The Deaves Affair

"It is impossible."

"That's not answering my question. Have you a husband?"

"Certainly not!" she said indignantly.

He laughed at her tone. "Is there any other man who has a better claim on you than I have?"

She shook her head.

"Well, then!" he cried in great relief. "What's the matter? There's no other reason that I would recognise."

"Have mercy on me," she murmured. "Let me go. Help me to be strong!"

"In other words help you not to love me," he said tenderly. "Not on your life! I will never let you go without a good reason."

"I will tell you everything as soon as I can."

"What does that mean, 'soon as you can'?"

"In a few days, a week maybe."

"Why not now?"

"Something must happen first."

"Corinna, don't you understand how this mystery tortures one who loves!" he cried.

"I know. I cannot help myself."

"But you promise to tell me?"

"Yes, if you will let me entirely alone until I do tell you."

"I'll do my best," he groaned. "One can't promise miracles."

"And you must not let yourself love me, until you know."

"Oh, that's clearly impossible. I would have to love you just the same if you had two or three husbands and were the wickedest woman in the world beside."

"I'm not a wicked woman!" she passionately cried.

"Why, I didn't suppose you were," he said surprised. "But it wouldn't make any difference."

"Let me go now," she begged. "This only makes it harder."

"Tell me you love me, and I'll let you go. You owe me that after having had me assaulted on the last trip."

"I didn't know what they were going to do."

"Well, tell me you love me, anyhow."

"I do not love you."

"You do! It's in your eyes, your lips, I know you do!"

"If I told you it would be impossible to manage you!"

Evan laughed a peal. "Darling stubborn child! Then kiss me of your own free will and I'll let you go."

"No! No! No!"

"Then I must kiss you."

CHAPTER XVIII

THE ACCIDENT

Evan's talk with Corinna did not help him at all with the brotherhood. Whether they knew or not that he had had his five minutes with her, the fact that Corinna had ordered him put ashore and had then countermanded the order, was enough to rouse their jealous suspicions. One and all they sent Evan to Coventry. Let him work as willingly and cheerfully as he might, they ignored him: when they met they looked straight through him or over his head. Evan told himself he didn't care – and devoted his time to the children; but he was a man, and the heart in his breast was hot against them. With the children his popularity grew apace.

To-day the Ernestina was bound for Sandy Hook to give the small passengers a sight of the real ocean. They saw the ocean, and were not much impressed. Apparently they had expected the waves to come rolling in mountains high, whereas the ocean was as flat as Central Park lake. To be sure there was a slow swell that mysteriously heaved the Ernestina and troubled squeamish tummies, but it was not at all spectacular.

Later they lay in calm water inside the Hook while everybody ate. As the day wore on the weather began to thicken. The wind veered to the East and blew chill, and banks of white fog gathered on the horizon. Evan wondered why no one gave the word to return. It was hardly his place to interfere, but in the end he felt obliged to.

Tenterden happened to be the one that he spoke to. "We're going to have some dirty weather," Evan said lightly, "and we're a long way from the Bowery."

Tenterden looked him up and down. "Say, are you going to tell us how to run this show?" he asked. "That's good."

Evan shrugged and left him. "I owe you one for that, old man," he thought. "All right, my time will come."

It came sooner than he expected.

Someone did give the word, and the little Ernestina started back up the lower Bay at her customary head-long rate of eight miles an hour. And none too soon; the white wall of fog was creeping fast on her trail.

Evan was doing duty on the forward deck where the largest crowd of children was gathered. These were the healthiest and most obstreperous of their passengers. With his back in the point of the bow he could survey all his charges at once. No other helper was in that part of the boat at the moment. All was serene; the children for the most part swinging their legs in camp chairs and amiably disputing.

Suddenly from the very bowels of the vessel there came a horrifying report. The Ernestina staggered sickeningly, listed to port, and commenced to limp around in a circle like a wounded bird. Terrible smashing and rending sounds succeeded the first crash. It seemed as if the frail little vessel must fly asunder under such blows.

After a second's frozen silence on deck a dreadful chorus broke forth. Only those who have witnessed a panic at sea will know. On land one may always run from a horror; at sea there is nothing between horror and horror. When the majority of passengers are helpless children the scene surpasses horror. With sharp animal cries of fright, they ran around in blind circles, or charged in a body from side to side of the deck.

An icy hand was laid on Evan's breast. He expected to see little bodies with flying skirts drop into the water. How could he be everywhere at once? He sprang on a seat.

"Sit down, children!" he cried. "She's broken her engine, that's all. The danger's over now."

They were deaf to his voice. The most frantic of them all was not a child but a woman, who half lay on a bench with limbs stiffened out, screaming continuously like a maniac. Evan's voice was powerless against those cries. He was obliged to silence her. She fell over on the bench limply. Evan sprang up into sight of all again.

"Sit still!" he cried. "The danger's over. Sing with me!"

He raised his voice in Suwanee River, the song every child knew. A few joined in, some of the mothers helped. The frantic cries were stilled a little. The crashing sounds had ceased, but presently the roar of escaping steam renewed the confusion. Panic broke out afresh. Evan sang louder.