an suddenly to cry. After a time, the deep voice of her husband,
speaking very low, and to her alone, became dimly audible:--

"'All this is come upon us; yet have we not--Our heart is not turned
back, neither have our steps declined--Though thou hast sore broken us
in the place of dragons, and covered us with the shadow of death.'"

The little captain groaned, and rolled aside from the doorway.

"All very fine," he muttered, his head wrapped in his arms. "But that's
no good to me. I can't stand it."

Whether she heard him, or by chance, Miss Drake came quietly from
within, and found a place between him and the gunwale. He did not rouse;
she neither glanced nor spoke, but leaned against the ribs of
smooth-worn fir, as though calmly waiting.

When at last he looked up, to see her face and posture, he gave an angry
start.

"And I thought," he blurted, "be 'anged if sometimes I didn't think you
liked him!"

Her dark eyes met the captain's with a great and steadfast clearness.

"No," she whispered; "it was more than that."

The captain sat bolt upright, but no longer in condemnation. For a long
time he watched her, marveling; and when finally he spoke, his sharp,
domineering voice was lowered, almost gentle.

"Always talked too much," he said. "Don't mind me, my dear. I never
meant--Don't ye mind a rough old beggar, that don't know that hasn't one
thing more between him and the grave. Not a thing--but money. And that,
now--I wish't was at the bottom o' this bloomin' river!"

They said no more, but rested side by side, like old friends joined
closer by new grief. Flounce, the terrier, snuffing disconsolately about
the deck, and scratching the boards in her zeal to explore the shallow
hold, at last grew weary, and came to snuggle down between the two
silent companions. Not till then did the girl turn aside her face, as
though studying the shore, which now melted in a soft, half-liquid band
as black as coal-tar, above the luminous indigo of the river.

Suddenly Rudolph got upon his feet, and craning outboard from gunwale
and thatched eaves, looked steadily forward into the dusk. A chatter of
angry voices came stealing up, in the pauses of the wind. He watched and
listened, then quickly drew in his head.

"Sit quiet," he said. "A boat full of men. I do not like their looks."

Two or three of the voices hailed together, raucously. The steersman,
leaning on the loom of his paddle, made neither stir nor answer. They