What should she do was in her mind; what would she do in his. Her temptation was strong. It would have been a triumph to have handed the letter over to Josephine at once. She hesitated for a few seconds, and, choosing the greater triumph, thrust it quietly into the bosom of her dress. She had decided not to give it to Josephine, after all, so Revere read her smiling gesture, and in the same mute, eloquent way he thanked her for her forbearance. "Who is this coming up the path?" said Josephine, tactfully, breaking the pause which threatened to become an awkward one, and pointing to the brow of the hill. "It is Captain Barry," answered Emily, glad of the interruption. "The old sailor of whom I spoke to you, madam," said the admiral, turning to Mrs. Revere. "The man who rowed the boat the night Emily pulled me out of the water, mother," Revere explained. "My man," said Mrs. Revere, graciously, as Barry stopped at the foot of the steps and saluted, "I have to thank you for a great deal, I understand. It was your strength and determination, coupled with this young lady's skill, that saved the life of my son. I owe you much, sir." "You owe me nothing, ma'am," said Barry, ungraciously. "I only obeyed Miss Emily's orders. What she says, I do. I always do." "Nevertheless, you did it," continued Mrs. Revere, struck by his harsh words and repellent manner, but trying to suppress her astonishment and be kind to this strange old man, "and I feel deeply grateful. Is there any way in which I can show it?" "No way, ma'am," burst out the sailor, almost rudely. He hated the whole brood,--mother, son, friend, all of them, it seemed. "What's the matter with you, Captain Barry?" gently asked Emily, who had been scrutinizing the man's pale, haggard face, his bloodshot eyes, his utterly despairing, broken, yet firmly resolute look. She, too, had been surprised and deeply pained by his words and actions. "Nothin', Miss Emily," he answered, turning toward her, his face working with emotion he vainly strove to control; "nothin'. I--Miss Emily--the ship----" "What of the ship?" cried the admiral, suddenly. "It's almost gone, your honor. I came to ask the leftenant to go down with me an' take another look at it." "Certainly, Barry," cried Richard, springing to his feet, eager to do anything for the old man, and anxious to terminate a scene painful to all of them, although he could not tell why. "I shall be back in a few moments, Emily, mother. Good-by. Come along, man," he said, striding lightly down the path. But Barry lingered in apparent reluctance at the foot of the steps. He seemed wistful to say something, but words failed him. He turned to go, stopped, faced about again.