As she spoke Billy Byrne’s eyes narrowed; but not with the cunning of premeditated attack.  He was thinking.  For the first time in his life he was thinking of how he appeared in the eyes of another.  Never had any human being told Billy Byrne thus coolly and succinctly what sort of person he seemed to them.  In the heat of anger men of his own stamp had applied vile epithets to him, describing him luridly as such that by the simplest laws of nature he could not possibly be; but this girl had spoken coolly, and her descriptions had been explicit—­ backed by illustrations.  She had given real reasons for her contempt, and somehow it had made that contempt seem very tangible.

One who had known Billy would have expected him to fly into a rage and attack the girl brutally after her scathing diatribe.  Billy did nothing of the sort.  Barbara Harding’s words seemed to have taken all the fight out of him.  He stood looking at her for a moment—­it was one of the strange contradictions of Billy Byrne’s personality that he could hold his eyes quite steady and level, meeting the gaze of another unwaveringly—­and in that moment something happened to Billy Byrne’s perceptive faculties.  It was as though scales which had dimmed his mental vision had partially dropped away, for suddenly he saw what he had not before seen—­a very beautiful girl, brave and unflinching before the brutal menace of his attitude, and though the mucker thought that he still hated her, the realization came to him that he must not raise a hand against her—­that for the life of him he could not, nor ever again against any other woman.  Why this change, Billy did not know, he simply knew that it was so, and with an ugly grunt he turned his back upon her and walked away.

A slight breeze had risen from the southwest since Theriere had left Barbara Harding and now all hands were busily engaged in completing the jury rigging that the Halfmoon might take advantage of the wind and make the shore that rose abruptly from the bosom of the ocean but a league away.

Before the work was completed the wind increased rapidly, so that when the tiny bit of canvas was hoisted into position it bellied bravely, and the Halfmoon moved heavily forward toward the land.

“We gotta make a mighty quick run of it,” said Skipper Simms to Ward, “or we’ll go to pieces on them rocks afore ever we find a landing.”

“That we will if this wind rises much more,” replied Ward; “and’s far as I can see there ain’t no more chance to make a landing there than there would be on the side of a house.”

And indeed as the Halfmoon neared the towering cliffs it seemed utterly hopeless that aught else than a fly could find a foothold upon that sheer and rocky face that rose abruptly from the ocean’s surface.

Some two hundred yards from the shore it became evident that there was no landing to be made directly before them, and so the course of the ship was altered to carry them along parallel to the shore in an effort to locate a cove, or beach where a landing might safely be effected.