_As the curtain rises_, BARTLETT _and_ SILAS HORNE _are discovered_. HORNE _is in working clothes of paint-stained dungaree. If his sufferings on the island have left any marks on his dry wizened face, they are undiscoverable. In_ BARTLETT, _however, the evidence is marked. His hair has turned white. There are deep hollows under his cheek-bones. His jaw and tight-lipped mouth, express defiant determination, as if he were fighting back some weakness inside himself, a weakness found in his eyes, which have something in them of fear, of a wishing to avoid other eyes. He is dressed much the same as when on the island. He sits by the table, center, his abstracted gaze bent on the floor before him._ HORNE--[_Who is evidently waiting for the Captain to my something--after a pause, glancing at him uneasily._] I’d best be gettin’ back aboard the schooner, sir. [_Receiving no answer he starts for the door on the left._] BARTLETT--[_Rousing himself with an effort._] Wait. [_After a pause._] The full tide’s at dawn tomorrow, ye said? HORNE--Yes, sir. BARTLETT--They know we’ll be sailin’ then, don’t they--Cates and Jimmy? HORNE--Yes, sir. They’re all ready. Oh, Cates and Jimmy’ll be glad o’ the word--and me, too, sir. [_With a greedy grin._] It’s all we’ve been talkin’ of since ye brought us down here--diggin’ up the gold! BARTLETT--[_Passionately._] Aye, the gold! We’ll have it before long, now, I reckon. That schooner--the way we’ve fitted her up--she’d take a man safe to the Pole and back! We’ll drop anchor here with the chest on board in six months, unless---- [_Hesitates._] HORNE--[_Uneasily._] What, sir? BARTLETT--[_Brusquely._] The weather, ye fool! Can ye take count before o’ storms an’ calms? HORNE--We’ll trust to luck for that. [_Glancing at the Captain curiously._] And speakin’ o’ luck, sir--the schooner ain’t been christened yet. BARTLETT--[_Betraying a sudden, fierce determination._] She will be! HORNE--There’d be no luck for a ship sailin’ out without a name. BARTLETT--She’ll have a name, I tell ye! A name that’ll take all curse away and leave her clean. She’ll be named the Sarah Allen, and Sarah’ll christen her herself. HORNE--It oughter been done, by rights, when we launched her a month back. BARTLETT--[_Sternly._] I know that as well as ye. [_After a pause._] She wasn’t willin’ to do it then. Women has queer notions--when they’re sick, like. [_Defiantly--as if he were addressing someone outside of the room._] But Sarah’ll be willin’ now! She’ll be willin’ in spite o’---- [_Catching himself and abruptly lowering his voice._] The schooner’ll be christened tomorrow at dawn afore she sails. HORNE--Yes, sir. [_He again turns to go, as if he were anxious to get away._]