168      WHERE THE CROSS IS MADE
Barteett—Have ye not seen her, then? Did
ye not hear me hail?
Nat— [Confusedly.] Hail? I heard a shout.
But—hail what?—seen what?
Bartlett—[Grimly.] Aye, now's your punish-
ment, Judas. [Explosively.] The Mary Allen, ye
blind fool, come back from the Southern Seas—
come back as I swore she must!
Sue—[Trying to soothe him.] Father! Be
quiet.    It's nothing.
Barteett—[Not heeding her—his eyes fixed hyp-
notically on his son's.] Turned the pint a half-hour
back—the Mary Allen—loaded with gold as I swore
she would be—carryin' her lowers—not a reef in
'em—makin' port, boy, as I swore she must-—too
late for traitors, boy, too late!—droppin' her
anchor just when I hailed her.
Nat—[A haunted, fascinated look in his eyes,
which are fixed immovably on his father's.] The
Mary Allen!    But how do you know?
Bartlett—Not know my own ship! 'Tis you 're
mad!
Nat—But at night—some other schooner-------
Barteett—No other, I say! The Mary Allen—
clear in the moonlight. And heed this: D'you call
to mind the signal I gave to Silas Home if he made
this port   o' a night?
Nat—[Slowly.] A red and a green light at the
mainmast-head.