calling for Natalie. There was but one way of getting free from him. She
said, "I'll think of it." Upon that, he kissed her and let her go.

The door had barely closed on her when the lowering face of Richard
Turlington appeared on a level with the side of the sky-light, looking
down into the store-room at Launce.

"Halloo!" he called out roughly. "What are you doing in the steward's
room?"

Launce took up a box of matches on the dresser. "I'm getting a light,"
he answered readily.

"I allow nobody below, forward of the main cabin, without my leave. The
steward has permitted a breach of discipline on board my vessel. The
steward will leave my service."

"The steward is not to blame."

"I am the judge of that. Not you."

Launce opened his lips to reply. An outbreak between the two men
appeared to be inevitable, when the sailing-master of the yacht joined
his employer on deck, and directed Turlington's attention to a question
which is never to be trifled with at sea, the question of wind and tide.

The yacht was then in the Bristol Channel, at the entrance to Bideford
Bay. The breeze, fast freshening, was also fast changing the direction
from which it blew. The favorable tide had barely three hours more to
run.