He would have gone on, but something in her glance stopped him. With the quickness of love and intense sympathy he divined that the hour was not yet. There was an unspoken appeal in her eyes, in her burning cheek, her trembling hand, her heaving breast, which he could not disregard. He had been on the brink of an avowal. Thank heaven, he had stopped in time! For her sake and for his own he would be on his guard. He would not transgress again. He vowed it in his soul. "I am deeply grateful," he went on, after a pause which somehow, in spite of him, expressed all he wished her to understand, "both to you and the sailor, and I hope to evidence my devotion and gratitude in some tangible way. By the way, what a strange character he seems! He appears to have taken a dislike to me. He said this morning he wished he had not saved me." "How dared he speak so?" cried the girl, sitting up in the boat, her face flushed this time with indignation. "Not save your life? Why--but there," she went on, swiftly recovering herself, "he is a strange creature, as you say, and moody at times. He lives alone on the ship, and sees no one but grandfather and me. He is devoted to me. He would do anything for me." "Those queer things in your room,--the harpoon, the shark's tooth, the model of the ship?" "He put them there. They are odd things for a girl's room, are they not? but when you realize that they express the affection of an honest, faithful heart, they become quite fitting for any woman. Yes, I am fond of him, and I love those things for his sake. He is devoted to the admiral and to the ship, too." Mr. Richard Revere was too profoundly conscious of the vast difference between Emily Sanford and any common sailor to feel the slightest jealousy at her ungrudging praise; indeed, he liked it. "So I discovered," he assented, appreciatively. "Miss Emily, you go down to that ship sometimes; often, I suppose. Please do not go any more." "Why not?" curiously. "It is very insecure. I do not see how it can last much longer. Some day it will collapse into shapeless ruin; soon, I think. And if you were there----" He hesitated and looked at her. "Please do not go," he continued. "But it will break Captain Barry's heart to have me refuse. I've always gone." She spoke doubtfully, as if seeking a further reason. "Better break his heart than throw away your life. Believe me, I have made a thorough inspection of the ship. It's unsafe. It's almost gone. I marvel that it stands now." "Poor old ship!" "Yes, 'tis sad indeed. But you won't go, will you?" "Not--not--if you do not wish me,--I mean, not if it is unsafe," she answered, softly, looking down. He had shot the boat in toward the shore of a little island in the harbor, and there, under the deep shadow of some overhanging trees, he stopped rowing, as he said, to rest a moment, just keeping the boat under control with the oars.