“This is a bad business,” said the latter, shaking his head solemnly, as the indignant Miss Rumbolt seated herself. “Don’t talk to me, you coward!” said the girl energetically. The skipper started. “_I_ made three of ’em run,” said Miss Rumbolt, “and you did nothing. You just stood still, and let them take the ship. I’m ashamed of you.” The skipper’s defence was interrupted by a hoarse voice shouting to them to come on deck, where they found the mutinous crew gathered aft round the mate. The girl cast a look at the shore, which was now dim and indistinct, and turned somewhat pale as the serious nature of her position forced itself upon her. “Lewis,” said the mate. “Well,” growled the skipper. “This ship’s going in the lace and brandy trade, and if so be as you’re sensible you can go with it as mate, d’ye hear?” “An’ s’pose I do; what about the lady?” inquired the captain. “You and the lady’ll have to get spliced,” said the mate sternly. “Then there’ll be no tales told. A Scotch marriage is as good as any, and we’ll just lay off and put you ashore, and you can get tied up as right as ninepence.” “Marry a coward like that?” demanded Miss Rumbolt, with spirit; “not if I know it. Why, I’d sooner marry that old man at the helm.” “Old Bill’s got three wives a’ready to my sartin knowledge,” spoke up one of the sailors. “The lady’s got to marry Cap’n Lewis, so don’t let’s have no fuss about it.” “I won’t,” said the lady, stamping violently. The mutineers appeared to be in a dilemma, and, following the example of the mate, scratched their heads thoughtfully. “We thought you liked him,” said the mate, at last, feebly. “You had no business to think,” said Miss Rumbolt. “You are bad men, and you’ll all be hung, every one of you; I shall come and see it.” “The cap’n’s welcome to her for me,” murmured the helmsman in a husky whisper to the man next to him. “The vixen!” “Very good,” said the mate. “If you won’t, you won’t. This end of the ship’ll belong to you after eight o’clock of a night. Lewis, you must go for’ard with the men.” “And what are you going to do with me after?” inquired the fair prisoner. The seven men shrugged their shoulders helplessly, and Hezekiah, looking depressed, lit his pipe, and went and leaned over the side. The day passed quietly. The orders were given by the mate, and Hezekiah lounged moodily about, a prisoner at large. At eight o’clock Miss Rumbolt was given the key of the state-room, and the men who were not in the watch went below. The morning broke fine and clear with a light breeze, which, towards mid-day, dropped entirely, and the schooner lay rocking lazily on a sea of glassy smoothness. The sun beat fiercely down, bringing the fresh paint on the taffrail up in blisters, and sorely trying the tempers of the men who were doing odd jobs on deck.