But Leroyd grabbed his arm and strove to drag him back.
“Stop, man! ’tis not a human!” he gasped, his usually red face fairly pallid. “It’s the spirit of the poor girl. I knowed how ’twould be we’en we left her aboard the Success.”
Weeks shook off his grasp in contempt.
“I’m only too willing to meet such a charming ghost as this,” he said, with a smirk, smiling at the young girl. “Don’t be a fool, Jim. It is Miss Frank herself, though how she came here is the greatest of all mysteries.”
“’Tis the work o’ Davy Jones hisself,” muttered the sailor.
The other two men, both low browed, sullen appearing fellows looked on without comment.
“How did you get here?” repeated Weeks.
“We came from the Success just before she was about to sink,” Milly declared. “Did you come to save us?”
“Us?” cried Weeks, in utter amazement. “For goodness’ sake, who’s with you?”
“After poor papa was killed,” there was a little choke in Milly’s voice here, “a vessel overhauled the Success and a boy tried to save me. He brought a rope to the wreck, but it parted before we could haul in a heavier cable, and the gale swept the other vessel away during the night.”