y
chance of getting away," he had explained hurriedly.

He remembered how startled Mrs. Travers looked. Of course, a woman like
that--not used to hear such talk. Therefore it was no use listening to
her, except for good manners' sake. Once bit twice shy. He had no mind
to be kidnapped, not he, nor bullied either.

"I can't let him nab me, too. You will want me now, Mrs. Travers," he
had said; "and I promise you not to fire off the old thing unless he
jolly well forces me to."

He was youthfully wise in his resolution not to give way to her
entreaties, though her extraordinary agitation did stagger him for a
moment. When the boat was already on its way to the brig, he remembered
her calling out after him:

"You must not! You don't understand."

Her voice coming faintly in the darkness moved him, it resembled so much
a cry of distress.

"Give way, boys, give way," he urged his men.

He was wise, resolute, and he was also youthful enough to almost wish
it should "come to it." And with foresight he even instructed the boat's
crew to keep the gig just abaft the main rigging of the brig.

"When you see me drop into her all of a sudden, shove off and pull for
dear life."

Somehow just then he was not so anxious for a shot, but he held on with
a determined mental grasp to his fine resolution, lest it should slip
away from him and perish in a sea of doubts.

"Hadn't I better get back to the yacht?" he asked, gently.

Getting no answer he went on with deliberation:

"Mrs. Travers ordered me to say that no matter how this came about
she is ready to trust you. She is waiting for some kind of answer, I
suppose."

"Ready to trust me," repeated Lingard. His eyes lit up fiercely.

Every sway of flares tossed slightly to and fro the massy shadows of
the main deck, where here and there the figure of a man could be seen
standing very still with a dusky face and glittering eyeballs.

Carter stole his hand warily into his breast pocket:

"Well, Captain," he said. He was not going to be bullied, let the
owner's wife trust whom she liked.

"Have you got anything in writing for me there?" asked Lingard,
advancing a pace, exultingly.

Carter, alert, stepped back to keep his distance. Shaw stared from the
side; his rubicund cheeks quivered, his round eyes seemed starting out
of his head, and his mouth was open as though he had been ready to choke
with pent-up curiosity, amazement, and indignation.

"No! Not in writing,"