ed him in his sorry
work.

When he had gone, Sven Anderssen turned toward Lady Greystoke--the
idiotic expression that had masked his thoughts had fallen away, and in
its place was one of craft and cunning.

"Hay tank Ay ban a fool," he said. "Hay ben the fool. Ay savvy
Franch."

Jane Clayton looked at him in surprise.

"You understood all that he said, then?"

Anderssen grinned.

"You bat," he said.

"And you heard what was going on in here and came to protect me?"

"You bane good to me," explained the Swede. "Hay treat me like darty
dog. Ay help you, lady. You yust vait--Ay help you. Ay ban Vast
Coast lots times."

"But how can you help me, Sven," she asked, "when all these men will be
against us?"

"Ay tank," said Sven Anderssen, "it blow purty soon purty hard," and
then he turned and left the cabin.

Though Jane Clayton doubted the cook's ability to be of any material
service to her, she was nevertheless deeply grateful to him for what he
already had done. The feeling that among these enemies she had one
friend brought the first ray of comfort that had come to lighten the
burden of her miserable apprehensions throughout the long voyage of the
Kincaid.

She saw no more of Rokoff that day, nor of any other until Sven came
with her evening meal. She tried to draw him into conversation
relative to his plans to aid her, but all that she could get from him
was his stereotyped prophecy as to the future state of the wind. He
seemed suddenly to have relapsed into his wonted state of dense
stupidity.

However, when he was leaving her cabin a little later with the empty
dishes he whispered very low, "Leave on your clothes an' roll up your
blankets. Ay come back after you purty soon."

He would have slipped from the room at once, but Jane laid her hand
upon his sleeve.

"My baby?" she asked. "I cannot go without him."

"You do wot Ay tal you," said Anderssen, scowling. "Ay ban halpin'
you, so don't you gat too fonny."

When he had gone Jane Clayton sank down upon her berth in utter
bewilderment. What was she to do? Suspicions as to the intentions of
the Swede swarmed her brain. Might she not be infinitely worse off if
she gave herself into his power than she already was?

No, she could be no worse off in company with the devil himself than
with Nikolas Rokoff, for the devil at least bore the reputation of
being a gentleman.

She swore a dozen times that she would not leave the Kincaid