clenched fist raised above his head like a hammer
about to strike, cried:

"If he harmed the daughter of Morton Cobden
I'd kill him!" The words jumped hot from his
throat with a slight hissing sound, his eyes still
aflame.

"Well, then, stop it before it gets too late. I
walk the floor nights and I'm scared to death every
hour I live." Then her voice broke. "Please,
captain, please," she added in a piteous tone. "Don't
mind me if I talk wild, my heart is breakin', and
I can't hold in no longer," and she burst into a paroxysm
of tears.

The captain leaned against the sideboard again
and looked down upon the floor as if in deep thought.
Martha's tears did not move him. The tears of few
women did. He was only concerned in getting hold
of some positive facts upon which he could base his
judgment.

"Come, now," he said in an authoritative voice,
"let me get that chair and set down and then I'll
see what all this amounts to. Sounds like a yarn of
a horse-marine." As he spoke he crossed the room
and, dragging a rocking-chair from its place beside
the wall, settled himself in it. Martha found a seat
upon the sofa and turned her tear-stained face toward