"You are my father," he said, "and you are aboard my boat. Also, you are in the wrong, as you will discover when you talk with the lady in question. I have seen her but twice: once by accident at Shoal Harbour; once this morning, when she came to ask me to follow you no longer. She will tell you the rest. As soon as the weather clears, I shall sail for New York, to lay up the yawl. This is all the explanation that you will get from me. In fact, there is nothing more to be said." He arose and, stepping up into the cock-pit, blew a wailing note on a siren boat-call. Almost immediately there came the sound of oars, and the Finn appeared propelling the dinghy over the flat grey surface of the water. It was apparent that the man had not been far from the yawl. Applebo turned to Heldstrom. "Here is the boat," he said. Heldstrom gave him a fierce, questioning look, which Applebo did not appear to see. The face of the older man was haggard as he came up through the hatch. For an instant he seemed to hesitate, as if on the point of speech. Applebo gave him no opportunity. "Set Captain Heldstrom aboard the _Shark_," he said to the Finn, who vigorously nodded his wild, dishevelled head. Heldstrom glanced down at the boat, then at his son. The old sailor had the expression of a very aged man who has overtaxed his waning strength and is about to bend beneath the weight of years and trouble. Again he hesitated, as if trying to speak. "Good-morning...!" said Applebo, curtly. The words acted like a bucket of cold water on Heldstrom. His great frame appeared to stiffen. He stepped down into the dinghy and seated himself heavily in the stern. Applebo raised his hand in salute. Heldstrom ignored it. "Gif vay...!" he growled to the Finn. The warlock dipped his oars. The boat glided off into the fog, which appeared to have suddenly darkened. A damp air was fanning in from the sea. CHAPTER XV For several minutes Applebo stood erect, arms folded across his chest, staring into the fog. Presently he shrugged, smiled cynically to himself, and, turning on his heel, went below, where he seated himself on the edge of his bunk. "An interesting morning," he observed, aloud. "I am richer by one Ideal, and poorer by the loss of another. On the whole, however, I am 'way ahead on the break! If my father is a rough old brute of a pig-headed Scandihoovian sailor, then my sweetheart is the darlingest and loveliest of women, although she is scarcely more than a child. Nothing shall keep me from marrying her! I am mad about her! I would like to write her fathoms on fathoms of verse, but I will not!" He opened the locker at the head of his bunk, took therefrom a large pile of manuscript, which he proceeded to tear into small fragments.