"Enough," she gasped—"enough, uncle—say no more."
"Dear niece, be calm!"
"Nay—do not think Grace Fitzgerald is not herself," she said, with forced calmness. "Uncle!"
"My dear child!" he answered, folding her to his heart.
"Give it me!"
"Oh God!" groaned the earl, overcome with the full realization of the evil that threatened her. "Must it be, my child?"
"It must. Give me the dagger," she added, with energy. "I will not now shrink from it—it may yet be, next to Heaven, my best friend."
"Take it, heroic girl—but our danger may not be so great—we may yet conquer! I feel, when I look on you, and reflect on your helpless state, the might of a host in my single arm. Ha! there is a gun. I must leave you for a while. Remain in your stateroom, and both you and your maid be careful to lie on the floor below the line of shot. God bless you, my child! Your presence alone should ensure the salvation of the ship."
He embraced her with almost parental affection, tenderly forced her to enter her stateroom, and closed the door. Then arming himself from his luggage with a brace of pistols, and buckling on his sword, he hurried to the deck as the report of a second gun came booming over the sea.
"She has fired, captain?" he said, as he joined the commander on the quarter-deck, who was looking to windward with his glass.