“Miss Hatherton is the promised wife of Griffith Hawke,” I answered hoarsely; “and Griffith Hawke is my superior officer. I am acting under his orders, and I dare not betray my trust. I am a man of honor, and not a knave. I scorn your suggestion, sir.”
“Do you call it honorable,” sneered the captain, “to help this innocent girl, whose heart belongs to you, to marry another man?”
I looked at him with some confusion for, to tell the truth, I had no answer ready to my lips. And just then Hiram Bunker strode up to us, his countenance unusually grave.
“It’s going to be a nasty night, or I’m no mariner,” he exclaimed. “There’s a storm brewing, and we are perilously near the coast. I don’t like the prospect a bit, gentlemen.”
Captain Rudstone made some fitting reply, but I was in no mood to heed the skipper’s words, or to give a second thought to the prophecy of a storm. I left the two together, and with my brain in a whirl I crept down to the seclusion of my cabin.
CHAPTER IX.
AT THE MERCY OF THE SEA.
For an hour or more I sat on the edge of my berth, pondering the matter first in one way and then in another. The captain’s plain speech had opened my eyes, as it were, and as I recalled many little incidents of the past, looking at them now in their true light, I saw that I had indeed been dull-witted and slow of comprehension. I had won Flora’s heart—she returned my affection. That was the meaning of her frequent blushes and confusion—signs which I had interpreted as indifference when I thought of them at all.