Mr. Maldon started and colored violently, with something of a frightened
look, as he recognized his son-in-law.

"My dear boy," he said, "I did not; for the first moment I did not. That
beard makes such a difference. You find the beard makes a great
difference, do you not, sir?" he said, appealing to Robert.

"Great heavens!" exclaimed George Talboys, "is this the way you welcome
me? I come to England to find my wife dead within a week of my touching
land, and you begin to chatter to me about my beard--you, her father!"

"True! true!" muttered the old man, wiping his bloodshot eyes; "a sad
shock, a sad shock, my dear George. If you'd only been here a week
earlier."

"If I had," cried George, in an outburst of grief and passion, "I
scarcely think that I would have let her die. I would have disputed for
her with death. I would! I would! Oh God! why did not the _Argus_ go
down with every soul on board her before I came to see this day?"

He began to walk up and down the beach, his father-in-law looking
helplessly at him, rubbing his feeble eyes with a handkerchief.

"I've a strong notion that that old man didn't treat his daughter too
well," thought Robert, as he watched the half-pay lieutenant. "He seems,
for some reason or other, to be half afraid of George."

While the agitated young man walked up and down in a fever of regret and
despair, the child ran to his grandfather, and clung about the tails of
his coat.