The Corfe Castle, herself slightly damaged, was putting back to Southampton to land the victims of the disaster, and to obtain some necessary repairs.  The weather was thickening, and progress was slow, but they expected to arrive before mid-day.  Saltash, carelessly sauntering in the doctor’s wake, found himself the object of considerable interest on the part of those passengers who were already up in the murk of the early morning.  He was stopped by several to receive congratulations upon his escape, but he refused to be detained for long.  He had business below, he said, and the doctor was waiting.  And so at last he came to a cabin at the end of a long passage, at the door of which a kind-faced stewardess met them and exchanged a few words with his guide.

“Can I go in?” said Saltash, growing impatient.

The woman looked at him with wonder and compassion in her eyes.  “The poor little thing is very upset,” she said.  “She lies and trembles, and has hardly spoken at all except to ask for you.”

“Well, let me in!” said Saltash, suddenly imperious.  “I’ve got something to tell her.”

He had his way, for there was something about him that compelled just then.  He entered the cabin as a king might enter the apartment of a slave, and he shut the door with decision upon those without.

Then for a second—­just for a second—­he hesitated.  “Toby!” he said.

A meagre form sprang upright in the bunk at the sound of his voice.  Two bare, skinny arms reached out to him.  Then with a single stride Saltash was beside the bunk and was holding tightly to him a small, whimpering creature that hid its face very deeply against his breast and clutched at him piteously whenever he sought to raise it.

Saltash bent his dark head over the fair one and spoke very gently, yet with authority.  “It’s all right, child.  I know.  I’ve known all along!  Don’t fret yourself!  There’s no need.  I’ve got you under my protection.  You’re safe.”

“You—­know!” whispered the muffled voice—­Toby’s voice, but strangely devoid of Toby’s confidence.  “What must you—­think?”

“I!” Saltash laughed a little.  “I never think.  I give everyone—­always—­the benefit of the doubt; which is considerably more than anyone ever gives me.”

“And—­you saved my life!” gasped Toby “Why did you?  Why did you?”

“I wanted it,” said Saltash promptly.  “Now listen a moment!  We’ve done with this show.  It’s played out.  We’ll ring up on another.  You’ve got to change your name again.  I’m telling everyone you’re Larpent’s daughter.”

That brought the fair head upwards very swiftly.  The blue eyes with their short black lashes looked straight up to his.  “But—­but—­Captain Larpent—­”

“Oh, never mind Larpent!  I’ll square him.”  Saltash’s look flashed over the pale, tear-stained face.  His hold, though close, no longer compelled.  “Leave it all to me!  Don’t you fret!  I’ll square Larpent.  I’ll square everybody.  You lie low till they put us ashore!  After that—­do you think you can—­trust me?”