“This is a serious business, Martin,” he said, looking sternly at me; “you are in love with that girl.”

“I love her with all my heart and soul!” I cried.

CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH.

IN A FIX.

Yes, I loved Olivia with all my heart and soul.

I had not known it myself till that moment; and now I acknowledged it boldly, almost defiantly, with a strange mingling of delight and pain in the confession.

Yet the words startled me as I uttered them.  They had involved in them so many unpleasant consequences, so much chagrin and bitterness as their practical result, that I stood aghast—­even while my pulses throbbed, and my heart beat high, with the novel rapture of loving any woman as I loved Olivia.  If I followed out my avowal to its just issue, I should be a traitor to Julia; and all my life up to the present moment would be lost to me.  I had scarcely spoken it before I dropped my head on my hands with a groan.

“Come, come, my poor fellow!” said Captain Carey, who could never see a dog with his tail between his legs without whistling to him and patting him, “we must see what can be done.”

It was neither a time nor a place for the indulgence of emotion of any kind.  It was impossible for me to remain on the cliffs, bemoaning my unhappy fate.  I strode on doggedly down the path, kicking the loose stones into the water as they came in my way.  Captain Carey followed, whistling softly to himself, and, of all the tunes in the world, he chose the one to the “Three Fishers,” which I had sung to Olivia.  He continued doing so after we were aboard the yacht, and I saw the boatmen exchange apprehensive glances.

“We shall have wind enough, without whistling for it, before we reach Guernsey,” said one of them, after a while; and Captain Carey relapsed into silence.  We scarcely spoke again, except about the shifting of the sails, in our passage across.  A pretty stiff breeze was blowing, and we found plenty of occupation.

“I cannot leave you like this, Martin, my boy,” said Captain Carey, when we went ashore at St. Sampson’s; and he put his arm through mine affectionately.

“You will keep my secret?” I said—­my voice a key or two lower than usual.

“Martin,” answered the good-hearted, clear-sighted old bachelor, “you must not do Julia the wrong of keeping this secret from her.”

“I must,” I urged.  “Olivia knows nothing of it; nobody guesses it but you.  I must conquer it.  Things have gone too far with poor Julia, for me to back out of our marriage now.  You know that as well as I do.  Think of it, Captain Carey!”

“But shall you conquer it?” asked Captain Carey, seriously.