“I think you have little to fear on that score, Miss Harding,” said the Frenchman.  “I intend making it quite plain that I consider myself your protector once we have left the Halfmoon, and I can count on several of the men to support me.  Even Mr. Divine will not dare do otherwise.  Then we can set up a camp of our own apart from Skipper Simms and his faction where you will be constantly guarded until succor may be obtained.”

Barbara Harding had been watching the man’s face as he spoke.  The memory of his consideration and respectful treatment of her during the trying weeks of her captivity had done much to erase the intuitive feeling of distrust that had tinged her thoughts of him earlier in their acquaintance, while his heroic act in descending into the forecastle in the face of the armed and desperate Byrne had thrown a glamour of romance about him that could not help but tend to fascinate a girl of Barbara Harding’s type.  Then there was the look she had seen in his eyes for a brief instant when she had found herself locked in his cabin on the occasion that he had revealed to her Larry Divine’s duplicity.  That expression no red-blooded girl could mistake, and the fact that he had subdued his passion spoke eloquently to the girl of the fineness and chivalry of his nature, so now it was with a feeling of utter trustfulness that she gladly gave herself into the keeping of Henri Theriere, Count de Cadenet, Second Officer of the Halfmoon.

“O Mr. Theriere,” she cried, “if you only can but arrange it so, how relieved and almost happy I shall be.  How can I ever repay you for all that you have done for me?”

Again she saw the light leap to the man’s eyes—­the light of a love that would not be denied much longer other than through the agency of a mighty will.  Love she thought it; but the eye-light of love and lust are twin lights between which it takes much worldly wisdom to differentiate, and Barbara Harding was not worldly-wise in the ways of sin.

“Miss Harding,” said Theriere, in a voice that he evidently found it difficult to control, “do not ask me now how you may repay me; I—­;” but what he would have said he checked, and with an effort of will that was almost appreciable to the eye he took a fresh grip upon himself, and continued:  “I am amply repaid by being able to serve you, and thus to retrieve myself in your estimation—­I know that you have doubted me; that you have questioned the integrity of my acts that helped to lead up to the unfortunate affair of the Lotus.  When you tell me that you no longer doubt—­that you accept me as the friend I would wish to be, I shall be more than amply repaid for anything which it may have been my good fortune to have been able to accomplish for your comfort and safety.”

“Then I may partially repay you at once,” exclaimed the girl with a smile, “for I can assure you that you possess my friendship to the fullest, and with it, of course, my entire confidence.  It is true that I doubted you at first—­I doubted everyone connected with the Halfmoon.  Why shouldn’t I?  But now I think that I am able to draw a very clear line between my friends and my enemies.  There is but one upon the right side of that line—­you, my friend,” and with an impulsive little gesture Barbara Harding extended her hand to Theriere.