sailor, Miss Norman, for we are heading into rough weather, and we haven’t much beam.” “I love the sea!” “Hang it, you and I shan’t have any trouble! Good-night.” Cunningham limped to the door, where he turned and eyed the elder Cleigh, who was stirring his coffee thoughtfully. Suddenly the rogue burst into a gale of laughter, and they could hear recurrent bursts as he wended his way to the companion. When this sound died away Cleigh turned his glance levelly upon Jane. The stone-like mask 134 dissolved into something that was pathetically human. 134 “Miss Norman,” he said, “I don’t know what we are heading into, but if we ever get clear I will make any reparation you may demand.” “Any kind of a reparation?”—an eager note in her voice. Dennison stared at her, puzzled, but almost instantly he was conscious of the warmth of shame in his cheeks. This girl wasn’t that sort—to ask for money as a balm for the indignity offered her. What was she after? “Any kind of reparation,” repeated Cleigh. “I’ll remember that—if we get through. And somehow I believe we shall.” “You trust that scoundrel?” asked Cleigh, astonishedly. “Inexplicably—yes.” “Because he happens to be handsome?”—with frank irony. “No.” But she looked at the son as she spoke. “He said he never broke his word. No man can be a very great villain who can say that. Did he ever break his word to you?” “Except in this instance.” “The beads?” “I am quite confident he knows where they are.” 135 135
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