"Christopher!" exclaimed Peggy, in such a heart-broken voice that her brother clasped her closer than ever as he said,—
"Indeed, indeed, I appreciate what you have all done, and risked for me, but I cannot run away."
"Then you care nothing for me compared with your flimsy honor."
"Nay, 'tis partly that I care so much for you that I must have a care of this flimsy honor, which is yours as well as mine. Philpotts, will you kindly put about that helm?"
Philpotts made a motion to obey; but Huntoon stopped him with a movement of his hand.
"Listen, Sir Christopher, I pray you," he said. "Of course I am a younger man, and you may resent my counselling you; but remember, I love your sister, and her honor and yours are no less dear to me than to you. I see the situation more clearly as a looker-on, and this is how it looks to me. There is no hope here and now of a fair trial. The Catholics are hot for the punishment of the murderer of a priest, and Calvert and Brent have already angered them by the leniency they have shown to Protestants. Give the matter but time to cool, and make sure of a fair hearing. That is all I ask."
Neville sat silent with his head bowed on his hands for an instant, then he spoke low but firmly,—
"Go! I must have time to think. Go you all below and give me the helm! When I have made up my mind, I will summon you, and my decision must stand. You, Huntoon, must give me back the oath I swore to obey you. This matter touches none so close as me, and in my hands it must be left. Go!"
Slowly and dejectedly the three conspirators crept into the cabin. There Romney and Peggy sat silent and expectant for what seemed an eternity. Ropes creaked, sails flapped on deck. Who could say what was passing? At length they heard a cheerful call of "All hands on deck!"
They rushed up the companionway and saw Christopher standing at the helm, his hair blown back and his hand grasping the helm, the tiller pushed far to port, and the ketch standing for St. Mary's.