"Listen, Sir Christopher, I pray you," he said. "Of course I am a younger man, and you may resent my counselling you; but remember, I love your sister, and her honor and yours are no less dear to me than to you. I see the situation more clearly as a looker-on, and this is how it looks to me. There is no hope here and now of a fair trial. The Catholics are hot for the punishment of the murderer of a priest, and Calvert and Brent have already angered them by the leniency they have shown to Protestants. Give the matter but time to cool, and make sure of a fair hearing. That is all I ask." Neville sat silent with his head bowed on his hands for an instant, then he spoke low but firmly,-- "Go! I must have time to think. Go you all below and give me the helm! When I have made up my mind, I will summon you, and my decision must stand. You, Huntoon, must give me back the oath I swore to obey you. This matter touches none so close as me, and in my hands it must be left. Go!" Slowly and dejectedly the three conspirators crept into the cabin. There Romney and Peggy sat silent and expectant for what seemed an eternity. Ropes creaked, sails flapped on deck. Who could say what was passing? At length they heard a cheerful call of "All hands on deck!" They rushed up the companionway and saw Christopher standing at the helm, his hair blown back and his hand grasping the helm, the tiller pushed far to port, and the ketch standing for St. Mary's. CHAPTER XIV IN WHICH FATE TAKES THE HELM AS the three conspirators emerged from the companionway one after another, they made a forlorn picture of disappointment, so chapfallen were the faces of all. Philpotts stood still, his shaggy eyebrows drawn into a frown, and under them a pair of eyes that threatened resistance. 'Twas as if Sancho Panza had come to the end of his patience with Don Quixote, and thought it time that common-sense took control for the good of all concerned. Romney twisted his cap and looked at Peggy, who bit her lips to keep back the tears which, in spite of her will, were gathering in her eyes, and standing large on the fringe of her lashes. As Christopher watched her, he felt his courage ebbing so fast that he must either yield or smile. He chose the latter.