ve Mr. Waterford a wide
berth, and left him trying to obtain a better vision of the
surroundings. I leaped upon the deck of the Marian, and fastened the
painter of the tender at the taffrail. Miss Collingsby spoke to me, but
I heeded not what she said, and sprang forward as fast as I could move
my steps. I hauled up the anchor, but without waiting to wash off the
mud, or stow the cable, I hastened to the helm. Letting out the sheet,
I "wore ship," and in half a minute the Marian was standing out of the
lagoon.

"Stop! What are you about!" shouted Mr. Ben Waterford, who was paddling
through the mud towards the shore.

I made no reply to him, for I had nothing to say. Between running away
from him and permitting him to run away with Miss Collingsby, I was
compelled to choose the less of the two evils. My mission was to save
the young lady, and I intended to do so. I had made a faithful use of
the opportunity presented to me; and after attempting to leave me in
that desolate place, I thought it was not unreasonable for Mr.
Waterford to "try it on" himself, even if the yacht did belong to him.
I was not disposed to weigh all the nice questions which the situation
presented. It was clearly my duty to assist Miss Collingsby, and I was
disposed to do it without consulting the comfort and convenience of Mr.
Waterford, who meditated the mischief against her.

The defeated skipper continued to shout at me in the most furious
manner, threatening me with all the terrors of the law and his own
wrath. I was willing to refer the whole subject to Mr. Collingsby after
we returned to Chicago; and I regarded him as an all-sufficient
defender against both the law and the wrath of Mr. Waterford. I saw him
make his way to the shore, shake the mud and water from his garments,
and then hasten to a point of land which projected out into the lake at
the mouth of the creek. But he might as well have hastened towards the
other end of the lake, for long before he could reach it, I had passed
the point, and was out in the open lake.

I was out of hailing distance of the unhappy skipper when he reached
the point, though I could still see his violent gestures. Miss
Collingsby sat in the standing-room, watching her late persecutor with
anxious interest. Perhaps she feared he might, by some foul mischance,
undo what I had done; that he might annihilate the waste of waters
before him, and step between her and me. I had no such fears. There
were no b