"Hugh," she said, as softly as a female bird trying her mate's song, "you mustn't ask my father. You mustn't ask any one. I can't let you." "Your father's already asked. If he consents I go ashore at Natchez, having telegraphed ahead from Vicksburg----" "You shan't. You shan't go to my brothers. You shan't go armed and you shan't go unarmed." "Yes, I shall. I'll go and settle with them in an hour without the least fear of violence on either side." "Armed with nothing but words? You shan't. And armed with anything else you shan't." "Ramsey, words are the mightiest weapon on earth. The world's one perfect man--we needn't be pious to say it--set about to conquer the human race by the sheer power of words and died rather than use any other weapon. Died victorious, as he counted victory. And the result--a poor, lame beginning of the result--is what we call Christendom." "You shan't die victorious for me." "No, I shall not. I talk much too vast." "Humph! you always did." She smiled, but a moonbeam betrayed a tear on her folded hands. "True," he admitted. "I talk too vast. I'm only claiming the power of words in small as well as large. I've no hope of martyrdom; I'm only confident of victory." "No matter. You _won't_ go ashore at Natchez." "You mean your father won't consent?" "I do. There's one thing, at the very bottom of his heart, that you've never thought of." "I think I have." "What is it?" "That as the Hayle boats are all one day to be yours, and our union would unite the two fleets under the one name of Courteney, he will never allow it." "He never will." "Ramsey, he says he may. If we and the boats are so united the fleet will be, while grandfather lives, the Courteney fleet; but each new boat from now on will be named for a Hayle, beginning with you, or your father, or your mother, as you and they may choose. At Vicksburg, if he consents in time, we can telegraph her--we must have her--to come aboard at Natchez for the rest of the trip. Grandfather, I suppose you've been told, is now waiting for us at Vicksburg. He came up on the _Antelope_." "The _Antelope_! How do you know?" "By a despatch received at Memphis." "Mmm! what a blessing is the telegraph! But, ah, Hugh"--the name was almost naturalized--"this is a mere castle in the air! My--my brothers----" "I'll take care of them." "You can't! You can't! Oh, Hugh, they--keep--their--threats." She caught a breath and looked at him. If he went seeking them she would go at his side! He must have read her mind, for in his majestical way he smilingly shook his head. Mrs. Gilmore had ceased to sing and with the others had risen and turned Ramsey's way, confident that up there the conclusive word had been spoken. Ramsey called down: "Don't stop. Sing 'My Old Kentucky Home' or that thing in which 'the river keeps rolling along' and 'the future's but a dream.' We're song hungry up here." "Then sing to each other," was the reply. "You can do it."