whisper.

"Sweetheart! sweetheart!" he said.

Both heads, close against each other, were still for a long moment, and
then my gasping, rasping voice came back to me.

"Cary!" I cried, "for mercy's sake, come and take me out of this jib!"

I have the most confused recollection of the rest of that afternoon.
Cary hammered and sawed and worked like a beaver with the help of two
men who lived on Lundy, fishermen by the curious name of Heaven. Sally
and I helped, too, whenever we could, but all in a heavy silence. Sally
was wrapped in dignity as in a mantle, and her words were few and
practical. Cary, quite as practical, had no thought apparently for
anything but his boat. As for me, I was like a naughty old cat. I fussed
and complained till I must have been unendurable, for the emotions
within me were all at cross-purposes. I was frightened to death when I
thought of General Meade; I was horrified at the picture stamped on my
memory of his daughter, trusted to my care, smiling up with that
unmistakable expression into the eyes of a common sailor. Horrified! My
blood froze at the thought. Yet--it was unpardonable of me--yet I felt a
thrill as I saw again those two young heads together, and heard the
whispered words that were not meant for me to hear.

Somehow or other, after much difficulty, and under much mental strain,
we got home. Sally hardly spoke as we toiled up the stony hill in the
dark beneath a pouring rain, and I, too, felt my tongue tied in an
embarrassed silence. At some time, soon, we must talk, but we both felt
strongly that it was well to wait till we could change our clothes.

At last we reached the friendly brightness of the New Inn windows; we
trudged past them to the steps, we mounted them, and as the front door
opened, the radiant vision burst upon us of Anne Ford, come a day before
her time, fresh and charming and voluble--voluble! It seemed the last
straw to our tired and over-taxed nerves, yet no one could have been
more concerned and sympathetic, and that we were inclined not to be
explicit as to details suited her exactly. All the sooner could she get
to her own affairs. Sir Richard Leigh's yacht was the burden of her lay,
and that it was here and we had seen it added lustre to our adventures.
That we had not been on board and did not know him, was satisfactory
too, and neither of us had the heart to speak of Cary. We listened
wearily, feeling colorless and invertebrate beside this brilliant