'You are very good,' said I; 'but I am afraid we shall have to get you to tranship us at the first opportunity.'
A shadow of temper, that was not a frown, and therefore I do not know well how to convey it, penetrated his smile.
'You will think over it,' said he. 'Time does not press. Yet we shall not find another port so convenient as Santa Cruz.'
As he pronounced these words Helga entered the cuddy. He instantly rose, bowing to her and smiling, but said no more than that he hoped shortly to join us on deck. He then entered his berth.
Helga approached me close, and studied my face for a moment or two in silence with her soft eyes.
'What is the matter, Hugh?' she asked.
I looked at her anxiously and earnestly, not knowing as yet how to answer her, whether to conceal or to tell her what had passed. I was more astonished than irritated, and more worried and perplexed than either. Here was an entanglement that might vastly amuse an audience in a comedy, but that, in its reality, was about as grave and perilous a complication as could befall us. With the velocity of thought, even while the girl's eyes were resting on mine and she was awaiting my reply, I reflected—first, that we were in the power of this Captain, in respect, I mean, of his detention of us, while his vessel remained at sea; next, that he had fallen in love with Helga; that he meant to win her if he could; that his self-complacency would render him profoundly hopeful, and that he would go on keeping us on board his craft, under one pretext or another, in the conviction that his chance lay in time, with the further help that would come to him out of her condition as an orphan and penniless.
'What is it, Hugh?'
The sudden, brave, determined look that entered the girl's face, as though she had scented a danger, and had girded her spirit for it, determined me to give her the truth.
'Come on deck!' said I.