aristocratic face, and plainly indicated that the lady had seen better
days.

"Yes, he was here, Bob."

"And what did he say?"

"We must leave on Monday. The cottage has been sold over our heads."

Tears stood in Mrs. Cromwell's eyes as she spoke.

"Sold!"

"Yes, my boy. He said he could wait no longer. He believes, as do all in
Sea Cove, that your father is dead."

"Perhaps he is," sighed Bob. "It is now over six months since the
_Bluebell_ went down. If he escaped in a small boat we should have heard
from him before this."

"Oh, I cannot believe your father dead, Bob," cried the mother, bursting
into tears. "If I thought that--" She did not finish.

Bob sat down to the supper table in silence. He had little heart to eat,
and swallowed the food mechanically.

Bob was seventeen years of age, bright, handsome, and fearless. He was
Mrs. Cromwell's only son and his father had been a sea captain.

We say, had been, for the _Bluebell_ had been wrecked some time before