Sad it is to end love with lies. Sadder still is it to begin love with lies. I had tried to hide this one happening from Margaret, and I had failed. It could no longer be hidden save by lying; and so I told her the truth, told her how and why the gangster had had his face dashed with sulphuric acid by the old steward who knew white men and their ways. * * * * * There is little more to write. The mutiny of the _Elsinore_ is over. The divided crew is ruled by the gangsters, who are as intent on getting their leader into port as I am intent on getting all of them into jail. The first lap of the voyage of the _Elsinore_ draws to a close. Two days, at most, with our present sailing, will bring us into Valparaiso. And then, as beginning a new voyage, the _Elsinore_ will depart for Seattle. * * * * * One thing more remains for me to write, and then this strange log of a strange cruise will be complete. It happened only last night. I am yet fresh from it, and athrill with it and with the promise of it. Margaret and I spent the last hour of the second dog-watch together at the break of the poop. It was good again to feel the _Elsinore_ yielding to the wind-pressure on her canvas, to feel her again slipping and sliding through the water in an easy sea. Hidden by the darkness, clasped in each other’s arms, we talked love and love plans. Nor am I shamed to confess that I was all for immediacy. Once in Valparaiso, I contended, we would fit out the _Elsinore_ with fresh crew and officers and send her on her way. As for us, steamers and rapid travelling would fetch us quickly home. Furthermore, Valparaiso being a place where such things as licences and ministers obtained, we would be married ere we caught the fast steamers for home. But Margaret was obdurate. The Wests had always stood by their ships, she urged; had always brought their ships in to the ports intended or had gone down with their ships in the effort. The _Elsinore_ had cleared from Baltimore for Seattle with the Wests in the high place. The _Elsinore_ would re-equip with officers and men in Valparaiso, and the _Elsinore_ would arrive in Seattle with a West still on board. “But think, dear heart,” I objected. “The voyage will require months. Remember what Henley has said: ‘Every kiss we take or give leaves us less of life to live.’” She pressed her lips to mine. “We kiss,” she said. But I was stupid. * * * * * “Oh, the weary, weary months,” I complained. “You dear silly,” she gurgled. “Don’t you understand?” “I understand only that it is many a thousand miles from Valparaiso to Seattle,” I answered. “You won’t understand,” she challenged. “I am a fool,” I admitted. “I am aware of only one thing: I want you. I want you.” “You are a dear, but you are very, very stupid,” she said, and as she spoke she caught my hand and pressed the palm of it against her cheek. “What do you feel?” she asked. “Hot cheeks—cheeks most hot.”