"Look here, Barry," said the young man, quickly, but with great firmness, "you are rated a boatswain's mate in the United States navy, I believe, and as such I will have to caution you not to address me in this imperious way. There, man, hang it all, I oughtn't to have said that, perhaps," he continued, as he saw the man's face working with grief and rage. "You saved my life, you know, and the ship, I suppose, is dear to you, and I can well understand it. We'll say no more about it."

"I wish to G.o.d I hadn't," muttered the sailor, entirely unmollified.

"Well, now, that's rather ungracious of you; but, never mind, you did, and I can forgive an old salt a good deal; only there is one thing I must say: Miss Emily must not go aboard the ship any more. You can risk your life if you want to, but I won't have her risk hers; it's dangerous."

The old man noted the cool, proprietary note in the voice, and broke into fury; difference of rank and station quite obliterated from his perturbed mind.

"Mustn't, sir! Mustn't! I may be a bo's'n's mate, sir, an' you can command me, but you've got no call to say 'mustn't' to Miss Emily."

"Of course not; but I shall speak to the admiral. There, now, that will do. Keep cool. No harm's done. I have inspected the ship and shall report on her."

"What are you goin' to report, sir?"

"Well, by George! If you are not the most extraordinary blue-jacket I ever saw! What I report will be sent to the Secretary of the Navy. I do not publish it to the ship's crew. What's the matter with you, man?

Pull yourself together. You seem to be in a dreadful state."

"What are you goin' to do with the ship?" insisted Barry, savagely.

"I'm not going to do anything with her. I have been sent here to report on her, and I shall report."

The situation had become tense. The young officer felt that he had humored the sailor long enough; indeed, that he had allowed him far more freedom in his address than he would had given any one else.

Ignorant of the mainspring of the man's apparent antipathy to him, possessing no clew to the cause of it, unable to divine Barry's mental condition, he had been greatly surprised by his insolent and insulting conduct. It seemed to the lieutenant that his forbearance had reached its limit, and that something would have to give way. In another second there would have been trouble.

The state of affairs was relieved by the cause of it, for Emily appeared on the brow of the hill at that moment and called to the sailor. The old man instantly turned on his heel and, without deigning to notice the young man, walked toward her. Revere followed him promptly, and both men arrived at the top of the hill before her at the same moment.

By a violent effort the sailor had smoothed some of the pa.s.sion out of his face, though he still looked white and angry.

"What's the matter, Captain Barry?" she asked, noticing his altered visage.

The man stood silent before her, not trusting himself to speak, especially as it would have been difficult to a.s.sign a tangible cause for his feelings, real though they were.

"I think I can tell you, Miss Emily," said Revere, pleasantly. "I have been inspecting the ship, and the man has not liked my opinion of her, I fancy."

"Captain Barry is very fond of the old ship, Mr. Revere," said Emily, quietly, "and I doubt not that any inspection of her hurts him."

The sailor looked at the girl gratefully, as a dog might have done.

The young man's heart went out to her, too, for her kindly championship of the older man. He was glad, indeed, that she had found a way to dispel his anger, for the lieutenant was a kind-hearted young fellow, and would have all others about him happy, especially in this beginning of his romance.

"Well," he said, generously, "perhaps I did speak rather harshly of the ship. You see I hardly realized how you all love the old thing, and indeed 'tis a fine, melancholy old picture."

"It always reminds me of grandfather and Captain Barry--old on the one hand, strong on the other," responded Emily, divining the instinct of consideration in his heart that had prompted Revere's words, and smiling graciously at him.

It was reward enough for him, he thought, as he returned her approving glance with interest.

"You called me, Miss Emily," said the uncompromising Barry, speaking at last. "Do you want me?"

"Yes; I am going over to the village, and I wish you to row me across the harbor."

"By no means, Miss Emily," broke in Revere, promptly. "I claim that honor for myself."

"Do you think you are quite strong enough to do it?"

"Strong enough!" he exclaimed. "Certainly I am! I should like nothing better. Besides, I have business in the town myself: I expect answers to some letters and my man with a portmanteau and some other clothes.

I should be delighted to row you to the village or anywhere."

"Well," said Emily, hesitating, "Captain Barry always rows me and----"

"All the more reason for giving him a rest; he is old and will be glad of this relief. Let the duty be performed by younger hands. Come, then, if you will allow me."

Barry stood silent during this little colloquy. His face, when Emily glanced at it, was as impa.s.sive as if he had been a stone image. He was putting great constraint upon himself, determined not to betray his feeling. If she could choose Revere, the acquaintance of a moment, and disregard him, the servant of years, let her do so. He would see.

Not by word or look would he try to influence her. If he had ever heard of the Spartan with the wolf at his vitals, he would have realized what the story meant then.

Now, Emily much preferred to have Revere row her; he was a much more congenial companion than the grim, silent sailor. There was a sympathy, already an affection, developing between them which made her greatly enjoy his society. She would not have hesitated a moment, therefore, but for a certain understanding of the feeling entertained for her by the sailor. Not a sufficient comprehension, however, to amount to an a.s.surance, but a deep enough realization to give her pause. What woman is there without that much comprehension? But when she saw Barry standing before her, impa.s.sive, stern, apparently indifferent, her hesitation left her for the moment, and, bidding the sailor inform her grandfather of her departure, she turned and descended the hill, followed by the lieutenant.

As the two walked away the tension on the man was released or broken.

He stood trembling, looking after them. A flower which Emily had been wearing had fallen upon the walk. In other days he would have picked it up and carried it carefully to the ship as a priceless treasure.

Now he ground it brutally under his heavy heel and stared at them, almost unconscious of his action, quivering with voiceless rage.

Presently he went up to the old admiral, sitting dreaming on the porch, and, having mastered himself somewhat again, delivered his message.

Out in the harbor the little skiff, the same by means of which Revere's life had been saved, danced merrily along.

"I like to see the young people together, Barry," said the old man, gazing after them. "'Twas a fortunate gale that wrecked him at our door. We shall be going soon, you and I and the ship, and who will take care of Emily then? Perhaps----"

He spoke slowly and he did not finish the sentence, yet the concluding thought was perfectly plain to the sailor.

He raged over it as he returned to the ship.

CHAPTER XII

BROKEN RESOLUTIONS

For the preliminary stages in the making of love there is scarcely anything that is so delightful and convenient as a small boat just large enough for two.

[Ill.u.s.tration: For the preliminary stages in the making of love there is scarcely anything that is so delightful ... as a boat just large enough for two]

Emily sat aft in the seat of honor, holding the yoke-lines and steering the skiff. In front of, and facing, her was Revere, with the oars, which, impelled by his powerful arms, afforded the motive power that speeded the boat on her way. He had been well trained, of course, and he rowed with the skill of a practised oarsman, a long, steady man-o'-war stroke, quick on the recover, delicate in the feather, deep and strong in the pull, which sent the boat flying over the water.

It was a sunny, delightful morning. The breeze blew soft over the harbor, and the water, rippling, bubbling, and lipping around the prow, made music suited indeed to words of love and beating hearts.

Yet what they said was commonplace enough, after all. They did not say anything, in fact, for a few moments after they had pushed off from the little wharf. Revere was quite content to drink in the exquisite beauty of the young girl reclining in the stern-sheets before him.

He marked the freshness and sweetness of her face, the graceful curves of her vigorous, yet lissome, young body, and her dainty feet--the admiral was too thorough an aristocrat not to see his granddaughter well booted--peeping out from beneath the hem of her cool, flowing muslin skirt before him. From under her quaint, old-fashioned bonnet--a species of poke in vogue a year or two before--her blue eyes fearlessly and happily returned the ardent and admiring glances of his own. Lest the silence should prove embarra.s.sing to her, however, and noticing, at last, that she dropped her eyes before him, he said,--

"I'd give a penny for your thoughts, Miss Emily, if I thought the coin would prove the open sesame to your mind."

"I was only thinking how beautifully you row, and wondering----"