Van Gaff, well past his fortieth year and now confidential agent of the Great Lakes Salvage Company, was on what he mentally described as the assignment of his life. He knew that if he succeeded in this present mission he would be regarded as one of the greatest salvage hustlers on the lakes.
He had carefully laid his plans, and in his mind he foresaw their culmination. Already he considered that he held within his grasp the fortune he had gone out to seek. In his wallet were checks which called for one hundred thousand dollars. Van Gaff was to spend that much, if necessary. With it he was to purchase a treasure-ship which had been lost a decade before, with half a million dollars' worth of ingot copper in her hold. He was to get her for a song if he could; and, if necessary, he was to lie to conceal the fact that his company had discovered the vessel, deep-sunk in the edge of Georgian Bay. These were the instructions of the head men at Buffalo.
For an hour Van Gaff had been comfortably ensconced in one of the cabins of the Belle Isle, Captain James Falkner in command, upbound for the Soo. He smoked incessantly, and as he smoked he pictured again the tragic story of the copper-ship. Of course, he had all of the facts at his tongue's-end. The vessel had disappeared after a daybreak mutiny during which the master had been dangerously wounded before he had a chance to observe the ship's position—before he could realize the need to do so—and no man of her crew had ever returned to tell of the fate that had overtaken her. Then had come the unavailing search by the man who owned the ship and the red metal in her. That man, he had been told, was now living in comparative poverty at the Soo. Perhaps Van Gaff could buy him out for a few thousand.
Up out of the pearl-grey mist of the morning came the copper-ship. In her hold was a treasure in red metal from the Michigan mines. Near her wheel lay a dead man. Amidships a group of sailors, armed with knives and pistols, stood half faltering, facing the captain's cabin. In that cabin kneeled Jimmy Bosworth, and beside him, her face white with fear, was the girl for whom he was risking his life.
Captain Jimmy's face was red with blood. A trail of it led to the barred door, and between his knees a pool of it had gathered. The man's pistol hand trembled weakly as he levelled his blue-steel revolver.
"I guess they ain't coming any farther, Mi-Miss Williams," he faltered. The man was scarcely conscious of his terrible wound. He knew that he was losing blood quite freely, and the objects around him were very slowly fading away. If he had known more, he would not have turned.
The girl's pale face became whiter still as she looked at Captain Jimmy. But the young man failed to notice it.
"You must let me tie up your head, Captain—"
Something choked back the words. If Captain Jimmy could have used his eyes well he would have seen that the girl was crying. But Jimmy was losing himself. He knew that the treasure-mad crew were outside preparing to take his life and hers, and that the girl near him was the owner's daughter. Beyond that he only knew that he must shoot through the door when he heard the sound of feet. He had great reason for keeping this in mind and for battling against the weakness that was overpowering him. From the time they had played together as little children Captain Jimmy had loved this girl. When he was given his first ship, only a few months before, he had asked her if he might still love her and hope some day to call her his wife. The girl's answer had nearly broken his heart.
Now she was going to Detroit, in his care, and he must take her there safely.
A sudden sound outside brought the wounded man to his senses. Men were approaching. Captain Jimmy could hear their feet and the voice of one of them talking. They came in a clumsy, stumbling way, as though bearing a heavy object, and though the man with the revolver could scarcely grasp the true situation, the girl beside him did.
"Jim—Jim—they're going to knock down the door!" she cried.
The captain seemed to hear and comprehend as though just awakening from a sleep. One word burned in his brain, and that was his own name. He knew that the girl had called him Jim, and that, as he levelled his revolver, a supporting arm encircled his shoulder and a warm little hand grasped his own. That encouraged him, and he fired. The girl saw a tiny black spot come like a lightning flash in the panel of the cabin door, and in an instant another bullet bit its way through, a few inches below. From outside there came a cry of pain, then the falling of a heavy object; and Captain Jimmy leaned back against the girl with a faint smile. "I guess I fixed one of 'em," he said. "Oh, God, how I wish I could see!"
"You must let me bind your head," replied the girl softly. She lowered the man gently to the floor and hurriedly wet a towel in a pail of water. Her beautiful eyes grew big with agony as she bathed away the blood. She felt certain that Captain Jimmy would never see again. As she tied the towel around the wound the man struggled feebly to a sitting posture.
"I can't see t' shoot," he pleaded; "please take—"
The girl's hands helped to support him where he sat. "Jim," she whispered, "do you remember how you taught me to shoot with the old horse-pistol when we were children? Well, I'm going to do the shooting now!" She caught up the big revolver, cocked it, and laid it beside her on the floor. Then she put her arms around Captain Jimmy and gently drew him back against the wall.
"It's a good thing I've got the only big gun aboard," said the captain, as if talking to himself. "If I 'adn't they'd soon get our range through the door."
The ship-owner's daughter picked up the revolver again, and, steadying her arm over the back of a chair, levelled it coolly at the black spots Captain Jimmy had made. Outside there was an ominous quiet. The girl listened for a time; then she said, without taking her glance from the little spots: "Jim, why didn't you let them kill me? They would not have hurt you; they wanted you to join them."
The blinded man groped out with his hands. The girl heard his move, but did not look behind. "Mildred, ain't I—ain't I fought for you a hundred times—when we were kids?"
This time the girl turned and looked down upon the huddled figure against the wall. Her face was wet with tears, but there was a smile upon her lips and a look in her eyes that would have made Captain Jimmy's heart leap with joy could he have seen them.
"You were my hero then—and now."
There came a rap on the door as if some one were tapping it with a long stick. The big revolver wavered for a moment between the two black spots; and then a third came, to the right and a little high. Before the girl could fire again a voice called from the deck.
"Don't shoot ag'in, Cap'n Bosworth, I want t' talk with y'!" Captain Jimmy recognized his mate's voice. "We want t' give y' one more chance, Cap'n. We'll give y' a third of the copper aboard if y'll jine us 'n' give up th' girl."
Mildred felt something touch her arm. It was the captain's hand. He groped blindly for a moment. "Milly—Milly—please give me th' gun!" he whispered. "Will y' answer, Cap'n Bosworth?" came the voice from outside. "Th' girl's got t' go down with th' ship. We've got our reckonin', 'n' nobody kin salvage the copper but us. If y' don't jine us, we'll send y' t' hell along o' th' girl—"
"Please—please give me th' gun, Milly!" almost sobbed Captain Jimmy. He reached up, a pathetic figure, swaying weakly on his knees. In place of the revolver the girl put one of her hands in his and then she fired again through the panel of the door.
There came a yell of rage from outside.
"Curse y'! If that's yer answer, Cap'n Bosworth, we'll send y' t' hell with pleasure."
The girl smiled. Her white teeth gleamed between her red lips and her bosom rose and fell with excitement. But she was taking courage from Captain Jimmy. She listened for a sound outside that might guide another shot, but in place of that there came a throbbing of the floor under her feet, and, in a sudden spasm, the wounded man almost crushed the little hand he held.
"They're stopping th' engines!" he exclaimed. "Here—" Captain Jimmy held up a box of cartridges. The girl took them and counted out six while her companion broke the breech of the gun. After she had reloaded the weapon, the owner's daughter tiptoed to the door and for a full minute stood with her ear against it. When she came back the captain was figuring on his fingers and his lips were moving. The girl watched him. In the excitement of the last hour her hair had become loosened and now it fell in rich waves around her shoulders. As she leaned quietly over, attempting to catch the murmur from Captain Jimmy's lips, a mass of it tumbled about the man's face and he caught it in his hands before she could move away.
The girl gently drew her hair away.
"What were you doing, Jim?" she asked.
Captain Jimmy sank back on the floor.
"Excuse—me—Miss Mildred," he mumbled Almost fiercely the girl bent over again so that her hair swept the man's face. But Jimmy did not touch it. "I was figurin' where we were," he continued "If you get away, Miss Mildred, tell your father they scuttled th' ship somewhere on a line b'tween Hammond's Bay 'n' Grand Manitoulin Island. I reckon she'll go down in—fifteen fathom—-"
In a moment the girl was upon her knees beside him.
Captain Jimmy raised a hand to his head.
"I'm burning up!" he gasped. "I shouldn't wonder, Miss Milly—" He slowly wavered and fell back. With a cry of agony the girl caught him in her arms. "Oh, my God—Jim—Jim, my darling—" She pressed her lips passionately upon the dead-white face against her breast, but Captain Jimmy did not know it. For a few minutes the owner's daughter held him pressed to her, sobbing over him, kissing his hair and beseeching the man to speak. "I love you, Jim—I love you—I love you—" she repeated again and again. "I love you—I love you—oh, I love you so!"
Captain Jimmy was dreaming. He dreamed that his boyhood sweetheart had not refused him, and that she had become his wife. It was a long dream, but the same thing over and over again, and so pleasant that he thought he was always smiling. When he awoke again somebody was bathing his head in cold water, and he sighed deeply.
"Are you feeling better, Jim?" asked a voice.
Captain Jimmy came to his senses with a powerful effort. "I feel better, Miss Mildred—I guess I've been sleeping!" The man straightened. Then he sniffed the air. He seemed to be in a different atmosphere—hot, stifling. A crackling sound rilled his ears, too, and he staggered to his knees, the girl's arm supporting him.
"Milly—" His voice was full of inquiry.
"It's the ship, Jim," she whispered. "She's sinking, and they've set fire to her, too. They left nearly an hour ago. You and I are the only ones aboard, Jim."
The girl spoke in a calm, sweet voice. She brushed back Captain Jimmy's hair and half bent over as if to kiss him, but caught herself and only smiled into his sightless face. "I tried to pull you out," she continued, "but I couldn't."
Captain Jimmy staggered to his feet. He was stronger, but his eyes burned terribly. "You wouldn't leave me, then—"
The two made their way slowly to the cabin door, the girl straining to hold up half of the man's weight. Jimmy reached out and drew the bolt. As the door opened a breath of hot air struck him in the face and his nostrils were filled with smoke. For a moment he stood there and listened. There was no sound of the sea lapping the ship's sides. There was no singing of the wind in the spars overhead. All was lost in a sullen rumbling that seemed to freeze Captain Jimmy's blood.
"She's burning deep down," he said. "The fire ain't more'n amidships in the hold. I don't believe there's any danger—yet." Captain Jimmy lied bravely. The girl knew that he was lying and looked at him as though she would have liked to take him in her arms again.
"I don't believe there is either, Jim."
But the girl could see. Away aft, the cook's cabin, and everything behind it, was a mass of flames. Out of the midship hatch poured a cloud of smoke and now and then a column of fire shot out with it. Even as the two stood there, hand in hand, there came a jarring explosion under their feet.
"Milly, I must see—I must see!" cried the captain. He tried to pull the towel from his eyes, but the ship-owner's daughter stopped him.
"You mustn't take it off, Jim," she pleaded. "It will blind you if you do. And there's nothing that you can do. The boats are gone. There were only two life-preservers in your cabin and—" The girl caught herself suddenly. Captain Jimmy had now noticed the preserver about his waist, and he began to fumble at it. Again his hands were caught in those of his companion.
"They're on—I mean it's on all right, Jim!"
There was something almost pleading in the girl's voice. The man straightened as if he had been struck a blow. He reached out, but the girl eluded him. Once more he groped and caught her by the arm. With all his strength he pulled her to him. "You've put them both on me, Milly!" His voice trembled with excitement. "You've put them both on me—"
It seemed as if his old strength had returned to him. He held the girl in a grip that hurt her as be worked one of the life-preservers over his head and then slipped it over the shoulders of the owner's daughter. When it was done he was conscious of a great pain in his head and a sudden weakness.
"Milly—I—I—didn't think y'd play me like that!" he gasped.
There came a detonation from under their feet and a pillar of fire leaped out of the midship hatch. Nothing else in the world sounds like the rumbling of fire in a ship's hold. For a time there is a rolling, muffled roar, punctuated by explosions which become louder as the fire grows hotter. Then the end comes like a powder-flash, and instead of a smouldering hulk, a thing hidden in flames rolls upon the sea. It was not the first time that Captain Jimmy had heard that sound under his feet, and he knew that the end was not far away. He measured the throbbing of the deck and could tell that the fire had passed the midship hatches and was burning forward like a furnace. Unperceived by the girl, he drew the towel down from his eyes. There came a stinging, biting pain as the smoke and heat touched his wound—but no sight. He put the towel back, and from deep down in his soul there struggled a faint cry of anguish. "My God—I—I—wish I could see!"
The girl turned to him again. "You'll see after a time, but you mustn't lift the bandage, Jim," she said. She took the man by his hand and led him around the end of the cabin. A steady pillar of fire now poured out of the midship hatch, and the owner's daughter held up her skirt to protect Captain Jimmy's face from the heat as she slowly led him into the bow.
"Is the for'rd boat gone, Milly?" he asked.
"They threw them overboard, Jim."
Captain Jimmy caught hold of the ship's rail as the girl brought him to it and leaned over. He could smell the clouds of smoke that were pouring from somewhere along the water-line. "Oh, God, if I could only see!" he cried again.
"What would you do, Jim—what would you do?" The girl caught him eagerly by the arm. "Be my captain, Jim—and I'll be the crew! I can do anything—"
"Wood and a rope," cried the man. "Milly, has the fire reached the cabin?"
"Then take me back!" almost shouted Captain Jimmy. "We must have th' table—and there's a rope under it!",
"Stay here, Jim, and I'll get them!" In an instant the girl had gone. Captain Jimmy shouted for her to return, then groaned and waited as he received no reply.
Abaft the midship hatch the copper-ship was now wreathed in flames. The muffled thunder under the deck was lost in the crackling, snapping roar of the superstructure, and the heat that came from it almost stifled the girl as she bowed her head and plunged into the smothering clouds of smoke. Almost blindly she felt her way along the side of the cabin until she came to the door. The room was filled with smoke, and in one corner of it lurid tongues of flame were licking their way up to the wall from the bursting door. Almost sobbing for breath, she caught up the rope, ran to the door and flung it forward. She heard a shout from Captain Jimmy—a shout that had in it warning and terror— but she hurried back again without losing a gasp of breath in reply— One end of the cabin was spreading into a sheet of flame. The girl could feel her face blistering in its heat, but she tugged at the long table and dragged it foot by foot toward the cabin door. Each moment her strength seemed going. She knew that she was suffocating, almost burning, but still she fought, with the deck crashing in half a dozen yards away and the cabin fire almost at her feet.
Out upon the deck she stumbled and fell. For a moment she felt as though she would like to lie there and rest; then came reason and one more effort to reach Captain Jim. The table dragged like lead. Through the smoke the fire seemed to be gaining upon the panting girl. It shot up until it wrapped the spars in a shrieking mass and the whole end of the ship went in with a thundering explosion. Around the ship the sea was turned into a boiling caldron and clouds of hot steam poured about the fighting girl. Her heart seemed bursting for want of air. One foot—two—three, inch by inch she made them! The girl heard shouts near her, but she could not answer. Then she backed into something, and was conscious that Captain Jimmy was there helping her, and she tugged all the harder—tugged—tugged—until the table slid out into the free air of the bow, and there she turned and put her arm around the man's neck.
"Oh, Jim—Jim—-" she whispered in a breaking sob.
Captain Jimmy held her close to him. He would have stood like that until the fire had utterly consumed him, but in a moment the girl took his arms away.
"We must hurry, Jim!" she said.
She caught up the rope from the deck and gave it to the man. With trembling hands Captain Jimmy cut it into three lengths. One of these he fastened around the girl's waist, another around his own, and then he tied the three ends to the table. The free end of the third rope he fastened to the rail of the ship. When this was done he lowered the table over the side, the girl helping bravely.
"You must climb down the rope, Milly," he said, "We're all tied together. We can't lose—" Another section of the deck crashed in behind them. With it there came another sound—a sound which Captain Jimmy had been straining his ears to catch since he had come to consciousness in the cabin. It was the rush of in pouring water. Captain Jimmy knew well that the last moments of the ship had arrived. "Quick—quick!" he cried.
His voice spoke their danger. The running of the water was changing into a hollow roar. In an instant the girl was over the side and her voice came up cheerfully to the man. "I'm here, Jim."
Captain Jimmy slipped over and swung down the rope. He bit hard on the handle of a knife between his teeth, and, as his partly submerged body rested in the water, he seized the knife in his hand and pressed its blade against the rope.
"I'm not only right—I'm comfortable," replied the girl.
The man pressed hard and the rope parted. Then he began working his feet and arms in the water and slowly the table drifted away. Each moment the roaring of the burning ship grew less distinct. Soon the noise of rushing water died away, and Captain Jimmy ceased to paddle. With difficulty he pulled himself half upon the table, and the girl put one of her arms around his shoulder.
He did not finish. Her eyes big with excitement and horror, the girl stared at the ship. The blazing stern shot up into the air, and like a hissing rocket the copper-ship sank into the sea. There went up a spout of milk-white steam, and then there came a rolling of the water under the table. After that there fell a strange quiet in the air, and Captain Jimmy's face was death-like as he turned it toward the sky that he would never see again.
"She's gone, Milly—" A boyish sob almost choked him. "She's gone— I've—lost—my—first—ship——"
In the path of the copper-ship that day there came a freighter, but it was many hours later. She picked up a young man and a younger woman— both badly burned and one blind—far from where the treasure craft had been scuttled.
From the experience of earlier days Van Gaff knew that a hungry man, or a man who is poor, will snatch at small things. He himself had done it in the days which had made him what some people called a misanthrope. He had been throttled, he had been held down by adversity until he was black in the face and while he was down everything that he had ever cared for had gone out of his life.
Then he had made a titanic struggle and had risen like a man with the soul burned out of him. He had been successful; he had made money; but the love for men and women had gone out of him. He lived because his heart persisted in beating, not because he found especial pleasure in it, and he worked hard because work seemed to be the only thing left for him to do.
It was this way with Van Gaff now. The story of the ill-fated copper- ship had aroused no enthusiasm in him. In fact, he was quite unresponsive to the romance in it. To-night, as on most other nights, he was in what he called the rut. His loneliness was with him, illimitable as ever, and he sat and brooded as he had done a thousand times before, and something in him went back yearningly to the days before the rut existed for him, when he was like other people and enjoyed himself as they did. From his thoughts he was aroused by the ringing of a telephone hanging against the wall of the cabin.
"Hello, Van Gaff, this is Falkner," he heard. "I want you to come over and join us in a game of poker. There's a—"
"Much obliged, Captain, but I'm feeling a little under the weather to- night," interrupted Van Gaff. "I—"
"There's a girl!" cut in the captain. "She asked me to invite you over, and I don't see how you're going to get out of it. We're waiting for you." The receiver at the other end went up with a bang and Van Gaff returned leisurely to his chair, a puzzled look in his face.
"What the—? A girl—poker—" he mused. The sullen dejection in his eyes was chased out by a gleam of humour. A vitally human spot in him had been touched. "Devilish funny," he smiled, lighting another cigar. "A girl—poker—in the captain's cabin!"
The idea tickled Van Gaff. "I wonder—" What he wondered he left unsaid, but there came into his face an expression of curiosity, of hesitancy, of doubt. "Guess I'll go," he chuckled. "Guess I'll see—-" He laced his shoes, rearranged his tie, brushed his hair and went on deck.
Jennings, the first officer of the ship, opened the door when Van Gaff knocked, and over his shoulder the newcomer saw Captain Falkner laughing down into the face of a girl sitting at one end of the cabin table.
The salvage agent was only a casual critic of women. He observed that this one, sitting under the glow of the electric light, had a glistening crown of brown hair and that her eyes, as they encountered his own for a moment, were dark. There was nothing unusual about her, it seemed to Van Gaff. She was pretty, but in a quiet sort of way, and mere prettiness had for a long time ceased to interest him.
"I thought you'd come, Van Gaff," said the captain, rising to shake hands. "It isn't often you have a chance to play poker with a pretty girl, eh?" He winked and laughed, Jennings joining in heartily. "Miss York," he cried, turning toward the girl, "this is Mr. Van Gaff, one of the swindlers attached to the Great Lakes Salvage Company. You'll like him!"
Van Gaff flushed, but the girl did not seem to notice. She looked up at him and smiled, and that smile, he thought, was one of the sweetest he had ever seen.
"I'm afraid Captain Falkner may give you a bad opinion of me," he said. He seated himself, facing the girl, while the others placed themselves at opposite sides of the table. The first officer began sorting out little piles of coloured chips, and while the captain dealt, Van Gaff repeated what he had said. The girl's only reply was another smile and the pressing of a pretty forefinger upon her lips.
"She doesn't like to talk to strangers," rumbled Jennings. "I think it's admirable!"
"Tush-h-h-h!" said the captain warningly.
Van Gaff felt the hot blood rushing into his face. He looked straight at the girl, and in her eyes there came a sudden shadow of perplexity. Her mouth formed itself into a red O and she shot a suspicious glance at the captain and then at Jennings. In a moment, catching up a small paper pad, she wrote a few words upon it and handed it to Van Gaff.
"Please don't think that I am rude," she had written. "Haven't they told you that I am deaf and dumb?"
For an instant Van Gaff's fingers closed tightly over the pad. In the rut he had learned to strike, and strike suddenly, and for that single instant he was filled with an intense desire to even up with the men beside him. He turned to the captain, who was smiling broadly. He could feel Jennings laughing silently at his other side. In another moment he would have responded to the spirit that was calling for physical action, but the girl had seen a flashlight struggle in his eyes, and now she reached out a hand and laid it gently upon his doubled fist. It was a touch that thrilled Van Gaff.
"I beg your pardon," he scribbled in his big, almost illegible hand. "I did not know."
The girl laughed over the table at him, and he wondered if he had exhibited bad taste in getting angry at an incident which was regarded by the others as a good joke.
"It's all my fault," apologized Jim Falkner, his good-humoured face red with merriment. "Miss York thought I had told you. But it was too good a chance, Van Gaff—too good—too good—"
The girl shot a warning glance at him as she picked up her cards. Van Gaff watched her intently. For a moment her long lashes lay almost upon her cheeks as she studied her hand, then her lips were pursed into that round, red O that was beginning to fascinate Van Gaff, and she pushed out a little pile of chips.
The salvage agent showed his interest. He realized that this girl, whom he had known but a few minutes, was tremendously appealing to him. Something in her reached out and set chords tingling in him which he thought had died for ever in the days of the rut.
Twice during the first few minutes of the game he forgot the significance of her silence and spoke to her. Each time the girl replied with a smile which seemed filled with sadness to Van Gaff, and which made him curse himself inwardly for his forgetfulness. For a time he failed to notice that she was playing a splendid game, and when Jennings called his attention to this and he saw that she possessed two-thirds of the chips upon the table, the warmth that had begun to glow in his heart received a sudden chill. He had his opinion of women poker-players.
He wished to ask a question of the captain, but feared that the girl would understand. By the changing lights in her eyes and the colour that would come and go in her face he at times thought she read what the others were saying by the movement of their lips. Once while looking hard at his cards he spoke in a low voice to the first officer, saying that Miss York reminded him of a young woman he had seen years before in a play. "But that girl was a professional gambler," he added, with a suggestive emphasis upon the last word.
When he looked across the table he saw that Miss York's face was flushed, and as the girl's eyes encountered his own there was a look in them which was almost accusing. Was it possible that she understood? He would be frank—and ask her. In black and white the question seemed impertinent and in bad taste, but he pushed the writing across to her and watched her closely while she read it.
"Sometimes a deaf-and-dumb person understands without hearing," she wrote equivocally.
A little later the girl nodded toward the cabin clock, signifying that it was time for her to retire. Before rising from the table she invited Van Gaff to escort her across the deck to her cabin, and when the two paused before her door she gave him one of her hands, smiling up into his face in a way that set the man's heart beating wildly. At that moment the memory of his old life went out of him. He forgot the copper-ship, the big checks, and the man at the Soo. His lips burned with words which he crushed back.
After he had returned to his room he was sorry that he had not in some way let the girl know what was in his mind. He might have written in her tablet, he might have—-But he immediately reproached himself for allowing this second thought to come into his head.
It occurred to him then that perhaps he was making a fool of himself. A dozen times he asked himself why he should be so interested in this girl. He had known her less than two hours; she was deaf and dumb—and she played poker. These were things which would have fatally prejudiced Van Gaff a short time before. But now something had risen in revolt in his soul, he acknowledged to himself that a new interest had come into his life, and that he was experiencing sensations which were pleasing and which thrilled him with a desire to be near the girl again.
When the salvage agent awoke in the morning his first thought was of the girl. For an hour he lingered over his breakfast, hoping that she would join him. He talked of her to the captain, who told him simply that Miss York lived at the Soo and that her father was a friend whose good opinion he cherished, but that he had not seen much of the girl and, consequently, knew little of her. Beyond this information Jim Falkner was so reticent that Van Gaff was made to feel the impertinence of his questions. A little later he went to his cabin and through his window watched for the girl's appearance on deck When she came from her room he hurried out to meet her.
"I've been watching for you all the morning!" he cried. "I—" He caught himself, the girl laughing at his forgetfulness. Her face was so filled with sweetness that Van Gaff's confusion was banished in an instant.
He led her deep into the midship and leaned with her over the rail of the vessel with the nearest eyes two hundred feet away. He pointed out the beauties of the lake to her, and she understood him and mutely thanked him with her eyes; he made two trips to his cabin to bring cushions and chairs, and then for an hour he sat beside her and fell deeper and deeper in love with her. As he watched the beautiful colour in her face, the changing lights in her eyes, and the pouting expressions of her red mouth, Van Gaff knew that everything that had been in his life had now given place to this girl. The thought of her great affliction only added to his passion. It brought her nearer to him, for in a way they were both unfortunate; it made him feel that there existed between them something which made up for the briefness of their acquaintanceship. He wrote this for his companion, and she asked him to explain. It was a big thing for Van Gaff to do. It called for the old, long story of the man in the rut. He pencilled it, bit by bit, and the girl urged him on.
When he had done he wrote under the last words: "I am going to tell you something now which may make you angry. In one night I learned to love you—and I never loved another living creature in my life—except a dog."
In a moment the colour left the girl's cheeks, and when she raised her eyes slowly to Van Gaff's her face was as white as the little flower at her throat. The man's whole soul shone in his eyes, and it seemed to him as though his heart for the moment had ceased to beat. An arm's distance away was the only salvation the earth seemed to hold for him. This girl had dragged him from his old life—she could hold him from it for ever. Without her he knew that he would fall again, deeper than before, and he half stretched out his arms, his lips forming words of entreaty.
The girl seemed almost on the point of speaking. Her lips trembled, she seemed struggling to give sound to the words she wished to say, and Van Gaff leaned eagerly toward her as though he expected to hear her voice. In the face of his ardour she lowered her eyes and wrote in her tablet.
"You would not have said that if you had known more about me," he read. "I have accepted your friendship, but in allowing you to tell me that you love me, I deceived you—deceived you so shamefully that I am afraid to tell you how."
His eyes glowed and his face was filled with a white, tense earnestness, as he wrote the reply. "Deception has been a part of my life. Sometimes deception is necessary, as it has been with me; then it is not a sin, but just. That is my eleventh commandment, and by obeying it I have made the world give me the little that I would not otherwise have had. At this moment I am obeying it." He was thinking of the copper-ship and the man at the Soo.
"Are you deceiving me?" wrote the girl.
In a moment he had launched himself into the story of the copper-ship. Briefly, strongly, he described wherein his deception lay, and the girl read while he wrote, her face so near to his own that at times he could feel her hair blowing against his cheek. Before he had done she drew back, and when Van Gaff looked up she was standing, her eyes big and staring, as though she had been frightened.
"I must think over what you have said," she wrote when he had returned the tablet. "I must go to my cabin. You may see me again—soon." She gave him her hand, and Van Gaff held it for a moment between both of his own.
He made no attempt to detain her after that. He watched her as she walked into the forward deck. For the first remembered time in his life Van Gaff was happy. In the beginning he had steeled himself against disappointment. He had feared that the girl would regard his attentions and words as impertinent, if not insulting. But she had accepted both, and there was something in her way of receiving them that made his heart throb with hope.
He loved her with the sincerity of a man in whom the great passion was burning for the first time, and he did not go beyond this fact. Only in a vague sort of way did he wonder how she had deceived him. He believed that he had guessed something of her secret the night before, and he felt assured that the captain could explain to him if he so desired. But he did not care for explanations now. The girl had become a part of his life, a part vitally necessary to his future, and nothing could keep him from loving her.
Anxiously he awaited her reappearance. But the girl's dinner was served in her cabin, and as hour after hour passed and she did not come out on deck Van Gaff's suspense became acute. Late in the afternoon he received a note in which she said that she was suffering from a headache and that she was sorry she could not see him until the next day.
The salvage agent was up early the following morning. He had not noticed that the ship's engines had ceased to throb beneath his feet, and when he came on deck and saw that the vessel was lying motionless in the smooth sea he was greatly surprised. The captain called down to him from the pilot-house.
"Guess we've fractured a shaft, Mr. Van Gaff." He pointed in disgust, and Van Gaff, following his arm, saw an indistinct haze of smoke a dozen miles away. "That's the Soo," explained the master, with a significant shrug of his shoulders. "It'll cost us a good lump to get towed in—and it'll take us a day!"
A sudden thrill of joy shot through Van Gaff. This delay was what he wanted. Every minute of it would be precious to him. His happiness shone in his face as he ascended the pilot-house stair and asked the captain if he had heard how Miss York was.
"Do you see that bit of smoke?" he asked, pointing toward the distant city. "That's our launch, and Miss York is in it. She said that it was necessary for her to get to the Soo without delay and I sent her on. I have my suspicions—that you—" he paused fumbled in one of his pockets, and handed Van Gaff a letter. "She left that for you!" he ended gruffly. Van Gaff seized upon it like an animal and tore it open. It began:
I know that you will think me very, very wicked when you have read this, but I hope that you will forgive me. I told you last night that I had deceived you, but since then I have deceived you again and in a way that will do you great injury—financially.
In the first place, I am neither deaf nor dumb. Please do not blame Captain Falkner. I told him, the night that we played cards, that I was going to have a little fun at your expense, and I got his word of honour that he would not betray me, for I did not expect that I would see you again after that evening.
Before we parted yesterday morning I would have revealed myself—but you spoke of a long-lost vessel, a copper-ship, which went down years ago. Those words sealed my lips. You told me how and where your company found it, and the name of its owner, and by the time you read this I will be on my way to that owner.
I almost despise myself for betraying your confidence in this way. But you have taught me an eleventh commandment-and I am obeying it to the letter.
When Van Gaff turned toward Captain Falkner again his face was as hard as stone. Something rushed back over him like a flood, and he knew that the mask had fallen from him and that he was no longer a fool, but Van Gaff once more—the old Van Gaff, with perhaps a deeper and darker place waiting for him at the bottom of the rut. What little hope there had been in him was now mangled. He had not only betrayed himself, but his employers as well. He had allowed an adventuress to hook and strangle him. But still—his heart throbbed as if it would burst when he thought of her. Whatever she was, she had brought him back into good wholesome life for a few short hours—and he loved her! He would always love her for that. But now the old spirit in him called for action.
"Captain Falkner," he said, "it is also necessary that I should get to the Soo—without delay. Over there is a yacht that will take me in. Will you signal for her?" As he spoke he handed the other the open letter. "That will explain why!" he added.
The captain read, and when he had done he rumbled out an oath that could be heard amidships. "She's a trump!" he shouted. His face became red with excitement. Running into the pilot-house, he levelled a pair of glasses at the distant launch, then sent a signal down into the engine-room.
"I'll call the yacht for you," he cried. "I'll call it—because you can't catch up with her! She'll beat you—easy! If I thought she wouldn't I'd hold you here till doomsday! But she'll beat you—she'll get there first—she'll—"
The roar of the freighter's whistle interrupted him, In an unbroken signal that clouded the aft deck with steam it called until the yacht swung bow on and bore down within hailing distance. In response to the captain's invitation it ran alongside, and Van Gaff swung himself down into it. There were two young women and a man in the boat. Before any of them had expressed their surprise at his action he had accosted the latter, who was staring at him in blank astonishment from the stern.
"I beg your pardon," he said, lifting his hat in acknowledgment of the presence of women. "We've broken down. It's important that I should reach the Soo without a moment's delay. I will give you five hundred dollars if you get me there within three-quarters of an hour, and I'll give you a bonus of one hundred dollars for every five minutes you save under that time."
He seated himself opposite the man at the engine, pulled out his wallet, then looked at his watch. "Please don't waste a second," he urged, as he counted out a number of bills. "I'm going to pay you three hundred in advance—I'll give you the rest when I see that you have won."
The little boat was edging away from the steel wall of the ship. Her engine kicked up a billow of foam behind, and as the craft shot out with her nose pointed toward the distant city, Van Gaff handed over the bank-notes. Then he leaned against the cushioned rail and silently watched their progress.
Thirty minutes later he gave four fifty-dollar bills to the man at the engine. Ten minutes after that, as the yacht glided with dangerous speed up to one of the low wharves of the town, he handed him two others, and while the craft was still in motion clambered ashore. He knew that to hunt for a cab would mean delay, so he hailed a delivery- wagon, climbed in beside the driver, and, thrusting a bill into his hand, told him to make the run of his life to an address which he gave him.
In a few minutes the salvage agent was hurrying along a winding cinder-path that led to an old-fashioned white house set in the midst of a small grove. As he ascended the weather-beaten steps to the front door he caught a glimpse of a grey-haired man through an open window, and he felt assured that this was the man he had come to see. A moment after he had knocked an elderly woman came to the door, received his card, and ushered him into a small reception-room.
Van Gaff was filled with hope. It seemed evident to him that he had beaten Miss York. He knew that the girl had landed at least half an hour ahead of him, but it was possible that something had delayed her after she had reached the city. The quiet, unexcited aspect of the man he had seen and the equally calm demeanour of the woman, whom he took to be his wife, convinced him that the couple had not yet been approached on the subject of the copper-ship.
But he knew that there would be no time in which to bargain, for the girl might come in at any moment. He would offer fifty thousand dollars at once. If there was a sign of hesitation on the part of the copper-ship's owner he would increase the offer, but in a way that would not create suspicion. He had figured this out, when light footsteps sounded in the hall, and a moment later Miss Elizabeth York stood in the doorway!
The girl wore the costume in which he had seen her aboard ship. There was a smile upon her lips, the sweet, soft smile that had made a fool of Van Gaff, and she advanced toward him, her hand outstretched.
"Won't you please congratulate me, Mr. Van Gaff?" she asked. A rich colour suffused her face and her eyes glowed with a light that Van Gaff had never seen in them before. "Please—"
Van Gaff had not taken her hand. He knew that he was beaten.
"You have ruined me," he said coldly.
"And consequently you think that I am very wicked," smiled the girl. "But I'm not. I've just been obeying your eleventh commandment, and by doing it I have kept your company from stealing a fortune from my father. My name is not 'York.' I am Mildred Williams Bosworth."
