"Yes."

"I owe this to you; I am sure I must owe this to you--tell me?"

Her eyes drooped, and in the dim light I could mark the heaving of her
bosom, as she caught her breath.

"Only--only the suggestion," she managed to say in a whisper. "He--he
was glad of that. You see I--I knew he needed someone to take charge
of his sloop, and--and so I brought you to his mind. We--we both
thought you would be just the one, and--and he went right away to see
the Captain. So please don't thank me."

"I shall never cease to thank you," I returned warmly, conscious
suddenly that I was holding her hands, and as instantly releasing
them. "Why, do you begin to understand what this actually means to me?
It means the retention of manhood, of self-respect. It will save me
the degradation which I dreaded most of all--the toiling in the fields
beside negro slaves, and the sting of the lash. Ay, it means even
more--"

I hesitated, instantly realizing that I must not utter those impetuous
words leaping to my lips.

"More!" she exclaimed. "What more?"

"This," I went on, my thought shifting into a new channel. "A longer
servitude. Up to this moment my one dream has been to escape, but I
must give that up now. You have placed me under obligations to serve."