me to unmask the fellow.  He had clearly enough catalogued me in his own class, as one who would serve any master for sufficient reward.  Very well, let him so continue to think, until I could turn the tables, and pay him back in his own coin.  And the quickest way in which to convince him that I was altogether his man, was to denounce the girl in his presence, and frankly avow myself on his side.  Difficult as this task would prove—­at least until I could make some explanation to her—­it was the sensible course to pursue.  I hardened myself to it, my eyes on the outlines of the man’s face, as he shuffled the papers on his desk.

“Do you mind telling me where this vessel is bound?” I asked, not only curious to learn, but also anxious to break the silence.

“No objections whatever, Craig, if I knew myself,” he answered carelessly.  “The Sea Gull being my property sails on my orders, and, at present, those orders are merely to put out to sea.”

“You spoke of leaving the lady ashore at New Orleans.”

“Oh, back at the house?  You overheard that?  Well, I am not above changing my mind in such matters.  From what you have just told me I infer the young woman is more dangerous than I had supposed.  Perhaps some foreign port would be the safer landing place.  I shall determine that after our coming interview.  This will be the lady now.”

We both arose to our feet as she entered, glancing about her curiously at the rather strange surroundings, then stopping irresolutely, apparently recognizing neither of us.  The light from the hanging lamp, waving somewhat from the movement of the vessel, served to soften the lines of her face, and reveal the delicate beauty.  About her were no signs of fatigue or fear.  Suddenly the light of recognition leaped into her eyes, and she took a quick step forward.

“Mr. Craig—­you here?  Why, I can hardly understand.  Were you made prisoner also?”

“I suppose that to be my status, although I hardly know,” I answered, yet unable to refrain from accepting the extended hand.  “I was certainly brought aboard in chains, and much against my will.  I presume you know this person?”

She swept my face with a swift, questioning glance, and then looked beyond me at the man standing beside the desk.

“No, I do not,” slowly.  “I have no remembrance of ever seeing him before.”

“Is that not rather strange,” I asked, steeling myself to the task, “after asserting that he was your husband?  He is the owner of this vessel—­Philip Henley.”

She reached out gropingly, and grasped the back of a chair, staring at his face, and then glancing into mine, as though bewildered, suspecting some trick.  I could see her lips move, as if she endeavored to speak, but could not articulate the words.  Henley—–­for I must call him that—­advanced a step toward us, his thin lips fashioning themselves into an ironic smile.