"Don't be hasty, my pretty one. If you will do me the honor to become Mrs. Whippleton, it will make everything all right; and really I don't know what else to do with you." "Don't listen to him, Marian," I interposed, in a low tone. "Go into the cabin, and keep out of his sight." "This plan will make everything comfortable, Miss Collingsby. Your father will see that he is mistaken, and the business of the firm will go on as usual, with your friend Phil as book-keeper at a thousand dollars a year. Will you accept?" "No, sir." "No?" "Certainly not." "Then I suppose I may as well make an end of Phil. He is only a stumbling-block in my path," added the wretch, cocking his pistol. "Gorrificious!" exclaimed Peter, appearing at the companion-way at this moment, so opportunely as to indicate that he had been listening to the conversation. "What you goin' to do with that rewolver, Mr. Whippleton?" "Go into the cook-room, and mind your business there, you scoundrel," said the skipper, angrily, as he pointed the pistol at the cook. "Gorrificious!" muttered the man, as he disappeared. Marian, indignant at the proposal of Mr. Whippleton, followed the cook, and I was alone with my persecutor. The skipper laid his revolver upon the rudder-head, as though the end of the sensation had come for the present. I was left to my own suffering for the next two hours. Mr. Whippleton sat at the helm in silence, perhaps brooding upon the plan his busy brain had devised. Occasionally he raised the whiskey bottle to his lips, and drank. I was afraid that his frequent drams would arouse the fiend within him, and induce him to use his revolver upon me. He was intoxicated, and violently irritated against me. My anxiety for my fate was so great that I almost forgot my aching head and painful limbs. I kept very still. No one had thought to give me any breakfast; but I did not feel the need of it, though a cup of tea would doubtless have done me good. I was still in doubt whether the whiskey bottle would ultimately prove to be my friend or my foe. The skipper maintained his position at the helm till dinner was ready, and then was able to totter into the cabin, when Peter had taken his place. He did not come on deck when he had finished his meal; but Marian soon appeared, and said he had tumbled into one of the berths. He had taken his revolver with him. "Can't you turn over, Philip?" said she, standing beside me. "I will cut your cords." "No! Don't do that. Gorrificious! Mr. Whippleton will kill us all." But I turned over, as far as I was able, and the resolute girl cut the rope that bound my hands together. She had hardly done so before Peter sprang upon her, and hurled her over to the other side of the standing-room. I disengaged my hands; but the line which secured my feet was made fast to a cleat, and when I attempted to rise, I was thrown down upon the floor. Peter leaped upon me, and shouted for Mr. Whippleton. CHAPTER XXVI.