Mary's heart began to beat wildly, and she drew a long breath; but she would not let hope carry her away for a few moments till she could be certain, and then a faint cry of joy escaped her, but only to be succeeded by a chilling sensation, as something seemed to ask her why he had come. "I'm late," cried a well-known voice directly after. "Why, Mary, just in the old spot. It's like old times. My darling!" He tried to clasp her in his arms, his manner displaying no trace of his injuries; but she thrust him sharply away, half surprised and yet not surprised, for she seemed now to read the man's character to the full. "Captain Armstrong!" she cried, hoarsely. "Why, my dear Mary, don't be so prudish. You are not going to carry on that old folly?" "Captain Armstrong, don't mistake me." "Mistake you! No. You are the dearest, loveliest woman I ever saw. There, don't be huffed because I was so long. I couldn't get away. You know--" and he again tried to seize her. "Captain Armstrong--" "Now, what nonsense! You sent for me, and I have come." "Yes. I sent for you because there was no other way of speaking to you alone." "Quite right, my darling; and what could be better than here alone? Mary, sweet, it will be dark directly." "Sir, I sent for you here that I might beg of you to save my brother and poor Bart." "Curse your brother and Bart!" said the captain, angrily. "It was not their fault that they did not kill me. They're better out of our way." "Captain Armstrong--James--for our old love's sake will you save them?" "No," he cried, savagely. "Yes," he added, catching Mary's wrist; "not for our old love's sake, but for our new love--the love that is to come. Mary, I love you; I always did love you, and now I find I cannot live without you." "Captain Armstrong!" "James--your lover. Mary, you are everything to me. Don't struggle. How can you be so foolish? There, yes, I will. I'll do everything. I'll refuse to appear against them if you wish me to. I'll get them set free; but you will not hold me off like this?" "You will save my brother?" "Yes." "And his friend?" "Yes." "Then I will always be grateful to you, and pray for your happiness." "And be mine, Mary, my love, my own?" "You villain! you traitor!" hissed Mary, as, taking advantage of a momentary forgetfulness, he clasped her in his arms and showered kisses on her lips, her cheeks, her hair. But Captain Armstrong had made a mistake. It was like caressing a Cornish wrestler. There was a sharp struggle, during which he found that Mary's thews and sinews were, softly rounded as she was, strong as those of a man. She had been accustomed to row a boat in a rough sea by the hour together, and there was additional strength given to her arm by the indignation that made her blood course hotly through her veins. How dare he, a miserable traitor, insult her as he did?