He had no easy task. First he had his premeditated fiction to establish, his explanation of how he came by his passengers. Secondly, he had to persuade the captain of the steamship, a stranger, to relieve him, where he had so signally failed to persuade his friend the señora at Santa Lucia. Otto was not a man to show agitation: but he felt it, none the less. This scheme of Jon’s was the foolhardiest thing he had ever heard of: the slightest suspicion, and they were as good as done for. Jonsen had ordered him, if he guessed anything was wrong, to run. Meanwhile, the breeze was dropping, and it was still light. Jonsen had vanished into the steamer as into a forest. Emily was as excited as any of them, pointing out the novel features of this extraordinary vessel. The children still thought it was professional quarry. Edward was openly bragging of what he would do when he had captured it. ‘I shall cut the captain’s head off and throw it in the water!’ he declared aloud. ‘S-s-sh!’ exclaimed Harry in a stage whisper. ‘Coo! I don’t care!’ cried Edward, intoxicated with bravado. ‘Then I shall take out all the gold and keep it for myself.’ ‘I shall sink it!’ said Harry, in imitation: then added as an afterthought, ‘Right to the very bottom!’ Emily fell silent, her peculiarly vivid imagination having the mastery of her. She saw the hold of the steamer, piled with gold and jewels. She saw herself, fighting her way through hordes of hairy sailors, with her bare fists, till only the steamer’s captain stood between her and the treasure. Then it happened! It was as if a small cold voice inside her said suddenly, ‘_How can you? You’re only a little girl!_’ She felt herself falling giddily from the heights, shrinking. She was _Emily_. The awful, blood-covered face of the Dutch captain seemed to threaten her out of the air. She cowered back at the shock. But it was over in a moment. She looked around her in terror. Did any one know how defenceless she was? Surely some one must have noticed her. The other children were gibbering in their animal innocence. The sailors, their knives half concealed, grinned at each other or cursed. Otto, his brows knotted, stood with his eyes fixed on the steamer. She feared everybody, she hated everybody. Margaret was whispering something to Edward, and he nodded. Again panic seized her. What was Margaret telling him? Had she told every one? Did they all know? Were they all playing with her, deceiving her by pretending not to know, waiting their own time to burst their revelation on her and punish her in some quite unimaginably awful way? _Had_ Margaret told? If she crept up behind Margaret now, and pushed her in the sea, might she yet be in time?--But even as she thought it, she seemed to see Margaret rising waist-high out of the waves, telling the whole story to everybody in a calm, dispassionate voice, and climbing back on board.