to relinquish
his hold upon her!

With the calm, steady, waiting eyes upon him, Devant dared not urge his
first claim of parentage. He would appeal to her reason.

"This is hardly a question for you to put to me," he said. "I must see
Captain Billy and talk to him man to man."

"What for?" There was a dangerous light in the girl's eyes. "Because you
have suffered for the wrong you did, you think you can ease your
conscience by confessing to Cap'n Billy, and making him suffer again?"
Devant stared at her.

"You think it is for myself?" he asked.

"Who then?"

"Why, for you! Can you not see what it would mean to you?" Janet drew
back.

"You--you want to do things for me? You who left my mother to die?" A
fine scorn shook the low voice.

"My God! do not be so hard. Only because you are young and blind can you
speak so heartlessly. Do you not see, it is because I cannot do for her,
that I want now to do for you? I want it with all my soul for her sake,
as well as yours! I wish to undo, as well as I can, the bitter wrong."
Devant moaned.

"Cap'n Billy did that for you, long ago. Your silence must be his
reward!" Janet's face shone.

"Can you conceive," asked Devant hoarsely, "what you are giving up?"

"Yes." Now the shining eyes were misty. "Over on the dunes, after Billy
told me and I had chosen my course, I did think of the other way, just
as I used to imagine things when I was a lonely little girl, impossible
things, you know! I thought of books, and knowledge, and of the great
beautiful world, and all the soft, pretty things that I know I should
love. I did not think or imagine in my fancy that you would want to give
them to me; but now that I know that, it doesn't make any difference.
Every time I think of my Cap'n Billy, nothing else matters!" Two large
tears rolled down the uplifted face.

Devant felt himself baffled, and anger arose within him.

"Suppose," he said hoarsely, "suppose I could offer you--Thornly's
love?"

The stab was cruel, and the wound smarted. Under the soft, brown skin
the color died away, and the eyes widened and deepened.

"That is no gift of yours!" she whispered proudly; "and I know now what
happens to girls like my mother and me when we--forget!"

Devant recoiled. Then a shame humbled and stung him.

"Do not judge him by me!" he said.

"I do not." The words were hardly above a whisper. "But you know, and he
knows, there is a bar between us, and we must sail wide, if we