of pure
bewitchment and more of desire in their eyes. She was not ignorant of
her charms, her power, her equipment to pluck the pearl from the oyster
of the world. She could marry wealth; she could win wealth and more fame
with her voice and beauty on the concert-stage; she could do both. But
in spite of her knowledge of the great world, her heart was neither
blinded to the true things of worth nor entirely hardened. If she ever
married, it would be for wealth and position, as the world counted such
things, but never a man--lord or commoner--who did not come to her with
the light of pure witchery in his eyes. She remembered, smiling down at
the half-written letter to her New York agent, how that light had shone
in the honest eyes of a young officer of the ship in which she had
sailed from America to Europe. Her reflections, which had passed through
her brain with a swiftness beyond that of any spoken or written words,
were interrupted by the skipper.

"I bes rich now," he said thickly.

Mary Kavanagh lost color at that and turned her face away from them
both, toward the fire in the wide chimney. Flora Lockhart looked up at
the speaker, puzzled, but still smiling faintly. Her face was very
beautiful and kind--but with an elfin kindness that seemed not all
womanly, scarcely all human. Her beauty was almost too delicate,
striking and unusual to bear the impress of a common-day kindness. She
laughed gently but clearly.

"I am glad you are rich," she said. "You are rich in virtues, I
know--all three of you."

"I bes rich in gold an' gear," said the skipper. "Rich as any marchant."

"I am glad," returned the girl. "It will be pleasant for me, in the
future, to always picture my preservers in comfort. I hope you may
continue to prosper, skipper--you and all your people. But here is the
letter. How will you get it to New York, do you think?"

The skipper advanced to the bed, and took the letter. His fingers
touched hers.

"I'll be takin' it to Witless Bay meself," he stammered. "Sure, that
would be safest. It bes a longish trip; but I'll do it." He paused and
stared down at the letter in his hand. "But 'twould take me t'ree days
an' more, there an' back--an' what would the men be doing wid me away?
The divil himself only knows! Maybe they'd get to t'inkin' agin as ye
bes a witch. I'll be sendin' Bill Brennen wid it, afore sun-up
to-morrow."

"And who will take it from Witless Bay to St. John's?" asked Flora.

"Foxey