Witch Hazel; or, The Secret of the Locket — page 339: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

looked into those anxious faces and siniled. “Pm all right now.” he said, reassuringly. “Yes, I think you are!” Percy affectionately re- sponded, as he stood over him, his fingers upon his pulse, ‘*but, old fellow, you’ve hada hard pull for it; your constitution isn’t vigorous enough to stand such violent and long continued exertion in the water; you have been reared too delicately. If you had been brought up in the midst of the sea as I was, it would be different. I can stand any amount of bath- ing and swimming.” “Well, he ought to, as well, for he were born on the sea; his father lived on it, and his grandfather afore him,” the sailor remarked, and every eye was turned upon him in astonishment, at this startling an- nouncement. Percy was the first to recover himself. “You aremistaken, wy man,” he said. ‘This young gentleman is the son of Sir Henry Harwood, a noted physician of London.” ‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir, for the contradiction; but he @in't,”’ returned the man, with cool assurance. I know what I’m talkin’ about, and I can prove it, too. He’s the son of Captain William Morton, master of the merchantman Fortune, that collided with an un- known vessel, some twenty-five years ago, ina thick fog, and all on board were lost, save the cook, the boatswain, myself, and the captain’s baby—this young chap—then only a few months old.” “Heavens! Morton, what arigmarole! what does he mean by it all?’ cried young Harwood, raising himself upon his elbow, and regarding the man with incredulous amazement. Percy Morton, however, was deathly pale, fox the strange words of the sailor had made a Pio OE En?