"He is probably below deck, smoking his pipe, or trying to fish up some more of the cargo. George is not the sort of man to care for sunset-effects." Hubert said this with a short, hard laugh, which Ella, preoccupied, took little notice of. It was well perhaps that she did not see the expression of his face. It had changed strangely during the last few minutes. His mouth was hard-set, and in his eyes there sat a look which might have been set down as compounded of despair, burning passion, and desperate resolve. Hubert shipped his oars, and made a trumpet of his hands to sing out. "Hillo there! Petherton--Petherton, I say, where are you?" But there came no answer; there was no sign of life whatever on board the wreck. "Can he have gone ashore?" exclaimed Ella, quickly. "Not likely," returned Hubert. "He is shut in below, smoking his pipe, and cannot hear: perhaps has dropped asleep. I will go and arouse him. But let me help you on board first, Miss Winter.--Hark! yes, George is there, safe enough. I hear him." He brought the boat up under the lee of the wreck, made her fast with a rope, sprang lightly on the _Seamew's_ deck, and turned to assist Miss Winter. But Ella held back. "Go and tell him to come and help you to get me up," she said laughingly. Hubert disappeared down the cabin stairs. He did not come back immediately. Left alone in the boat, Ella began to feel anxious, vaguely uneasy. Could she but have divined his treachery! He knew perfectly well that George Petherton was not on board, that he had gone ashore at mid-day. Hubert made his way aft into a little room, not much bigger than a rabbit-hutch, but which was in reality the captain's cabin. Here he found a keg of hollands, still about one-third full; near it was a horn drinking-cup. Twice in quick succession he filled the cup with neat spirits and drank it off. He was very pale, and there lay still that same strange lurid light in his eyes. After drinking the spirits, he stood rigid as a statue, his hands clenched, his eyes fixed on the ground. "His or mine--his or mine?" he muttered under his breath. "Not his--not his! Death before that." Once again he filled the cup and drank its contents. Then he pressed his hand to his heart for a moment, as though to still some wild commotion there; and then, as if afraid to hesitate any longer, he made his way quickly back on deck. Ella was watching anxiously for him. The moment she saw his white set face, she became filled with alarm. "What is amiss?" she cried, her fears flying to the boatman. "Is Petherton ill? Has anything happened to him?" "Yes," shortly replied Hubert; "not much. You had better come on board, Miss Winter." Ella did not hesitate another moment. She had known George Petherton all her life, and liked him greatly. A thought came over her that the man might have fallen and hurt himself amidst the damaged cordage and rigging.