“Why, one does not want to marry people because one loves people. I love you and Uncle Force, and Cousin Le, and Sam and Ned, and ever so many more; but I would not marry any of you for all the world, even if I could. And I love Lord Enderby more than I do all the others, but I would not marry him. I would die first!” “Then, I know what is the matter. The secret is out! You love some one else even better than you do the earl! Is not that so? I am the head of the family, Rosemary, and I have a right to know.” “Uncle,” whispered the little creature, in a tremulous voice, as she clasped her tiny hands over her heart, speaking frankly under the friendly cover of the darkness—“uncle, I am not free to marry the earl, even if I wished to do so, which, indeed, I do not. I am engaged to Roland Bayard!” “Good Lord bless my soul alive!” exclaimed the old man. “Since when, if you please?” “Oh, I don’t know, Uncle Gideon; but I have been engaged to Roland for years and years and years.” “Bless my soul and body!” “It is a sacred bond, and I wouldn’t break it even if I could.” “Ah! the love that grew from childhood—was that it, Rosemary?” “Yes, dear Uncle Gideon.” “Well, he’s a good sort, too—is Bayard.” As the old skipper spoke, one of the stewards came on deck with a message from Mrs. Force. “Would Capt. Grandiere be so good as to send Miss Hedge down to the ladies’ cabin, as it was too late and too cold for her to remain on deck?” “I will take you down myself,” said the old man. And he escorted the girl to the door of her stateroom, and bade her good-night. Rosemary was soon asleep in the upper berth of the room she shared with Wynnette. But the old skipper spent hours on deck before he turned in. CHAPTER X THE PRIVATEER “ARGENTE” What a night! The wind rose to a hurricane! It had a thousand voices! It hummed, sang, whistled and hurrahed, as it danced in the rigging. It moaned, wailed, howled and shrieked, as it knocked the ship about. The steamer rocked, tossed and tumbled in the stormy sea; now rising high upon a heaving wave, now dropping into the gulch of the sea. Passengers could not sleep that night. It was as much as they could do to hold on and keep their places in bed. Those on the upper berths were in danger of serious falls. Rosemary, who shared Wynnette’s stateroom, and slept in the upper berth, let herself down by a series of difficult but successful gymnastics, and lay upon the sofa, trembling. Presently she crept to the door, opened it a little way, and peeped into the cabin. The place was quiet, the doors of the other staterooms all closed, and no one present but the local night watchman, sitting composedly by the single light. She closed the door, crept back to the sofa and lay down again. Presently she said: “Wynnette! how can you sleep through this?”