"I will hazard nothing. I will venture no risks; what I resolve to do must be effectual," I went on, "because my life is dearer to me now than it was three days ago, for your and your father's sake. You must be saved from these ruffians, but no risk must attend your deliverance. That is why I see no escape before us as _yet_; but it will come--it will come! Despair is very fruitful in expedients, and I am not beaten because I find myself flung like a dog in a hole!" She looked up at this, and said, "What is to be done?" "I must think." "I will think, too. We need not tell papa?" she added, toning her voice to a question, with an appealing look in her eyes. "No, certainly not. Remember, we are not supposed to question the men's honest intentions towards us. We must appear utterly ignorant." "Are they armed?" she inquired. "No." She cast her eyes round the cabin and said, "Have you no guns?" "Nothing but a pistol. But though we had twenty guns we have no hands to use them. So far as I know as yet, there is no man who would stand with me--not even the boatswain, unless he were sure we should conquer the ruffians." "Could I not use a pistol? Ah, I remember, you have only one." She sank her chin on her hand and looked downwards, lost in thought. "Why would you not steer the ship for some near port?" she asked presently. "I could not alter the course without being challenged. Remember that my policy is not to excite suspicion of my honesty." "If a gale would rise like that which wrecked the _Cecilia_, it might drive us near the land, where we could get help." "No, we shall have to depend upon ourselves. I do not want to pin my faith on chance." I began to pace to and fro, torn by the blind and useless labours of my mind. Just then a step sounded along the cuddy. The cabin door was pushed open roughly, and Stevens walked in. He stared at Miss Robertson, and cried-- "Sorry to interrupt. Didn't know you was here, mam, I'm sure. I thought," addressing me, "I should find you turned in. I've come to have a look at that chart o' yours. How long d'ye make it to New Orleans?" "About three weeks." "Well, there's live stock enough for three weeks, any ways. I've just told the cook to stick one of them porkers. All hands has a fancy for roast pork to-day. Sarvant, miss. You was pretty nigh drownded, I think." "My father and I owe our lives to the noble fellows in this ship. They must be brave and good men to risk their lives to save ours," she answered, with a smile of touching sweetness, looking frankly into the face of the miscreant who stood, cap on head, before her. "Lor' bless yer!" he exclaimed; "there wasn't no risk. I'd ha' swum the distance in such a sea for five shilling." She shook her head with another smile (I judged the effort this piece of acting cost her), as she said--