"Better not," said the voice. "Mind, I've got a gun pointing straight at you."
"Point it downwards, there's a good girl," said Mr. Travers, earnestly; "and take your finger off the trigger. If anything happened to me you'd never forgive yourself."
"It's all right so long as you don't move," said the voice; "and I'm not a girl," it added, sternly.
"Yes, you are," said the prisoner. "I saw you. I thought it was an angel at first. I saw your little bare feet and—"
A faint scream interrupted him.
"You'll catch cold," urged Mr. Travers.
"Don't you trouble about me," said the voice, tartly.
"I won't give any trouble," said Mr. Travers, who began to think it was time for the boatswain to appear on the scene. "Why don't you call for help? I'll go like a lamb."
"I don't want your advice," was the reply. "I know what to do. Now, don't you try and break out. I'm going to fire one barrel out of the window, but I've got the other one for you if you move."
"My dear girl," protested the horrified Mr. Travers, "you'll alarm the neighbourhood."