‘Was she square-rigged,’ asked Mr Coffin indifferently. ‘No; fore and aft. As nice a little craft as ever you saw, and, by the holy poker, she could sail too. There were few to beat her.’ ‘How do you come, then, to know about main-topgallant parcells, if she wasn’t square-rigged?’ demanded the chief officer, looking full at him. Harland felt he was caught in his own trap. He had foolishly acknowledged that the only vessel he had sailed in was a moderate-sized yacht, which could have been stowed away, with twenty others, in the _Pandora’s_ hold, and that all his sea knowledge was gained aboard of her. How, then, could he possibly know the names, and understand the use, of gear which was never seen on such small craft? After spluttering out an unintelligible excuse, he attempted to smooth the matter over by inviting his companion to join him in a glass of grog. But the old sea-dog gruffly refused his offer, and turning away, with a mysterious ‘Humph,’ sent a long squirt of red tobacco juice straight into the stern sheets of the lifeboat. When Harland noticed his altered manner, he sidled away under the lee of the pilot-house, whilst Mr Coffin, after scanning the horizon and satisfying himself that there was nothing in sight, leaned against the taffrail, and thought to himself that--‘Mr Harland was a darned sight too deep for most people, but he had taken him flat aback that time.’ At mid-day the captain shot the sun--a feat which Mr Horace Greenwood came up on deck expressly to see, and was much disappointed when Jack Blythe informed him he was just a minute too late; and by that time the wind had increased a little, blowing from south-west to south-south-west in sudden gusts, and the fore and mizen royals, and the smaller stay sails were made fast. Alice Leyton, in a dark brown travelling ulster, and a felt hat trimmed with a dainty tuft of feathers, which blew about with the wind, and mingled with her sunny curls, had left the close saloon for the open air, and now stood leaning against the wheel-house, holding on her hat with one hand, whilst the breeze caught her skirts and wound them tightly round her supple figure. ‘Why, Alice,’ exclaimed Jack, as he came up to her, ‘what a brave girl you are to venture on deck! But don’t be blown away. We can’t spare you yet, you know,’ and he passed his arm round her waist to steady her as he spoke. Alice shrank palpably from his embrace. ‘Don’t, Jack, please. I can stand very well by myself, and some one may be looking.’ ‘No one is looking, my dear, and if they were, nothing could be more natural than for me to proffer my assistance to a young female in distress on such a windy day.’ ‘I’m not in distress,’ replied Alice, half ready to cry at the situation. ‘Oh, yes, you are. You don’t know what a south-wester is yet. Your petticoats will be over your head in another minute.’