“You do! Then she shall marry me. Me or you! The captain or the jailbird. We’ll have a wedding before we part.” The man’s face was a mass of cuts and bruises, and his words came gaspingly; but there was no doubt that he was in earnest, and none that he had the men behind him. Fickle as the wind, they veered back to his side. “A wedding. Let’s have a wedding!” they cried. Howard looked despairingly around, then darted to the mainmast, caught up a handspike, and swung Dorothy behind him. The fight would be hopeless, but it was for her! “Come on,” he challenged. Grimly the men drew near, but before a blow could be struck, Dorothy’s voice rang out. “Wait!” she cried. Then she turned to Howard. “If you will have me, I will marry you,” she murmured, gently. XIV NIGHT was falling fast as Howard and Dorothy, with Jackson close behind, made their way slowly back to the Queen over the tangled wreckage, following the trail blazed by Howard two days before. The Joyces had promised to join them later. Except for necessary help and caution about the road, the three walked and climbed for the most part in silence, each immersed in thought. Only once did Dorothy speak. “Captain Forbes said that his men had taken possession of the Queen and were removing her stores,” she warned. “Do you think he was telling the truth?” Howard shook his head. “Probably not,” he answered. “But we shall see.” The Queen came in view at last, and each of the three thrilled at sight of her familiar form. Wrecked, ruined, half-sunken, nevertheless she stood to all three as a home and place of refuge, however insecure. Glad as they had been to leave her, they were far gladder to return and find her untouched. For Forbes had been lying. With the touch of the deck beneath their feet, a feeling of embarrassment descended on the three. On the way over they had been silent because they were thinking; now they were silent because of the strange new relation in which they stood to each other. Even Jackson was conscious of it, and stammered and hesitated when he tried to speak; while Dorothy’s flushed cheeks and quivering lips showed that the nerves which had so well sustained her while necessity lasted, were on the verge of giving way. Fortunately supper had to be prepared and served and eaten, and these familiar tasks relieved the tension somewhat. Even then no one dared to speak of what had occurred, though no one thought of anything else. The thing lay too close to their hearts to be lightly or easily broached. At last Jackson, with glances at his two companions, threw down his knife and fork and slouched out of the saloon without a word. Left alone, the girl and the man looked at each other, she with trembling lips and lovely, frightened eyes, and he with an infinite compassion in his face. “You want to say something to me?” he questioned, gently. “Say it. Don’t be afraid. You will find that I can understand.”