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.
"Poor old ship!" continued the girl, mournfully, as she dabbled her sunburnt but shapely hand in the water; "when it goes, grandfather will go, Captain Barry will go, and I will be left—alone."
"No, no!" he exclaimed, softly, all his resolution gone in the face of the powerful yet innocent appeal. "Not alone, for I——"
"That girl?" she interrupted, meaningly.
"What girl?" impatiently.