“Did she promise she’d marry ye?”

“No, she never did.  But her parents said I could have her.”

“She doesn’t love ye, then?”

“Love, be d——!  What do I care about love?  There’s no such a thing as love.  It’s the girl I want.  Love has nothing to do with it.”

Eben made no reply.  His attention was taken up with bringing the boat around for a short starboard tack, and in giving orders to Bill.  When she was running steadily once more, his mind reverted to what he had just heard.  So the girl had thrown over Donaster, too, he mused, the same as she had treated him at the quarry.  He felt a certain degree of sympathy for the man.  Why should he not help him, and take her away from Hampton?  It would be some satisfaction, for the spirit of revenge was still rankling in his soul.  But Donaster didn’t love her.  He had said that there was no such a thing as love.  He knew that the man was wrong, for he himself loved the girl as he had never loved anyone before.  She meant everything to him, and his life was bleak and desolate since she had left the boat.  Why should Hampton have her?

“Look here, you haven’t answered my question.”  It was Donaster speaking.

“What question?”

“I asked you where Miss Randall is.  I am sure you know.”

“Yer mistaken, then.  I don’t know where she is.”  Eben suddenly remembered the stone he had hurled through the window.  He realised that the less he said the better it would be.  If he should commit himself in the least degree as to what he knew about Miss Randall, he was certain that Donaster would continue to bother him with no end of questions.

“But surely you must know where she is,” the man persisted.  “I am positive that she went up river with you on this boat.  What became of her after she left you?”

“I told ye I don’t know where she is.  Ye’ll have to go an’ find her yerself, if yer so interested in her.”

Several times during the night Donaster attempted in vain to wrest the secret from Eben, and his failure made him angry.  Lack of sleep, his wet clothes, and the stubbornness of the boy annoyed him.  But he could do nothing, so at length, giving up in despair, he went down into the cabin, and lighted a fire in the little stove, for he was very chilly.  And there he crouched, leaving the work of looking after the sail to his companion.  Selfishness bulked large in his nature, and this was never more apparent than now.  His own comfort was the first consideration, no matter how much others might suffer.

After midnight the last clouds rolled away and the stars appeared.  The gale subsided to a fair sailing breeze, and the “Eb and Flo” ploughed steadily on her way.  Eben was tired as he stood hour after hour at the wheel, and he knew from the motion of the man tending the sail that he too was weary.  There was nothing else, however, for them to do, and so without a word of complaint each kept at his task.