you to tell me what you mean to do with me," said she,
frankly and graciously: "I am at your mercy, Keith."

"Oh, not that--not that," said he; and he added, sadly enough, "it is I
who have been at your mercy since ever I saw you, Gerty; and it is for
you to say what is to become of you and of me. And have you got over
your anger now? And will you think of all that made me do this, and try
to forgive it for the sake of my love for you, Gerty? Is there any
chance of that now?"

She rather avoided the earnest gaze that was bent on her. She did not
notice how nervously his hand gripped the edge of the table near him.

"Well, it is a good deal to forgive, Keith; you will acknowledge that
yourself: and though you used to think that I was ready to sacrifice
everything for fame, I did not expect you would make me a nine-days'
wonder in this way. I suppose the whole thing is in the papers now."

"Oh no, Gerty; I sent a message to your father."

"Well, that was kind of you--and audacious. Were you not afraid of his
overtaking you? The _Umpire_ is not the swiftest of sailors, you used
to say; and you know there are telegraphs and railways to all the
ports."

"He did not know you were in the _Umpire_, Gerty. But of course, if he
were very anxious about you, he would write or come to Dare. I should
not be surprised if he were there now."

A quick look of surprise and gladness sprang to her face.

"Papa--at Castle Dare!" she exclaimed. "And Christina says it is not far
from here."

"Not many miles away."

"Then, of course, they will know we are here in the morning!" she cried,
in the indiscretion of sudden joy. "And they will come out for me."

"Oh no, Gerty, they will not come out for you. No human being but those
on board knows that we are here. Do you think they could see you from
Dare? And there is no one living now on the island. We are alone in the
sea."

The light died away from her face; but she said, cheerfully enough,--

"Well, I am at your mercy, then, Keith. Let us take it that way. Now you
must tell me what part in the comedy you mean me to play; for the life
of me I can't make it out."

"Oh, Gerty, Gerty, do not speak like that!" he exclaimed. "You are
breaking my heart! Is there none of the old love left? Is it all a
matter for jesting?"

She saw she had been incautious.

"Well," said she, gently, "I was wrong; I know it is more serious than
that; and I am not indisposed to forgive you, if you tre