"I want to ask you a question," he said. "Is your name Holland?"
The man started.
"My name is Jack Holland," he said, "sure enough; though how you come
to know it beats me altogether, for I am always called Jack, and
except the governor, I don't think there is a man here knows my other
name."
"You were captain of the Hooghley, wrecked on the Malabar coast, nine
years ago," Dick said, this time speaking in English.
After an exclamation of startled surprise, the man stared at him in an
astonishment too great for words.
"Are you English?" he said slowly, at last. "Yes, I was in command of
the Hooghley. Who, in God's name, are you?"
Dick took his two hands.
"Father," he said, "I am your son, Dick."
The sailor gazed at him with a stupefied air.
"Are you mad, or am I?" he said hoarsely.
"Neither of us, Father. I am disguised as an old man, but really I am
little more than eighteen. I have been searching for you for more than
two years, and, thank God, I have found you at last;" and, bursting
into tears, Dick would have thrown his arms round his father's neck,
but the latter pushed him off with one hand, and held him at arm's
distance, while his other hand plucked at his own throat, as if to
loosen something that was choking him.
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