“One minute, Captain. You understand, don't you, my putting it before you? It's just to spare Annie. There may be rough work.” “Yes, I understand.” “You 'll hardly find it necessary to tell Mrs. Fargo what I have told you.” “No, I suppose not. Though it would be perfectly safe with her.” “If you don't mind, I'd rather not.” “Very well.” The Captain went into the house; and Beveridge walked away. The _Merry Anne_ was at the moment coming slowly in toward the north side of the pier. When he had nearly reached the pier, Beveridge turned and stood frowning and snapping his fingers. A glance told him that Wilson had just hauled out a fine perch and was baiting his hook for another. He turned toward the house, and found that the Captain was approaching him. “Well,” said Beveridge, “will she go?” “I haven't said anything yet. I thought I'd turn it over in my mind. Aren't you pretty young for this work, Mr. Beveridge?” “Not so very. Do as you like about it. I have said all I can.” “Oh, it's all right, of course; well, I 'll step in and see how Annie feels about going.” A second time they parted, and a second time Beveridge walked away. He looked over his shoulder, and saw Annie running down the beach for something she had left in the _Captain_. He hurried back and intercepted her. “Annie.” “Yes.” “I don't know if you understand--you see, I have gone a good way in telling you what I have--” “Oh, of course, if you want to take it back--” “But I don't. Not a word of it. I was only going to say--” he hesitated again. She waited. “It isn't what I have asked you for myself; that stands, Annie, and always will. It's the other. Don't you see how I have put myself in your hands? I never did such a thing before in my life. Just by letting you know that there's going to be something going on here to-night, and by asking you to be away, I have put a lot of power in your hands. You won't mind--you won't be offended--if I ask you not to breathe a word of it to a soul?” He waited, hoping for some reassuring word or sign, but she only looked at him with wide eyes. “You see a chance word might undo everything. If--” he glanced out toward the two schooners--“if a hint of the facts gets out there to him--don't you see? It simply can't happen. You know why I've told you. It was because I love you, because I want to save you from it all,--that's why I've put myself in your hands.” But all she said was, “Don't say any more; I must go in.” He was silent. But with one foot on the first step, she turned. “Wait, tell me--” “Yes?” “Tell me--have you anything to do with that revenue cutter that was in here the other day?” “Oh, dear Annie, you mustn't ask me that.” Then she hurried into the house. In the kitchen Captain Fargo was trying to tell his wife some half-truths, never an easy thing for him to do. “But what is it? What's the trouble? I don't see that anything could happen here that it would hurt her to see.”