It seemed to her that her father was in some inexplicable way meaner-looking than she had supposed, and yet also, as unaccountably, appealing. Her cheeks were aflame. "Let me go," cried Winifred. Her figure was, in some measure, hidden by a large scarf, and a deep hood drawn over the head contributed to her disguise; still it was evident, from her lofty bearing, that she had nothing in common, except an interest in their proceedings, with the crew by whom she was surrounded. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes.
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