she knows there's dollars in it. If you're clever we'll be out to sea
before she tumbles to it that she's left her native shores."

The mate grinned comprehension, and running down to the deck met the
girl at the gangway. The moment they had disappeared into the saloon
Brant gave orders to cast off, and as soon as the ropes that had moored
the vessel to the quay had been hauled on board he rang the engine-room
bell. The _Cobra's_ mighty screw began to churn the still waters of the
harbour, and slowly she sidled out into the fairway on the first stage
of a voyage that was to lead her--whither? Twenty minutes later she had
passed the green slopes of the Nothe and was heading at half-speed
towards the open sea under the frowning heights of Portland.

At the end of that time Brant, from his perch on the bridge, saw the
saloon door open and the young lady from the draper's shop come out on
deck, followed by Bully Cheeseman. For an instant the girl stared round
in evident bewilderment, then turned upon the man who had beguiled her
into false security while the ship was being got under weigh.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded in a ringing voice that
reached the bridge--the voice of a woman too angry to use many words.

"Skipper's orders," replied Cheeseman curtly. He had exhausted his
limited stock of spurious politeness in distracting her attention, and
now that the end was gained was not inclined to exert himself further.

Before he could guard himself his cheeks were tingling under two
resounding smacks, his cap was knocked into the scruppers and his lank
hair was in the clutch of lithe fingers. But the man who had earned the
nickname of "Bully" was no respecter of sex, and, recovering himself, he
seized the girl by the throat and shook her viciously. In his rage he
might have gone to any lengths if Captain Brant had not run down the
bridge stairs and flung him aside.

"Get to your duty," commanded the little atomy in his quavering treble.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself for handling a lady so. A little
more velvet glove, and not quite so much iron hand till it's wanted, on
this ship, if you please, my son."

Catching the wicked wink at the tail of his chief's eye, the mate
sheered off in seeming self-abasement, and left the involuntary
"stewardess" face to face with Brant. Somehow the courage which had
stood her in good stead with the sturdy "Bully" failed her when
confronted by this five-foot skelet