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“Here comes my tyrant, Captain. Now I must behave myself.”

The girl standing close to him went on in the same loving half-bantering way:

“Go on, Daddy! Tell us what women should learn!”

“They should learn, Miss Impudence, to respect their fathers!” Though he spoke lightly in a tone of banter and with a light of affection beaming in his eyes, the girl grew suddenly grave, and murmured quickly:

“That is not to be learned, Father. That is born with one, when the father is like mine!” Then turning to the Captain she went on:

“Did you ever hear of the Irishman who said: There’s some subjects too sarious for jestin’; an’ pitaties is wan iv them? I can’t sauce my father, or chaff him, or be impudent—though I believe he likes me to be impudent—to him, when he talks of respect. He has killed men before now for want of that. But he won’t kill me. He knows that my respect for him is as big as my love—and there isn’t room for any more of either of them in me. Don’t you Daddy?”

For answer the old man drew her closer to him; but he said nothing. Really there was no need for speech. The spirits and emotions of both were somewhat high strung in the sudden change to brightness from the gloom that had prevailed for weeks. At such times even the most staid are apt to be suddenly moved.