d to have him down till our
conference was over.

Of all our party the maiden was, I think, the most hopeful. "God and
His saints," said she, "have ordered this to try us, and see of what
mettle we be. Shall we despair, Sir Ludar, when He has proved His
goodness to us? The past is done, the future is all before us. You are
our captain now, and Humphrey and I and this brave sailor here, ay and
our poor poet aloft there, are your crew to follow where you lead. I
can man a gun and haul a rope, as you shall see. Come, Humphrey, what
say you?"

"I have vowed," said I, "to follow my master to the death. Nor can I
think heaven will desert us while you who belong there, are aboard."

She blushed at this and turned it off.

"Nay, my friend, it depends on how we do the duty that lies to our hand
whether we belong there or not."

Here Ludar broke in abruptly.

"Seaman, where be we now?"

The sailor got up and went out to ascertain our bearings.

"Maiden," said Ludar, then, more grave than I had ever seen him, "I can
make no fine speeches, such as Humphrey here or yonder monkey at the
mast-head; but I accept you as one of this crew with a prouder heart
than if I were offered my father's castle."

Then he held out his great hand, and she lay her little hand in it, and
her true eyes flashed up to meet his. And I who stood by knew that the
compact I witnessed then was for a longer voyage than from here to
Leith.

I was glad when presently the man came in and reported.

"By your leave, captain, we be eight leagues east of Flamboro' with a
southerly breeze falling fast. The ship lies in the wind and the tiller
is swinging."

"Take the helm, master, and keep her head straight. Humphrey, fetch
down the poet. He and I will mount the first watch to-night. Maiden,
do you get what rest you may, ere your turn comes in the morning."

"Ay, ay, my captain," said she cheerily, and went.

"Humphrey," said Ludar, calling me back, when she had gone, "do you
wonder that I love that maiden?"

"I do not," said I.

"Is she you love as fair, as brave, as noble?"

"She is," I answered, "every whit as fair, every whit as brave, every
whit as noble."

"Then why," he asked, looking hard at me, "are you sad when you speak of
her?"

"Alas," said I, "she loves me not. Ludar, talk not to me of her; I will
go fetch the poet."

The poor fellow was by this time well-nigh at the end of his patience.
For, though he had fixed hi