The closer the bond between man and man, or between man and woman, the easier it is to embroil them, one with another. It is hard for an outsider to provoke a quarrel between strangers, or between casual acquaintances; but it is not hard for a crafty man to make dissension between friends; and almost any one may, if he chooses, bring about discord between lovers. And this is a strange and a contradictory thing.

When Dan'l found the whiskey in Brander's boat, and came toward Faith with the open jug in his hands, Faith stood with a white face, looking steadily at Brander, and not at Dan'l at all. Brander had made one move when Dan'l lifted the jug; he had stepped quickly toward the boat, but Faith spoke quietly to him, and he stopped, and looked at her....

Dan'l was watching the two of them. Mauger saw a chance, and as the mate passed where the one-eyed man crouched, Mauger leaped at him to snatch the whiskey away. Tichel caught Mauger from behind, and held him....

The little man had had the best intentions in the world; but this movement on his part completed the evidence of Brander's guilt; for Mauger was Brander's man, loyal as a dog, and Faith knew it. She thought quickly, remembering the past days, remembering Mauger's furtive air and Brander's aloofness, and his support of Mauger against Tichel.... She was sure, before Dan'l reached her with the jug, that Mauger and Brander were guilty as Judas.... That Brander was guilty as Judas.... She scarce considered Mauger at all.

Dan'l handed her the jug, and she smelled at it. Whiskey, beyond a doubt. She took it to the rail and poured it overside as she had poured the contents of the bottle. Then came slowly back and handed the empty jug to Brander.

"This is yours," she said. "You had best rinse it and fill it with water and put it in your boat again."

The moon was bright upon them as they stood on the deck. He could see her face, he could see her eyes; and he saw that she thought him guilty. His soul sickened with the bitterness of it; and his lips twisted in a smile.

"Very well," he said.

She looked at him, a little wistfully. "You're not denying it's yours?"

He shook his head. "No." If she believed, let her believe. He was furious with her....

"Why did you do it?" she asked.

He said nothing; and she looked up at him a moment more, and then turned to Mauger. "Why did you do it?" she asked the little man.

Mauger squinted sidewise at Brander. Mauger was Brander's man; and all his loyalty was to Brander. Brander chose not to speak, not to deny the charge she laid against them.... All right; if Brander could keep silent, so could he. If Brander would not deny, neither would he. He grinned at Faith; and the closed lids that covered his empty eye-socket seemed to wink; but he said nothing at all.

Dan'l Tobey chuckled at Brander. "Eh, Brander, I'm ashamed for ye," he said. "Such an example t'the crew."

Brander held silent. He was waiting for Faith to speak....

When neither Brander nor Mauger would answer her, Faith turned her back on them all and went to the after rail and stood there alone, thinking.... She knew Dan'l would wait on her word.... What was she to do? She needed Brander; she would need him more and more.... Dan'l was never to be trusted; she must have a man at her back.... Brander.... In spite of her belief that he had done this thieving, she trusted him.... And loved him.... Loved him so that as she stood there with her back to them all, the tears rolled down her cheeks, and her nails dug at her palms.... Why had he done this? Why did he not deny? Protest? Defend himself? She loved him so much that she hated him. If he had offended against herself alone, she might have forgiven.... But by stealing whiskey and giving it to the crew he was striking at the welfare of the Sally Sims herself.... And the Sally was dearer to Faith just now than herself.

He had struck at the Sally; she set her lips and brushed the tears from her cheeks and turned back to them. "Mr. Tobey," she said. "Put Mr. Brander in irons, below. Give Mauger a whipping and send him forward." She hesitated a moment, glanced at Willis. "If you'll come down to the cabin with me," she said, "I'll give you the irons."

Willis stepped toward her; and with no further glance for Brander, she turned and went below.

They had been two weeks hard and fast on the sand; there was another week ahead of them. An easterly storm would cement them into the sand beyond any help; and the men looked for it daily.... For the rest, there was little to do. The Sally was in shape again, ready to be off if she had the chance.... The men, with black faces, loafed about the fore deck and whispered man to man; and Dan'l went among them now and then, and talked much with Roy, and some with the others.... Roy was elated in those days; the boy went about with shining eyes and triumphant lips. Every other face among the crew was morose save his....

Dan'l was not morose. He was overly cheerful in those days. He spoke in louder tones than was his custom; and there was no caustic bite to his tongue. But his eyes were narrower, and more furtive.... And once or twice Faith saw him turn away from a word with some of the crew and catch sight of her watching him, and flush uneasily....

But Faith scarce heeded; she was sick with sorrow, and sick with anxiety.... The tides were rising higher every day; she watched for the hour when they should lift the Sally.... And at each high tide, she made the men stand to the capstan bars, and fight in desperate efforts to fetch the Sally free. The day before the night of the full of the moon, she had them fetch up casks from the hold and lower them overside and raft them there.... Cask after cask, as many as the men could handle during the day, so that the Sally was lighter at nightfall than she had ever been before.

The tide was at the flood that night at nine; and for half an hour before, and for a full hour after the waters had begun to ebb, every man of them strove to stir the Sally.... And strove fruitlessly; for the ship seemed fast-bedded in the sand, beyond moving. At ten o'clock, Faith left the deck and went sick-heartedly below....

At half past ten, Dan'l knocked on the door of the after cabin, and she bade him come in. He opened the door, shut it behind him, looked at her with his cap in his hands for a space, then sat down on the seat beside the desk where she was sitting.

"Eh, Faith," he said, "we're stuck."

For a moment, she did not answer; then she lifted her head and looked at him. "There's a high tide to-morrow night; comes a bit higher than it is on the flood," she said. "We'll get out more casks to-morrow, and to-morrow night we'll float her."

Dan'l shook his head slowly. "You're brave, Faith, and strong.... But the sea's stronger. I've sailed them long enough to know."

She said steadfastly: "The Sally Sims has got to come free. It's in my mind to get her off if we have to take every stick out of her and lift her off ourselves...."

"If we could do it, I'd be with you," he told her. "But we can't, Faith.""We will," she said.

He smiled, studied her for a moment, then leaned toward her, resting his hands on the desk. "Faith," he said softly, "you're a wonderful, brave woman."

She looked at him with a weary flicker of lips and eyes that might have passed for a smile. "It's not that I'm brave, Dan'l," she said. "It's just that I'll not let Noll Wing's ship rot here when it should be bound home t'the other side of the world."

"Noll Wing's ship?" he echoed. "Eh, Faith, but Noll Wing is dead and gone."

She nodded. "Yes."

"He's dead and gone, Faith," he repeated swiftly. "He's dead, and gone.... And but for Noll Wing, Faith, you'd have loved me, three year ago."

She looked up, then, and studied him, and she said softly: "You'll mind, Dan'l, that Noll Wing is not but three weeks dead.... Even now."

"Three weeks dead!" he cried. "Have I not seen? He's been a dead man this year past; a dead man that walked and talked and swore.... But dead this year past. You've been a widow for a year, Faith...."

She shook her head. "So long as the Sally lies here on the sand," she said, "I'm not Noll Wing's widow; I'm his wife. It was his job to bring her home; and so it is my job, too. And will be, till she's fast to the wharf at home."

"Then you'll die his wife, Faith; for the Sally'll never stir from here."

"If she never does," said Faith, "I'll die Noll Wing's wife, as you say."He cried breathlessly: "What was Noll Wing that you should cling to him so, Faith?"

"He was the man I loved," she said.

His face blackened, and his fist banged the desk. "Aye; and but for him you'd have loved me. Loved me...."

"I never told you that, Dan'l."

"But 'twas true. I could see. You'd have loved me, Faith...."

"Dan'l," she said slowly, "I'm in no mind to talk so much of love, this night."

The man sat back in silence for a space, not looking at her; nor did she look at him. In the end, however, he shaped his words afresh. "Faith," he said softly, "we were boy and girl together, you and I. Grew up together, played together.... I loved you before you were more than a girl. Before you ever saw Noll Wing. Can you remember?"

He was striving with all his might to win her; and Faith said gently: "Yes, Dan'l. I remember."

"When I sailed away, last cruise but one, you kissed me, Faith. Do you mind?"

She looked at him in honest surprise. "I kissed you, Dan'l?"

"Yes. On the forehead...."

She shook her head. "I don't remember ... at all."

If he had been wholly wise, he would have known that her not remembering was the end of him; but Dan'l in that moment was not even a little wise. He was playing for a big stake; Faith was never so lovely in his eyes; and there was desperation in him. He was blind with the heat of his own desire.... He cried now:

"You do remember. You're pretending, Faith. You could not forget. You loved me then; and, Faith, you love me now."

She shook her head. "No, Dan'l. Have done."

"I love you, Faith; you love me, now."

"No."

He leaned very close to her. "You do not know; you're not listening to your heart. I know more of your heart than you know, Faith...."

"No, no, no, Dan'l," she said insistently.

He flamed at her in sudden fury: "If it's not me, it's Brander.... Him that you...."

"Brander?" she cried, in a passion. "Brander? The thief that's lying now in the irons I put upon him? Him? Him you say I love?"

The very force of her anger should have told him the truth; but he was so blind that it served only to rejoice him. "I knew it," he cried. "I knew it. So you love me, Faith?..."

"Must a woman always be loving?" she demanded wearily.

"Aye, Faith. It's the nature of them.... Always to be loving.... Some one. With you, Faith, it's me. Listen and see...."

"Dan'l," she said steadily, "what's the end of all this? What's the end of it all? What would you have me do?"

"Love me," he told her.

"What else?""See the truth," he said. "Understand that the Sally is lost.... Fast aground, here, to rot her bones away.... See that it's hopeless and wild to stick by her. We'll get out the boats. You and I and Roy and a man or two will take one; the others may have the other craft. It's not fifty miles to..."

"Leave the Sally?" she demanded.

"Yes."

"I'll not talk with you, Dan'l. I'll never do that."

"There's th' ambergris," he reminded her. "We'll take that. It will recompense old Jonathan for his Sally and her oil."

Her word was so sharp that it checked him; he was up on his feet, bending above her, pouring out his pleadings.... But she threw him into silence with that last word; and the red flush of passion in his face blackened to something worse, and his tongue thickened with the heat in him. He bent a little nearer, while her eyes met his steadily; and his hands dropped and gripped her arms above the elbows. She came to her feet, facing him....

"Dan'l," she said warningly.

"If you'll not go because you will, you'll go because you must," he told her huskily and harshly. "Go because you must.... Whine at my feet afore I'm through with you. Beg me to marry you in th' end...."

If she had been able to hold still, to hold his eyes with hers, she might have mastered him even then; for in any match of courage against courage, she was the stronger. But the horror of him overwhelmed her; she tried to wrench away. The struggle of her fired him.... In a battle of strength and strength she had no chance. He swung her against his chest, and she flung her head back that her lips might escape him. He laughed. His lips were dry and twitching as she fought to be away from him; he held her for an instant, held her striving body against his own to revel in its struggles....

He had her thus in his arms, forcing her back, crushing her, when the door flung open and Roy Kilcup stood there. The boy cried in desperate warning:

"Dan'l, Brander is...."

Then he comprehended that which he saw; and he screamed with the fury of an animal, and flung himself at Dan'l, tearing at the man with his strength of a boy.