upor, I could not predict. Suddenly the glass slipped from his
fingers and shivered to pieces on the deck. I started violently at the
sound, and in the silence that followed I thought I heard a footfall in
the cabin below.

He looked up at length from his absorbed contemplation of the bits of
broken glass. "We were talking about love, were we not?" he demanded,
heavily.

I did not answer. I was straining to catch a repetition of the sound
from below. Time was slipping rapidly away, and to sit on meant
inevitable discovery. The watch might waken or the mate appear to
surprise me in converse with my nocturnal visitor. It would be folly to
attempt to conceal his presence and I despaired of getting him back to
the shore while his present mood held, although I remembered that the
small boat, which had been lowered after we went aground, was still
moored to the rail amidships.

Refilling my own glass, I offered it to him. He lurched forward to take
it, but the fumes of the wine suddenly drifted clear of his brain. "You
seem very much distressed," he observed, with ironic concern. "One might
think you were actually sheltering these precious love-birds."

Perspiration broke out anew upon my face and neck. "I don't know what
you are talking about," I bluntly tried to fend off his implications. I
felt as if I were helplessly strapped down and that he was about to
probe me mercilessly with some sharp instrument. I strove to turn the
direction of his thoughts by saying, "I understand that the Stanleighs
are returning to England."

"The Stanleighs--quite so," he nodded agreement, and fixed me with a
maudlin stare. Something prompted me to fill his glass again. He drank
it off mechanically. Again I poured, and he obediently drank. With an
effort he tried to pick up the thread of our conversation:

"What did you say? Oh, the Stanleighs ... yes, yes, of course." He
slowly nodded his head and fell silent. "I was about to say ..." He
broke off again and seemed to ruminate profoundly.... "Love-birds----" I
caught the word feebly from his lips, spoken as if in a daze. The glass
hung dripping in his relaxed grasp.

It was a crucial moment in which his purpose seemed to waver and die in
his clouded brain. A great hope sprang up in my heart, which was
hammering furiously. If I could divert his fuddled thoughts and get him
back to shore while the wine lulled him to forgetfulness.

I leaned forward to take the glass which was all but s