“Old Bill’s got three wives a’ready to my sartin knowledge,” spoke up one of the sailors.  “The lady’s got to marry Cap’n Lewis, so don’t let’s have no fuss about it.”

“I won’t,” said the lady, stamping violently.

The mutineers appeared to be in a dilemma, and, following the example of the mate, scratched their heads thoughtfully.

“We thought you liked him,” said the mate, at last, feebly.

“You had no business to think,” said Miss Rumbolt.  “You are bad men, and you’ll all be hung, every one of you; I shall come and see it.”  “The cap’n’s welcome to her for me,” murmured the helmsman in a husky whisper to the man next to him.  “The vixen!”

“Very good,” said the mate.  “If you won’t, you won’t.  This end of the ship’ll belong to you after eight o’clock of a night.  Lewis, you must go for’ard with the men.”

“And what are you going to do with me after?” inquired the fair prisoner.

The seven men shrugged their shoulders helplessly, and Hezekiah, looking depressed, lit his pipe, and went and leaned over the side.

The day passed quietly.  The orders were given by the mate, and Hezekiah lounged moodily about, a prisoner at large.  At eight o’clock Miss Rumbolt was given the key of the state-room, and the men who were not in the watch went below.

The morning broke fine and clear with a light breeze, which, towards mid-day, dropped entirely, and the schooner lay rocking lazily on a sea of glassy smoothness.  The sun beat fiercely down, bringing the fresh paint on the taffrail up in blisters, and sorely trying the tempers of the men who were doing odd jobs on deck.

The cabin, where the two victims of a mutinous crew had retired for coolness, got more and more stuffy, until at length even the scorching deck seemed preferable, and the girl, with a faint hope of finding a shady corner, went languidly up the companion-ladder.

For some time the skipper sat alone, pondering gloomily over the state of affairs as he smoked his short pipe.  He was aroused at length from his apathy by the sound of the companion being noisily closed, while loud frightened cries and hurrying footsteps on deck announced that something extraordinary was happening.  As he rose to his feet he was confronted by Kate Rumbolt, who, panting and excited, waved a big key before him.

“I’ve done it,” she cried, her eyes sparkling.

“Done what?” shouted the mystified skipper.

“Let the bear loose,” said the girl.  “Ha, ha! you should have seen them run.  You should have seen the fat sailor!”

“Let the—­phew—­let the—­ Good heavens! here’s a pretty kettle of fish!” he choked.

“Listen to them shouting,” cried the exultant Kate, clapping her hands.  “Just listen.”

“Those shouts are from aloft,” said Hezekiah sternly, “where you and I ought to be.”

“I’ve closed the companion,” said the girl reassuringly.