and purple gleams to the margin of[Pg 443] the reflected glory of the sun where the lines of light steeped into the richer colour.,

"Well, Gee whitticker!" he exclaimed. "Who do you s'pose had the nerve to take it?",

Again came the low whistle, and Maurice swayed, staggered and sank down on the stubble, with a faint moan. With a cry of alarm Mrs. Wilson bent above him. "Maurice! Maurice Keeler!" she gasped. "Whatever is wrong? There now, I knowed you was up and out too soon. Come along. I'm goin' to take you straight back home."

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Billy, his arm about Sphinx's neck, spoke. "Come, ol' feller; come here," he said.,

"Your father has doubtless acquainted you with my object in asking you to call upon me this evening.",

"What'll I tell Mr. Ringold?" asked Billy as he turned to go.,

And now, after days of loneliness and nights of terror, Maurice was up again and outside where he could catch the wood-breeze and smell the sweet odor of plants and clearing fires. He wondered how many years he had been away from it all. How old was he now? Why didn't his mother answer his questions? He did not realize that his voice was weak; he had forgotten that his mother was deaf. All he knew was that nobody cared a hang for him any more, not even his own mother. His weak hands clutched at the bandage at his throat, as though to tear it off and hurl it from him. His head sank weakly back against the wall, and the tears came to his eyes.