There was a sudden silence, and Brooke, who felt Barbara's eyes upon him, heard the splash of water along the steamer's plates and the throbbing of the screw. He also saw that Mrs. Devine was rather more intent than usual, and that Lucy Coulson was wondering at the effect of what she had said. He could, he fancied, acquit her of any ill intent, but that was no great consolation, for he could not controvert her assertion, and he felt that now she had mentioned the condemning fact his one faint chance was to let Barbara have the explanation from his own lips instead of asking it from Devine. Still, he could scarcely do so when the rest were there, and Lucy Coulson, at least, showed no intention of leaving him and the girl alone. It was, in fact, almost an hour later when her husband crossed the deck and she rose. "Shafton has nobody to talk to, and one has to remember their duty now and then," she said. Then as the steamer swung round a nest of reefs that rose out of a white swirl of tide the sea breeze swept that side of the deckhouse and Mrs. Devine departed for another wrap or shawl. Lifting her head Barbara looked at the man steadily. "Was that woman's story true?" she said. Brooke made a little gesture which implied that he attempted no defence. "It was," he said. A faint spark crept into Barbara's eyes, and a tinge of color into her cheek. "You know what you are admitting?" "I am afraid I do." Barbara Heathcote had a temper, and though she usually held it in check it swept her away just then. "Then, though we only discovered it afterwards, you knew that Saxton was scheming against my brother-in-law, and bought up the timber-rights to extort money from him?" Again Brooke made a little gesture, and the girl, who seemed stirred as he had scarcely believed her capable of being, straightened herself rigidly. "And yet you crept into his house, and permitted us--it is very hard to say it--to make friends with you! Had you no sense of fitness? Can't you even speak?" Brooke was too confused, and the girl too furious, for either of them to realize the significance of her anger, since the fact that she had merely permitted him to meet her as an acquaintance at the ranch scarcely seemed to warrant that almost passionate outbreak. "I'm afraid there is nothing I can plead in extenuation except that Grant Devine's agent swindled me," he said. Barbara laughed scornfully. "And you felt that would warrant you playing the part you did. Was it a spy's part only, or were you to be a traitor, too?" Then Brooke, who lost his head, did what was at the moment, at least, a most unwise thing. "I expect I deserve all you can say or think of me," he said. "Still, I can't help a fancy that you are not quite free from responsibility." "I?" said Barbara, incredulously.