Kathleen, seeing this blood-stained giant in such violent action, naturally fled to her cabin and shut the door.

As no worse enemy than Captain Roy presented himself at the cabin door, unarmed, and with an anxious look on his rugged face, the hermit set down the chair, and feeling giddy sank down on it with a groan.

“I fear you are badly hurt, sir.  Let me tie a handkerchief round your wounded head,” said the captain soothingly.

“Thanks, thanks.  Your voice is not unfamiliar to me,” returned the hermit with a sigh, as he submitted to the operation.  “I thought I had fallen somehow into the hands of pirates.  Surely an accident must have happened.  How did I get here?  Where are my comrades—­Nigel and the negro?”

“My son Nigel is all right, sir, and so is your man Moses.  Make your mind easy—­an’ pray don’t speak while I’m working at you.  I’ll explain it all in good time.  Stay, I’ll be with you in a moment.”

The captain—­fearing that Kathleen might come out from curiosity to see what was going on, and remembering his son’s injunction—­went to the girl’s berth with the intention of ordering her to keep close until he should give her leave to come out.  Opening the door softly and looking in, he was startled, almost horrified, to see Kathleen standing motionless like a statue, with both hands pressed tightly over her heart.  The colour had fled from her beautiful face; her long hair was flung back; her large lustrous eyes were wide open and her lips slightly parted, as if her whole being had been concentrated in eager expectancy.

“What’s wrong, my girl?” asked the captain anxiously.  “You’ve no cause for fear.  I just looked in to—.”

“That voice!” exclaimed Kathleen, with something of awe in her tones—­“Oh!  I’ve heard it so often in my dreams.”

“Hush! sh! my girl,” said the captain in a low tone, looking anxiously round at the wounded man.  But his precautions were unavailing,—­Van der Kemp had also heard a voice which he thought had long been silent in death.  The girl’s expression was almost repeated in his face.  Before the well-meaning mariner could decide what to do, Kathleen brushed lightly past him, and stood in the cabin gazing as if spell-bound at the hermit.

“Winnie!” he whispered, as if scarcely daring to utter the name.

“Father!”

She extended both hands towards him as she spoke.  Then, with a piercing shriek, she staggered backward, and would have fallen had not the captain caught her and let her gently down.

Van der Kemp vaulted the table, fell on his knees beside her, and, raising her light form, clasped her to his heart, just as Nigel and Moses, alarmed by the scream, sprang into the cabin.

“Come, come; away wi’ you—­you stoopid grampusses!” cried the captain, pushing the intruders out of the cabin, following them, and closing the door behind him.  “This is no place for bunglers like you an’ me.  We might have known that natur’ would have her way, an’ didn’t need no help from the like o’ us.  Let’s on deck.  There’s enough work there to look after that’s better suited to us.”