“Don't pay any attention to him,” she pleaded. “We are going to be drowned! You can't deny it, can you? We're going to die!” He pulled a trembling hand from between his knees, where he had held both hands pinched in order to steady them. He shook his fist at Mayo. “Own up, now. We're going to die, aren't we?” “I think it's right to tell the truth at this stage,” said Mayo, in steady tones. “We're not children. Yonder is a beach with sand-reefs and breakers, and when we strike the sand this boat will go over and over and we shall be tossed out. The waves will throw us up and haul us back like a cat playing with mice. And we stand about the same chance as mice.” “And that's the best you can do for us--and you call yourself a sailor!” whined Bradish. “I'm only a poor chap who has done his best as it came to his hand to do,” said the young man, seeking the girl's eyes with his. She gazed at him for a moment and then put both hands to her face and began to sob. “It's a hard thing to face, but we'd better understand the truth and be as brave as we can,” said Mayo, gently. “For myself I ain't a mite surprised,” averred the cook. “I had my hunch! I was resigned. But my plans was interfered with. I wanted to go down in good, deep, green, clean water like a sailor ought to. And now I'm going to get mauled into the sand and have a painful death.” “Shut up!” barked Mayo. The girl was trembling, and he feared collapse. Bradish began to blubber. “I'm not prepared to die,” he protested. Mayo studied his passenger for some time, wrinkling his brows. “Bradish, listen to me a moment!” The New-Yorker gave him as much attention as terror and grief permitted. “There isn't much we can do just now to fix up our general earthly affairs. But we may as well clean the slate between us two. That will help our consciences a little. I haven't any quarrel with you any more. We won't be mushy about it. But let's cross it off.” “It's all over,” mourned Bradish. “So what's the use of bearing grudges?” “I suppose it's true that the court has indicted me for manslaughter. Bradish, tell me, man to man, whether I've got to go into those breakers with that on my conscience!” “I don't know what you mean.” “Yes, you do! You know whether those men of the schooner _Warren_ were drowned by any criminal mistake of mine or not!” Bradish did not speak. “You wouldn't have said as much to Captain Downs if you hadn't known something,” insisted the victim of the plot. “It was only what Burkett let drop when he came after some money. I suppose he thought it was safe to talk to me. But what's the good of my giving you guesswork? I don't know anything definite. I don't understand sailor matters.” “Bradish, what Burkett said--was it something about the compass--about putting a job over on me by monkeying with the compass?” “It was something like that.” His tone exhibited indifference; it was evident that he was more occupied with his terror than with his confession.