rousing the Russian for his share. When it came to his turn to drink he paused and, with one scarred arm resting across his knee, looked out across the sea mystically. He turned quickly toward the women, after several minutes.

"I wish to say a word to you, Miss Granville," he said in the quiet low tone which seemed to be invariably his manner of speaking. His glance rested on her but for a moment, and then passed to Elsie. "And to you, too, Mrs. Moore: I want you both to know that I am very sorry that this terrible thing has happened to you. Yet women can be brave. I have met brave men, but never any braver than you two women at this moment. Because you are brave I have chosen to speak to you as I am doing. I want you to feel—to know that I appreciate your trying position. I will endeavor to make things as easy as I can for you—so you may not be ashamed—as I should wish my mother and my sister to go unashamed. We may be together only a short time—maybe a very long while. Long or short, every one of us is going to be called upon to show the utmost patience and forbearance—fortitude. God willing, we will pull through and I will give my life willingly to that end at any moment. If I should be taken from you——" A sob from the Shanghai woman interrupted him. "No; one never knows what may happen. There is Chang, and you may trust him as I expect you to trust me—implicitly. A moment ago you saw something——" His glance went to the Russian, and Emily understood. "That was necessary, but I don't wish you to understand this to be an apology—or an explanation. I think I did wrong in not letting that man drown—in not killing him." Emily turned her face away with a shudder. "You may think of me as you please. It is immaterial, but obedience I will have and must have from every soul here." A harshness as of a steel blade meeting a steel blade displaced the gentleness in his voice. "The sea is very treacherous—very treacherous. One must be in order to fight it. That is all."

Glancing up, Emily saw Lavelle gazing out over the water again, seemingly oblivious of the boat. The bearded man forward groaned. He sat up and the sight of his bruised and broken nose—his face swollen beyond resemblance to what it had been only a little while before—renewed in all its strength her feeling of revulsion against Lavelle. She grew sick at the thought of the brutish force of him who could maul a man like that with one blow.

CHAPTER VIII

That night at midnight, when Lavelle relieved Chang at the steering oar, the Chinaman told him that it was hopeless to go as they were going.

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