Priscilla went on deck that night so angry with Joel that she could have killed him; and Mark played upon her as a skilled hand plays upon the harp. It was such a night as the South Seas know, warm and languorous, the wind caressing, and the salt spray stinging gently on the cheek. The moon was near the full, and it laid a path of silver on the water. This path was like the road to fairyland; and Mark told Priscilla so. He dropped into a gay little phantasy that he conceived on the moment, a story of fairies, and of dancing in the moonlight, and of a man and a woman, hand in hand....

She felt the spell he laid upon her, and struggled against it. “Tell me about the last fight, when the little brown girl was killed,” she begged.

He had told her snatches of his story here and there; but he had not, till that night, spoken of the pearls. When Priss heard of them, she swung about and lifted up her face to his, listening like a child. And Mark told the story with a tongue of gold, so that she saw it all; the lagoon, blue in the sun; and the schooner creeping in from the sea; and the hours of flight through the semi-jungle of the island, with the blacks in such hot pursuit. He told her of the times when they surrounded him, when he fought himself free.... How he got a great stone and gripped it in his hand, and how with this stone he crushed the skull of a young black with but one eye. Priss shuddered with delicious horror at the tale....

She loved best to hear of the little brown girl whom Mark had loved; and that would have told either of them, if they had stopped to consider, that she did not love Mark. Else she would have hated the other, brown or white.... And he told how the brown girl saved him, and gave her life in the saving, and how he had stopped at a little atoll on his homeward way and buried her.... She had died in his arms, smiling because she lay there....

“And the pearls?” Priss asked, when she had heard the story through. “You left them there?”

“There they are still,” he told her. “Safely hid away.”

“How many?” she asked. “Are they lovely?”

“Three big ones, and thirty-two of a fair size, and enough little ones and seeds to make a double handful.”

“But why did you leave them there?”

“The black men were on the island. They were there, and watchful, and very angry.”

“Couldn’t you have kept them in your pocket?”

He laughed. “That other schooner made me cautious. Man’s life is cheap, in such matters. And if they guessed I had such things upon me.... If I slept too soundly, or the like.... D’ye see?”

She nodded her dark head. “I see. But you’ll go back....”

He chuckled at that, and tapped on the rail with one knuckle, in a thoughtful way. “I had thought that Joel and I would go, in the Nathan Ross, and fetch the things away,” he said.

“Of course,” she exclaimed. “That would be so easy.... I’d love to see the—pearls....”

“Easy? That was my own thought,” he agreed. Something in his tone prompted her question.

“Why—isn’t it?”

“Joel objects,” he said drily.

“He—won’t. But why? I don’t understand. Why?”

Mark laughed. “He speaks of a matter of duty, not to risk the ship.”

“Is there a risk?”

“No.” He chuckled maliciously. “As a matter of cold fact, Priss, I’m fearful that Joel is a bit—timid in such affairs.”

She flamed at him: “Afraid?”

He nodded.

“I don’t believe it.”

His eyes shone. “What a loyal little bride? But—I taxed him with it. And—that was the word he used....”

She was so angry that she beat upon Mark’s great breast with her tiny fists. “It’s not true! It’s not true!” she cried. “You know....”

Abruptly, Mark took fire. She was swept in his arms, clipped there, half-lifted from the deck to meet his lips that dipped to hers. She was like nothing in his grasp; she could not stir.... And from his lips, and circling arms, and great body the hot fire of the man flung through her.... She fought him.... But even in that terrific moment she knew that Joel had never swept or whelmed her so....

She twisted her face away.... And thus, from the shadow where they stood, she saw Joel. He was at the top of the cabin companion, looking toward them, his face illumined by the light from below. And she watched for an instant, frozen with terror, expecting him to leap toward them and plunge at Mark and buffet him....

Joel stood for an instant, unstirring. Then he turned, very quietly, and went down stairs again into the cabin....

She thought, sickly, that he had shirked; he had seen, and held his hand....

What was it Mark had said? Afraid....

Mark had not seen Joel. He kissed her again. Then she twisted away from him, and fled below.

Joel was at his desk. He did not look up at her coming; and she stood for an instant, behind him, watching his bent head....

Then she slipped into her own cabin, and snapped the latch, and plunged her face in her pillow to stifle bursting sobs.