unheard of in
Freekirk Head, and she was overwhelmed. Suddenly she asked:

"Why do you hate Nat Burns so? You couldn't have told me that if you
hadn't hated him."

Elsa looked up from her book impatiently, quite oblivious to the wound
she had caused.

"Because I was very fond of that girl!" she said, and went back to the
translation of the message. Suddenly she sprang to her feet with a
little cry of dismay and rang the bell.

"Annette!" she cried. "Annette!" The maid rushed in, frightened, from
the adjoining room.

"Tell Charles I am going to St. John's to-morrow, and to have the
carriage at the door at half-past six. Pack my steamer trunk
immediately. Great guns! Why isn't there a night boat?"

The maid flew out of the room, and Elsa, still doubtful, retranslated
the message. Mrs. Tanner, taken aback by these sudden activities, rose
hurriedly to go. This sudden flurry was inexplicable to her. Since the
departure of the fleet Elsa had not as much as hinted leaving Freekirk
Head. Now, in a moment, she was beside herself to go.

"I hope it isn't bad news, Elsa," she faltered.

"Well, it is, ma, it is, b-but only in a business way. A little
trip will straighten it up, I think." And she was courteous but
indefatigable in hastening the departure of her guest.

CHAPTER XXI

A PRISONER

When Code Schofield came to himself his first sensation was one of
oppression, such as is felt after sleeping in an unventilated room. It
seemed difficult for him to breathe, but his body was quite free and
uninjured, as he found by moving himself carefully in all directions
before he even opened his eyes.

Presently the air became familiar. It was a perfect mixture of
flavors; oilskins, stale tobacco-smoke, brine, burned grease, tar,
and, as a background, fish. His ears almost immediately detected water
noises running close by, and he could feel the pull of stout oak
timber that formed the inner wall of where he lay.

"Fo'c'stle of a fishing schooner!" he announced, and then opened his
eyes to prove that he was correct.

He looked out into a three-cornered room occupied by a three-cornered
table, and that ran as far back as the foremast. Above, fastened to a
huge square beam, hung a chain-lamp so swiveled that it kept itself
level however much the schooner kicked and wriggled. On the table,
swinging his legs, sat a large, unpleasant-looking man.

"Wal, how are ye?" asked this latter, seeing his charge had recovered