Clearly there was little hope to be placed in the minister. But Dorothy made one more appeal.
“You could refuse to perform the ceremony,” she suggested, tearfully.
“And so I shall,” promised Mr. Willoughby. “If I must,” he added, with quickly following repentance. “But to what end? Captain Forbes is a sea-captain, and as such can perform marriages at sea. Whether he can marry himself is doubtful. But I know him; he will settle the doubt in his own favor and marry you willy-nilly. I—I really think that you had best submit. Since you have to stay here, you cannot occupy a better place than as Captain Forbes’s wife.”
“But I don’t have to stay. I won’t stay. Mr. Howard promised——” She stopped and bit her lip. “I see you cannot help me, Mr. Willoughby,” she finished. “Good morning.”
The minister sneaked away, and Prudence Gallegher crept in, weak, ill, and frightened, to add her mite to the weight that was crushing Dorothy’s heart.
“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, glancing fearfully behind her from time to time. “Oh, I’m so sorry. But—but hadn’t you better marry Cap’n Forbes? Nobody will dare to hurt him, and—and—you won’t be handed on from one to another as I was.”
This sort of thing, kept up almost without cessation for twenty-four hours, drove Dorothy almost to distraction. As four o’clock drew near, her condition grew pitiful. In vain she looked for a means of escape. If any had offered she would have taken it instantly, facing without hesitation the terrors of the foodless desert in the heart of the wreckage. But none did offer. Always she was surrounded by jailers. She could see no hope anywhere—nothing to do but resist till the last, and then—— What then? What should she do then? What could she do? One weak girl beset by a score of men. Her brain reeled at the thought.
Eight bells rang out, and Joe appeared at the door.
“Cap’n Forbes says as how will you an’ Mother Joyce please step on deck, miss,” he petitioned.