The other fellows were under control of the mate, careful of his job. I was in despair, and in my despair I threw myself upon Dunbar, demanding that he desist. He struck me down with a blow, and while I was in a half-comatose condition, I saw a white-clad figure emerge from the companion, and approach the contestants. It was Ella, in her night robe, pale and weak, but determined.
"John," she said, as she laid her hand on the shoulder of Dunbar, "John Dunbar. Stop. If you do this I will die, too. Do you want to kill me? Stop, or you will kill me. Stop, John Dunbar, and think of me, the woman you say you loved."
Dunbar released his hold on Lance, and while the terror-stricken scoundrel rushed to the companion, he turned toward the girl, his face twisting with the conflicting emotions of his brain. I staggered to my feet, reached her side and supported her.
"John Dunbar," she continued, "you are too big, and strong, and brave, to do this thing—to kill yourself so that you may kill another. Live, so that I may live, too. God will care for him."
Dunbar shook like a man with the ague, and it was some time before he could control his voice in answer.
"I can live," he stammered, "for you. But, is it possible? You love him."
"I do not. He killed my child—his child."
Dunbar stiffened up and looked around.
"Mr. Wright," he called to the first mate. "Put the owner in irons and lock him in his room."
"Aye, aye, sir," answered the officer.