for her to carry off Diccon and Ned to their beds, away from the
fascinating narrative, and she would give no respite, though Diccon
pleaded hard. In fact, the danger might be the greatest to him,
since Humfrey, though born within the smell of the sea, might be
retained by the call of duty like his father. To Cis, at least, she
thought the sailor's conversation could do no harm, little foreboding
the words that presently ensued. "And, sir, what befell the babe we
found in our last voyage off the Spurn? It would methinks be about
the age of this pretty mistress."

Richard Talbot endeavoured to telegraph a look both of assent and
warning, but though Master Goatley would have been sharp to detect
the least token of a Spanish galleon on the most distant horizon, the
signal fell utterly short. "Ay, sir. What, is it so? Bless me!
The very maiden! And you have bred her up for your own."

"Sir! Father!" cried Cis, looking from one to the other, with eyes
and mouth wide open.

"Soh!" cried the sailor, "what have I done? I beg your pardon, sir,
if I have overhauled what should have been let alone. But,"
continued the honest, but tactless man, "who could have thought of
the like of that, and that the pretty maid never knew it? Ay, ay,
dear heart. Never fear but that the captain will be good father to
you all the same."

For Richard Talbot had held out his arm, and, as Cis ran up to him,
he had seated her on his knee, and held her close to him. Humfrey
likewise started up with an impulse to contradict, which was suddenly
cut short by a strange flash of memory, so all he did was to come up