Wolves of the Sea. Randall Parrish

else?"

      "Why you should have known. Lord Jeffries sentenced you to death; the decree was signed, to be executed immediately. Then influence was brought to bear—some nobleman in Northumberland made direct appeal to the King. That was what angered Jeffries so."

      "An appeal! For me? Good God! not Bucclough—was it he, the Duke?"

      "Yes; it was whispered about that the King was in his debt—some word of honor, and dare not refuse. The word of mercy came just in time, ordering Jeffries to commute your sentence. At first he swore he'd hang you, King or no King, but his nerve failed. My uncle said he roared like a bull. This Bucclough; is he not your friend?"

      I hesitated for an instant of indecision, looking into her face, but the truth would not be denied.

      "Scarcely that," I said soberly. "Nor can I solve entirely his purpose. He is my brother, and I am the next in line. We are not even on speaking terms; yet he is childless, and may feel some measure of dislike to have the family end in a hangman's knot. I can think of no other reason for his interference. I knew nothing of his action."

      "I am glad it became my privilege to tell you. Besides, Captain Carlyle," simply, "it may also help you to understand my interest. If you are of the Carlyles of Bucclough, how happened it that you went to sea?"

      "Largely necessity, and to some extent no doubt sheer love of adventure. I was a younger son, with very little income. There were then two lives between me and the estate, and the old Duke, my father, treated me like a servant. I always loved the sea, and at fourteen—to get me out of his sight, I think largely—was apprenticed to the navy, but lost my grade in the service by a mere boyish prank. His influence then would have saved me, but he refused to even read my letter of explanation. I dare not return home in such disgrace, and consequently drifted into the merchant service. It is a story quickly told."

      "Yet not so quickly lived."

      "No, it meant many hard years, on all the oceans of the world. This is the first message reaching me from the old home."

      "I have seen that home," she said quietly, "and shall never forget the impression it made on me. A beautiful place. I was there on a coaching party, the first summer I was in England. I was a mere girl then, and everything seemed wonderful. I have been away from Maryland now for three years."

      "At school?"

      "Of course; nothing else would satisfy father. Maryland is only a

       Colony, you know."

      "Yes, I understand. A great many over there send back their sons and daughters to be educated. Your home is at Saint Mary's?"

      "Lower down the Potomac. Have you ever been there?"

      "Twice; once as mate, and the last time as master of a ship. My latest voyage in these waters was made nearly two years ago."

      She was silent for several moments, her face turned away from me, her eyes gazing out across the waste of waters which were already growing dark. Her clear-cut profile against the yellow light of the cabin windows appeared most attractive.

      "It is not so strange then, is it, that I should have felt interested in you?" she asked suddenly, as though justifying herself. "When Uncle Roger first told me who you were, and then explained what had occurred at your trial, naturally you became to me something entirely different from the others."

      "Certainly I am not inclined to condemn."

      "I never once thought of speaking to you—truly I did not," she went on simply. "But when I saw you sitting here all alone, the impulse came suddenly to tell you how sorry I was. You see," and she paused doubtfully, "girls brought up in the Colonies, as I have been, are—are not quite so careful about whom they talk with as in England—you know what I mean; we always have indentured servants, and become accustomed to them. It—it is quite different out there."

      I laughed, thinking only to relieve her embarrassment.

      "Believe me, Miss Dorothy, there is no thought in my mind that you have done wrong," I insisted swiftly. "That would be very ungrateful, for you have brought me new heart and hope."

      "Then I am not sorry. Were you actually with Monmouth?"

      "In sympathy, yes; but I had no hand in the actual fighting. I was not even ashore until it was all over with. Still I shall pay my share of the bill."

      "And you know what that means, do you not? What will happen when we reach Virginia?"

      "Perfectly; I have no illusions. I have seen just such ships as this come in. We are to be advertised, and sold to the highest bidder. A week from now I shall probably be out in the tobacco fields, under the whip of an overseer, who will call me Jeff. All I can hope for is a kind-hearted master, and an early opportunity to escape."

      "Oh, no!" and in her eagerness her hands actually clasped mine, where they clung to the rope between us. "It is not going to be quite so bad as that. That is what I wanted to tell you. That is what gave me boldness to come across here to you tonight. It has all been arranged."

      "Arranged?"

      "Yes—everything. You are not going to be sold on the block with those others. Uncle Roger has already contracted with the Captain for your services. You are going north with us to Maryland."

      I stared through the dusk into her animated face, scarcely comprehending.

      "Do you not understand, yet?" she asked. "The Captain of this brig is the agent; he represents the government, and is obliged to find places for the prisoners."

      "Yes; I know that. We are billed like so much livestock; he must account for every head."

      "Well, Uncle Roger went to him yesterday, and made a bid for you. Finally they came to terms. That is one reason why you are left alone here on deck tonight. The officers are no longer responsible for you—you are already indentured."

      I drew a deep breath, and in the sudden impulse of relief which swept over me, my own fingers closed tightly about her hands.

      "You tell me I am to accompany your party up the Chesapeake?"

      "Yes."

      "I owe this to you; I am sure I must owe this to you—tell me?"

      Her eyes drooped, and in the dim light I could mark the heaving of her bosom, as she caught her breath.

      "Only—only the suggestion," she managed to say in a whisper. "He—he was glad of that. You see I—I knew he needed someone to take charge of his sloop, and—and so I brought you to his mind. We—we both thought you would be just the one, and—and he went right away to see the Captain. So please don't thank me."

      "I shall never cease to thank you," I returned warmly, conscious suddenly that I was holding her hands, and as instantly releasing them. "Why, do you begin to understand what this actually means to me? It means the retention of manhood, of self-respect. It will save me the degradation which I dreaded most of all—the toiling in the fields beside negro slaves, and the sting of the lash. Ay, it means even more—"

      I hesitated, instantly realizing that I must not utter those impetuous words leaping to my lips.

      "More!" she exclaimed. "What more?"

      "This," I went on, my thought shifting into a new channel. "A longer servitude. Up to this moment my one dream has been to escape, but I must give that up now. You have placed me under obligations to serve."

      "You mean you feel personally bound?" "Yes; not quite so much to your uncle, perhaps, as to yourself. But between us this has become a debt of honor."

      "But wait," she said earnestly "for I had even thought of that. I was sure you would feel that way—any gentleman would. Still there is a way out. You were sentenced as an indentured servant."

      "I suppose so."

      "It is true; you were so entered on the books of this ship. Uncle Roger had to be sure of all this before he paid his money,