“How much of that explanation am I to believe, and how much disbelieve?” asked Rose, the instant she was left alone with Harry. “If it be all invention, it was a ready and ingenious story.” “No part of it is true. He no more expected that the steamer would pass through Hell-Gate, than I expected it myself. There was no bet, or race, therefore; but it was our wish to avoid Uncle Sam’s cruiser, that was all.” “And why should _you_ wish any such thing?” “On my honor, I can give you no better reason, so far as I am concerned, than the fact that, wishing to keep clear of her, I do not like to be overhauled. Nor can I tell you why Spike is so much in earnest in holding the revenue vessel at arm’s length; I know he dislikes all such craft, as a matter of course, but I can see no particular reason for it just now. A more innocent cargo was never struck into a vessel’s hold.” “What is it?” “Flour; and no great matter of that. The brig is not half full, being just in beautiful ballast trim, as if ready for a race. I can see no sufficient reason, beyond native antipathy, why Capt. Spike should wish to avoid any craft, for it is humbug his dread of a Mexican, and least of all, here in Long Island Sound. All that story about Jones is a tub for whales.” “Thank you for the allusion; my aunt and myself being the whales.” “You know I do mean—_can_ mean nothing, Rose, that is disrespectful to either yourself or your aunt.” Rose looked up, and she looked pleased. Then she mused in silence, for some time, when she again spoke. “Why have you remained another voyage, with such a man, Harry?” she asked, earnestly. “Because, as his first officer, I have had access to your house, when I could not have had it otherwise; and because I have apprehended that he might persuade Mrs. Budd, as he had boasted to me it was his intention to do, to make this voyage.”