“We must reef to the breeze! we must reef to the breeze!” he repeated mournfully. “But, my dear sir, you must allow me to say that I think it would have been better seamanship to have avoided it altogether.” “What would you have had me do, Mr. Bond?” asked Bayard, looking rather pale. “I am sorry to disappoint _you_. The love and trust of my own people is all I have,” he faltered. “Some witness, for instance,” suggested Mr. Bond. “To be sure, you did call on the police, I am told.” “All Angel Alley was my witness,” returned Bayard, recovering his self-possession. “Some woman, then--some lady?” “Name the woman. I thought of summoning your wife. Should you have let her go on such an errand, on such a night, at such an hour, and under such conditions?” “I ought to have let her go,” answered the officer of the heretic church, honestly. “I’m not sure that I should.” He looked perplexed, but none the less troubled for that, and sighed as he shook hands with his pastor. Mrs. Bond took her husband’s arm, and walked away with him. “I would have done it, John,” she said. But she was crying; so was Mrs. Granite. Jane’s face was white and scared. Captain Hap was very sober. Job Slip was significantly silent. Rumor had it, that a fight was brewing between Job and the Trawls. Job’s anger, if thoroughly aroused, was a serious affair. Bayard felt the discomfort and annoyance of his people acutely. He went away alone, and walked up and down the winter coast, for miles and hours, trying to regain himself in solitude and the breath of the sea. For some time he found it impossible to think coherently. A few words got the ring of his mind, and shook it:-- “From that time many of His disciples went back, and walked no more with Him.” * * * * * Usually in such a situation, some one trivial occurrence fixes itself upon the sore imagination of a man and galls him above all the really important aspects of his misfortune. This trifle came to Bayard in the reception of a letter from the girl herself. DEAR SIR, MR. BAYARD: My hart will brake to think I cause you shame for savin of a poor girl. I see that peece in the paper. It aint far to gess who done it. If it wasnt for disgrasin you Ide kill Ben Trawl tonite. I wouldnt mind hangin. I know how Ide do it too. But dont you trubble I wont shame you no more. I’ll clare out all-together. So good-bye and God bless you Sir. This is from, Yours respictfully, LENA. Bayard’s reply to Lena’s note was to go straight to the gunpowder factory, and speak with the girl. The superintendent stood by, and overheard him say, in a commanding tone:--