Taylor lay back on the cushions looking rather tired and pale, and Dick got up and wandered restlessly about the room for a minute. It was all so different from what he had looked forward to that he found himself incapable of deciding whether the course Taylor insisted upon was right or wrong. It was so easy that it somehow appeared as though it must be wrong. He was to keep the captaincy, Taylor was to return to the boat, the whole episode was to be closed; in short, he was to reap the benefit of his dishonest deed without suffering punishment. Although, he reflected the next moment, perhaps he had been suffering the punishment the last two weeks! “But just the same,” he said aloud, “it doesn’t seem right.” “That’s your New England conscience,” mocked Taylor. “You think that because a thing didn’t break your back in the doing it can’t be anything but an invention of the devil’s. I may have an easier morality than you, Hope; but, thank Heaven, I wasn’t born in New England!” Dick stared at him. “But, see here, Taylor, if I agree to this----” “You can’t do anything else.” “Do you mean that you will--will be satisfied?” “Probably not; and yet, I don’t know; I’m rather sick of it; this being laid up like a blasted mummy takes the pluck out of a fellow. Maybe”--he smiled quizzically--“maybe it takes some of the meanness out, too. Anyhow, I’ll keep to the promise. And if that silly conscience of yours is still grumbling, why, choke it off. You’ve done right enough; you’ve done more than I’d have done; though, of course, that doesn’t signify much. You slipped up for the minute, and now you are sorry. As far as I’m concerned, I forgive you, although, as I said before, I don’t see that I’ve anything to forgive.” “I’ll never forgive myself,” said Dick, with conviction. Taylor shrugged his shoulders and moved his head as though weary of the subject. “You’ll have to settle that with yourself; I dare say you’ll be fighting it out for the next ten years.” Dick took up his cap, hesitated an instant, and then strode to the couch. “Mind shaking hands?” he asked. Taylor grinned. “What’s the use?” he asked. “It won’t make things any better or any worse.” “I’d rather, if you don’t mind,” replied Dick gravely. “Oh, all right.” Taylor put out his, and the two lads clasped hands silently. “Good-night,” said Dick, turning away. “I hope you’ll get well soon and come and help us. We need you.” “Good-night,” answered Taylor. “I dare say I’ll be out by the last of the week. You’re not a half bad sort, Hope; if it wasn’t for that bothersome conscience of yours I think we might get on together fairly well.” Dick’s last glance across the room showed him a pallid, tired-looking youth sitting on the edge of the couch, with dejection expressed in his attitude, but a mocking smile on his face. CHAPTER XXIII PROSPECTS OF VICTORY