“Gentlemen!” cried Lynde, as the party began to advance, “I protest against this outrage so far as I am concerned, and I venture to protest on the part of the lady.  I am convinced that she is incapable of any act to warrant such treatment.  I—­I know her slightly,” he added, hesitating.

“Oh, yes,” said the girl, folding her hands demurely in her lap, “and I know you, too, very well.  You are my husband.”

This announcement struck Lynde speechless.  The rough men exchanged amused glances, and the ship-builder gave vent to a curious dry laugh.  Lynde could have killed him.  The party moved on.  Up to this moment the young man had been boiling with rage; his rage now yielded place to amazement.  What motive had prompted the girl to claim that relationship?  Was it a desperate appeal to him for protection?  But brother, or cousin, or friend would have served as well.  Her impulsive declaration, which would be at once disproved, might result in serious complications for him and her.  But it had not been an impulsive declaration; she had said it very calmly, and, he fancied, with just the lightest touch of coquetry, “You are my husband!” For several minutes Lynde did not dare to let his eyes wander in her direction.  She was a pace or so in the rear at his right.  To see her he would be obliged to turn slightly; this he presently did, with a movement as if settling himself more easily in the saddle.  The girl’s loose hair was blown like a black veil over her face, putting her into mourning; she was steadying herself with one hand resting on Mary’s mane; her feet were crossed, and a diminutive slipper had fallen from one of them.  There was something so helpless and appealing in the girl’s attitude that Lynde was touched.

“May I speak with you, sir?” he said, addressing himself to a man whom somebody had called Morton, and who appeared to issue the orders for the party.  The man came to Lynde’s side.

“For Heaven’s sake, sir, explain this!  Who is that young woman?”

“You said you knew her,” returned the man, not unpleasantly.

“Indeed I said so,” replied Lynde, reddening.  “What has happened?  What has she done, what have I done, what has the old clergyman done, that we should be seized like murderers on the public highway?”

“Be quiet now,” said the man, laying his hand soothingly on Lynde’s arm, and looking at him steadily.  “Everything will be satisfactorily explained by and by.”

Lynde’s indignation blazed up again.

“I can assure you, sir,” he cried, as the man returned to his former position, “that the result of the explanation will be far from satisfactory to you.  I shall hold to strict account every man who has had a hand in this business.  I demand to be brought before a magistrate, or a justice of the peace, if there is one in this God-forsaken country.”