Part 22

“Yes, some men are cowards enough to abuse those who must look to them for the comforts of this world,” he declared.

“We must make allowances.”

“I'll not stay in a position where a man who hires me thinks he can talk to me as if I were a foremast hand. Alma, you would despise me if I allowed myself to be kicked around like a dog.”

“I would love you all the more for being willing to sacrifice something for my sake. I want you here--here with all your love--here with me as long as these summer days last.” She patted his cheek. “Why don't you tell me that you want to stay with me, Boyd? That you will die if we cannot be together? We can see each other here. I can bring Nan Burgess on the bridge with me. Father will not mind then. Let each day take care of itself!”

“I want to be what you want me to be--to do what you want me to do. But I wish you would tell me to go out into the world and make something of myself. Alma, tell me to go! And wait for me!”

She laid her face against his shoulder and reached for his fingers, endeavoring to pull one of his arms about her. But both of his hands were clutching the rail of the bridge. He resisted.

“Are you going to be like all the rest? Just money and trouble and worry?” She stretched up on tiptoe and brushed a kiss across his fog-wet cheek. “Are you asleep, my big boy? Yesterday you were awake.”

“I think I am really awake to-day, and that I was dreaming yesterday. Alma, I cannot sneak behind your father's back to make love to you. I can't do it. I'm going to give up this position. I can't endure it.”

“I say 'No!' I need you.”

“But--”

“I'll not give you up.”

There was something dramatic in her declaration; her demeanor expressed the placid calm of absolute proprietorship. She worked his unwilling fingers free from the rail.

“I love you because you can forget yourself. Now don't be like all the others.”

He realized that a queer little sting of impatience was pricking him. The girl did not seem to understand what his manhood was prompting.

“You mustn't be selfish, Boyd!”

She put into words the vague thought which had been troubling him in regard to her attitude; and now that he understood what his thought had been he was incensed by what seemed his own disloyalty. And yet, the girl was asking him to make over his nature!

“I'm afraid it's all wrong. These things never seem to come out right,” he mourned.

“You are trying to turn the world upside down all at once--and all alone. Don't think so much, you solemn Yankee. Just love!”

He put his aims about her. “I'm sailing in new waters. I don't seem to know the true course or the right bearings!”

“Let's stay anchored until the fog lifts! Isn't that what sailors usually do?”

He confessed it, kissing her when she lifted her tantalizing face from his shoulder.

“Now you'll let the future alone, won't you?” she asked.

“Yes.” But even while he promised he was obliged to face that future.

Julius Marston, at the foot of the ladder, called to his daughter. “Are you up there?” he demanded, sharply.

“Yes, father.”

“Come down here.”

She gave her lover a hasty caress and obeyed.

Captain Mayo was obliged to listen. Marston, in his anger, showed no consideration for possible eavesdroppers.