The thought moved him to a sudden tenderness. As his eyes fell upon the gay, debonair figure walking so carelessly by his side, he hesitated. For a moment his determination wavered. Revere did not look or act like a scoundrel, perhaps; but with equal swiftness came the terrible evidence of those papers, those damning papers in the locker! The ship, the maiden! The one was to be sold, the other betrayed. Under God, that should never be! And he had kissed her. He was bound to another. And she loved him and had wept before him. This trifler was breaking her heart. Every laugh that rang in his ears in his changed mood added intensity to his malign purpose. He was no murderer, though. He believed himself a chosen instrument in God's hand to effect a mighty purpose,--salvation to those he loved. Alas! humanity is never so hopelessly blind as when it does wrong, believing that God sanctions it for some longed-for end. The two men stopped as they reached the ship. "It's just here, sir," said the old sailor, hoarsely. "I've been examinin' her all mornin'. The supports is rottin' away. I think a touch'll send her down. Would you mind goin' in there an' takin' a look?" He pointed toward a place on the keel enclosed between two rows of weather-worn timbers, which supported, or helped to support, the body of the ship. It was the place where, the night before, he and Emily had pledged their hearts to each other and solemnly plighted their troth. Revere recognized the spot, of course, with a thrill of recollection; but of course he made no mention of the fact. Barry knew it, however, and for that reason he had chosen it. The choice was part of his revenge. Where Revere had loved--or trifled--there he should die! "Looks bad, doesn't it?" Revere said, walking into the _cul-de-sac_ so carefully prepared for him, and stooping down and laying his finger on the mouldering keel. Barry promptly followed him and stood between the outermost stanchions, barring the exit. The unconscious Revere was completely enclosed. The keel on the rotting ways was in front of him, on either side the close rows of supports, overhead the mighty floor of the ship, back of him the huge form of Captain Barry. He suspected nothing, however,--how should he?--until he turned to go back after his brief examination, when he was greatly surprised to find the way blocked. His situation beneath the ship was such that he could not even stand upright, but was forced to remain in a crouching position of great disadvantage before the sailor. The old man stood with his arms extended from stanchion to stanchion, a perfect tower of strength and determination. It was useless for Revere, even if he had realized at that moment what was about to happen, to attempt to move him by force. In his weakened state he could do nothing. Even at his best he was no match for the huge old giant barring his way.