The girl had been looking intently at Mr. Divine during their conversation.
“They cannot have treated you very badly, Larry,” she said. “You are as well groomed and well fed, apparently, as ever.”
A slight flush mounting to the man’s face made the girl wonder a bit though it aroused no suspicion in her mind.
“Oh, no,” he hastened to assure her, “they have not treated me at all badly—why should they? If I die they can collect no ransom on me. It is the same with you, Barbara, so I think you need apprehend no harsh treatment.”
“I hope you are right, Larry,” she said, but the hopelessness of her air rather belied any belief that aught but harm could come from captivity with such as those who officered and manned the Halfmoon.
“It seems so remarkable,” she went on, “that you should be a prisoner upon the same boat. I cannot understand it. Why only a few days ago we received and entertained a friend of yours who brought a letter from you to papa—the Count de Cadenet.”
Again that telltale flush mantled the man’s cheek. He cursed himself inwardly for his lack of self-control. The girl would have his whole secret out of him in another half-hour if he were not more careful.
“They made me do that,” he said, jerking his thumb in the general direction of Skipper Simms’ cabin. “Maybe that accounts for their bringing me along. The ‘Count de Cadenet’ is a fellow named Theriere, second mate of this ship. They sent him to learn your plans; when you expected sailing from Honolulu and your course. They are all crooks and villains. If I hadn’t done as they bid they would have killed me.”
The girl made no comment, but Divine saw the contempt in her face.
“I didn’t know that they were going to do this. If I had I’d have died before I’d have written that note,” he added rather lamely.
The girl was suddenly looking very sad. She was thinking of Billy Mallory who had died in an effort to save her. The mental comparison she was making between him and Mr. Divine was not overly flattering to the latter gentleman.
“They killed poor Billy,” she said at last. “He tried to protect me.”
Then Mr. Divine understood the trend of her thoughts. He tried to find some excuse for his cowardly act; but with the realization of the true cowardliness and treachery of it that the girl didn’t even guess he understood the futility of seeking to extenuate it. He saw that the chances were excellent that after all he would be compelled to resort to force or threats to win her hand at the last.
“Billy would have done better to have bowed to the inevitable as I did,” he said. “Living I am able to help you now. Dead I could not have prevented them carrying out their intentions any more than Billy has, nor could I have been here to aid you now any more than he is. I cannot see that his action helped you to any great extent, brave as it was.”
“The memory of it and him will always help me,” she answered quietly. “They will help me to bear whatever is before me bravely, and, when the time comes, to die bravely; for I shall always feel that upon the other side a true, brave heart is awaiting me.”
The man was silent. After a moment the girl spoke again.
“I think I would rather be alone, Larry,” she said. “I am very unhappy and nervous. Possibly I could sleep now.”
With a bow he turned and left the cabin.
For weeks the Halfmoon kept steadily on her course, a little south of west. There was no material change in the relations of those aboard her. Barbara Harding, finding herself unmolested, finally acceded to the repeated pleas of Mr. Divine, to whose society she had been driven by loneliness and fear, and appeared on deck frequently during the daylight watches. Here, one afternoon, she came face to face with Theriere for the first time since her abduction. The officer lifted his cap deferentially; but the girl met his look of expectant recognition with a cold, blank stare that passed through and beyond him as though he had been empty air.
A tinge of color rose to the man’s face, and he continued on his way for a moment as though content to accept her rebuff; but after a step or two he turned suddenly and confronted her.
“Miss Harding,” he said, respectfully, “I cannot blame you for the feeling of loathing and distrust you must harbor toward me; but in common justice I think you should hear me before finally condemning.”
“I cannot imagine,” she returned coldly, “what defense there can be for the cowardly act you perpetrated.”
“I have been utterly deceived by my employers,” said Theriere, hastening to take advantage of the tacit permission to explain which her reply contained. “I was given to understand that the whole thing was to be but a hoax—that I was taking part in a great practical joke that Mr. Divine was to play upon his old friends, the Hardings and their guests. Until they wrecked and deserted the Lotus in mid-ocean I had no idea that anything else was contemplated, although I felt that the matter, even before that event, had been carried quite far enough for a joke.
“They explained,” he continued, “that before sailing you had expressed the hope that something really exciting and adventurous would befall the party—that you were tired of the monotonous humdrum of twentieth-century existence—that you regretted the decadence of piracy, and the expunging of romance from the seas.
“
