"Poor papa! I wonder whether he would be hard on me for the first time
in his life?" She stopped; her moistening eyes looked up imploringly in
Launce's face. "Don't press me!" she repeated faintly. "You know it's
wrong. We should have to confess it--and then what would happen?" She
paused again. Her eyes wandered nervously to the deck. Her voice dropped
to its lowest tones. "Think of Richard!" she said, and shuddered at the
terrors which that name conjured up. Before it was possible to say a
quieting word to her, she was again on her feet. Richard's name had
suddenly recalled to her memory Launce's mysterious allusion, at the
outset of the interview, to the owner of the yacht. "What was that you
said about Richard just now?" she asked. "You saw something (or heard
something) strange while papa was telling his story. What was it?"

"I noticed Richard's face, Natalie, when your father told us that the
man overboard was not one of the pilot-boat's crew. He turned ghastly
pale. He looked guilty--"

"Guilty? Of what?"

"He was present--I am certain of it--when the sailor was thrown into the
sea. For all I know, he may have been the man who did it."

Natalie started back in horror.

"Oh, Launce! Launce! that is too bad. You may not like Richard--you may
treat Richard as your enemy. But to say such a horrible thing of him as
that--It's not generous. It's not like _you_."

"If you had seen him, you would have said it too. I mean to make
inquiries--in your father's interests as well as in ours. My brother