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The Story of Jack Ballister's Fortunes
All this time Jack had been standing dumbly, with his hands thrust deep into his pockets. Every word that Dred said impelled him more and more strongly to say what was in his mind, and every moment he was resolving more and more nearly to a culmination to say his say and to take Dred into his confidence. At last he did speak – it seemed to him almost before he had finally decided to do so. “Dred,” he said, and then, beginning again, “Dred, you told me a while ago that you didn’t blame me for making this my business. Well, I’m going to tell you something, Dred. I’ve been thinking that maybe I’d undertake to help the young lady to get away home again to Virginia.” He waited an instant, and then added, “When I spoke with her just now, outside yonder, I told her that if she called on me to do it, I’d help her to go away, even if it was this very night.”
Dred sat for a while in perfectly dead silence, looking at Jack through his half-shut eyes, and Jack, his heart beating quickly at having spoken, wondered what he would say. “Well,” he said, at last, “you be a mighty bold fool, to be sure, to talk that way to me. You’ve got a great heart in you, for sartin. But now you tell me; how would you set about to do such a thing as that? You don’t know what you talk about doing. How d’ye suppose a boy like you could get her away from such a man as the captain, and safe up to Virginny? A man like me might maybe do such a thing as that, but how would you set about it?”
“I hadn’t any real plan,” Jack acknowledged, “but I thought I might maybe get her away in the yawl – some time, perhaps, when the captain was away from home. Why not?”
Dred shook his head. “No, no, my hearty,” he said, “you’d never be able to do it. You’d be overhauled afore you got half way to Ocracock – and what d’ye suppose would happen then?”
“I suppose I’d be fetched back again,” said Jack.
“Do you?” said Dred, grimly. “Well, then, I don’t suppose you’d be fetched back again, unless you was fetched back feet foremost.”
“Do you mean they’d harm me?” said Jack.
“That’s just what I do mean,” said Dred. “If the captain caught you trying to get this young lady away, he’d put a bullet into your head as quick as wink, and as sure as you’re a born Christian. You don’t know the captain like I do.”
Jack stood thinking, and Dred sat still, watching him keenly. Presently he heaved a profound breath that was almost more than a sigh. “Well, Dred,” he said, “if she wanted me to do it, I believe I would do it.”
Dred continued to regard him for a while, then his thin lips widened into a grin. “You’ve got a big heart in you, Jack Ballister,” he said, “and there’s no doubt about that.” Then suddenly he knocked the ashes out of his pipe and arose from where he sat. He came up to Jack and thrust his face close into Jack’s face. “Well, my lad,” he said, “you’ve said your say to me, and now I’m a-going to say my say to you.” Jack drew back involuntarily, wondering with some apprehension what was coming next. “Well, then, this is my say: How’d you like me to go along with you?”
For the moment Jack did not understand. “What did you say?” he said.
“I said, how would you like me to go along with you, that’s what I said – to go along and help take the young lady back to Virginny again?” Then Dred reached out suddenly and caught Jack by the collar, giving him a shake. “Why, ye young fool,” he said, “d’ye think I’d let ye go on such a venture as that all alone, and have the head blowed off of ye for your pains? Not I! I knowed what ye was at, the very first word ye said, and if I’d chose to do so I’d ‘a’ stopped your talk quick enough.”
Even yet Jack did not know whether he really understood aright. “Dred,” he said, whispering intensely, “what do you mean? Do you mean that you’re willing to help the young lady to get away?” Then, as it came upon him to know that that was what Dred did mean and that he was earnest in meaning it, he reached out, hardly knowing what he did, and caught at the other as though to hug him. “O Dred!” he cried.
“Get away!” whispered Dred, pushing him off with his elbow. “What d’ ye mean, ye young fool – hugging at me that way?” Then he began laughing. “D’ye think I’m your sweetheart to try to hug me like that? ’Tis my belief the young lady up-stairs is your sweetheart, else you wouldn’t be so anxious to have your head blowed off for her sake.”
Jack knew that he was blushing fiery red. He struck at Dred, and burst out laughing. “You’re a fool, Chris Dred, to talk that way. Why, I hav’n’t spoken fifty words to her this week.”
Dred struck back at Jack and laughed. “All the same, ’tis my belief she’s your sweetheart,” he said. “Well, let’s go and have a look at the yawl, and then we’ll ax her if she’s willing to trust us to help her away from here?”
“What!” cried Jack, “you don’t mean to go to-night, do you?”
“Why not?” said Dred. “If we makes up our mind to go at all, ’tis no use to put it off. To-night’s as good a night as we’re like to have, and the longer we leave it to think about, the harder ’twill be to do.”
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE ESCAPE
JACK did not – he could not – immediately realize that he was now actually, so suddenly, and so unexpectedly, to undertake that which he had dreamed of and vaguely planned that day. It was not until he saw Dred in the act of lacing his shoes, not until he saw him in the act of putting on his coat and taking his hat down from the peg behind the door, that it really came upon him to thrill with that keen pang that sometimes heralds the immediate performance of some pregnant act of life. Then he did thrill, stretching himself with that sudden nervous tension that perhaps all of us have sometimes felt. There was something about the fact of Dred lacing his shoes, and putting on his coat and hat, that made the certainty of what he was embarked upon very present and very real. In one little hour, now, he might be upon his way back to Virginia again, and once more he thrilled keenly and poignantly at the thought.
Dred opened the stair door and stood listening for a while, but all was perfectly still and hushed above. The pirate’s wife had evidently gone to sleep with the instant sleep of a tired woman. Then Dred closed the door again, and, nodding to Jack, led the way out into the darkness of the night. Here again they stood for a while, the night air breathing chilly about them, while Dred listened. But there was not a breath of sound, not a glimmer of light. Then together they walked around to the end of the house where Jack had before stopped to speak to the young lady that evening. Jack went over beneath the open window, and called to her in the same whispering voice he had used before, Dred waiting the while at the corner of the house, keeping a sharp lookout. Jack had to call again and again; for, whether she failed to hear him, or whether she did not choose to immediately reply, it was some time before the young lady showed her face. When she did appear at the window, she stood for a while as though dazed, and listened to what he had to tell her as though not understanding what he said. He had to repeat to her that he and Dred had come to do what he had promised to do that evening – to take her away back home again to Virginia if she were willing to go with them. “To take me away?” she said, vaguely; and then, as the meaning of it all broke upon her, she cried out, “Oh, do! Oh, do take me away! For heaven’s sake, take me away from here!”
“We will, we will! That is what we have come for,” said Jack. But she did not seem to hear him, but cried out again and vehemently, “If you only will take me away, I’ll do anything in the world for you; and my father will do anything for you. Oh, please, kind, good men, do take me away!”
She was perhaps hysterical from the dreadful fright she must have suffered in the morning, and, as the understanding of a possible escape came upon her, she appeared to forget all caution. Jack was so struck by her sudden passion that he did not know what to say to check her; but Dred came hurrying up, and warned her in a whisper to be still: “We mean to help you to get away, mistress,” he said, in a breathing whisper; “but if ye takes on so as to disturb everybody in the house and wake ‘em up, why, we can’t do anything to help you.”
They could see that she put a great restraint upon herself, trying to stifle her crying, clinging to the frame of the lifted window-sash. Then she seemed to suddenly remember that her clothes had been taken away, and that the pirate’s wife had locked the door upon her. “But my clothes!” she cried. “I had forgot them, and then the door is locked, too. I can’t get away, after all. Oh, I know I never shall get away from here!”
“Yes, you will, mistress,” said Dred; “don’t you fret about that, now. Jack, here, shall fetch you your clothes, for they’re only just inside, and I’ll go bring the ladder from the shed over yonder, and so you can get down as quick as a wink. Don’t you fret and cry any more; you get yourself dressed as quick as you can after Jack fetches your clothes, and we two’ll go down and get the boat ready. Then we’ll come back for you. Just you get ready, and we’ll be ready for you.”
Jack hurried off, glad to do something for her that might soothe her. He entered the house very quietly, and had no difficulty in finding the clothes that Betty had thrown into the hutch. When he returned with them he found that Dred had already brought the ladder, and set it up against the side of the house. He climbed part way up the ladder, and reached the bundle silently up to her as she reached down for it.
His heart was very full of her as he and Dred walked down to the boat together. “Pore young thing!” said Dred. “‘Twas as if the thought of going had nigh broke her heart,” and Jack nodded his head without speaking.
As they approached the waterside the broad mouth of the creek stretched out dim and misty before them into the night. The trees of the further shore stood out obscurely in the darkness, and the pallid, rippling surface of the water seemed to stretch away to dim, infinite distance. The little waves beat with a recurrent and pulsing plash and slide upon the beach, and the chill air was full of the smell of brackish water and of marshy ooze.
The yawl, a big, clumsy, broad-beamed, open boat, lay drawn up on the beach near to the landing. The mast, with the sails furled close and snug, the gaff, and the long oars lay along the thwarts. Jack helped Dred step the mast, and together they partly loosened the reef-points so that the sail hung limp and ready to be spread at a moment’s notice. There was a small barraca nearly half-full of water in the bow of the boat. Dred lifted it out, drew the plug, smelled briefly at the water, and then turned it out upon the sand. Then he sat down upon the rail for a talk, while the water glugged and gurgled out of the keg upon the beach. “D’ye see,” he began, “I look at this here affair this way. ’Tis not as though I was playing the captain false, d’ye see? for I was dead set against this here venture from the very first, and he went into it in spite of me. I didn’t want the girl fetched here, and I told him he would be getting hisself into bitter trouble if he did fetch her. Well, he would do it, and now ’tis just as I said. Now, d’ye see, ’tis either to take this young lady away, or else to sit by and see her die, as she’s bound to do if she lives here much longer; and ’tis as bad for the captain one way as ’tis another. If she dies on his hands he’ll be hung for sure, and if she gets away, the whole province of Virginny’ll be down here to roast him out; and either way ’tis as bad as can be, and nothing gained if she dies. Well, then, I don’t choose to sit by, and let her die, and no good come of it. My neck’s mightily precious to me, for ’tis all I’ve got; and if I can save it from being stretched by taking her back home again, why not do it – can ye tell me that?”
“What you say’s true enough, Dred,” said Jack.
But Dred appeared to be speaking more for himself than for Jack, and he sat for a while in silence. The water had all run out from the keg, but still he did not move. Then he suddenly began speaking again. “There’s summat as I don’t know as I ever told ye about, lad. D’ye remember my telling you once how I shot a young gentleman aboard an English bark the captain took some two years or more ago?”
“Yes, I do,” said Jack. And then an instant light flashed upon him. Dennis had several times told how young Mr. Edward Parker had been killed by the pirates, but the coincidence had never before struck him. It had never before occurred to him to parallel the tragedy of young Mr. Parker with the story Dred had told him about shooting a young gentleman aboard the Duchess Mary; nor is it likely that he would have thought of it now, only for the very meaning tone in which Dred spoke. “Why, then, was it you shot Mr. Edward Parker?” he cried out, and he could see in the gloom that Dred nodded his head. It was only after quite a while that Dred said, “Ay, ‘twas I shot him, and now you knows it.” Jack sat looking intently at him through the glimmering darkness. “Now, what I mean to say is this,” he continued; “when we gets back to Virginny, don’t you go telling to anybody that I was ever mixed up in that there business, for ‘twould mean hanging for me if you did. What’s done can’t be cured, and ‘twould only get me into a peck of trouble if you was to talk about it. D’ye see, if I’m going to take the trouble and risk of carrying this young lady back to her father, why, I ought to get paid for it, and not get hung at the end of all my trouble.”
“I’ll not say anything about it,” said Jack. “I never thought of it being you who shot the young gentleman. So far as I’m concerned, I sha’n’t say a word about it; but how about the captain? Won’t he be likely to tell about it for the sake of getting even with you?”
“That for the captain!” said Dred, with a gesture. “Who’ll mind what he says? If Colonel Parker’s going to give me anything for bringing his gell back he’ll give it, and then away I goes out of harm’s way. By the time the captain’s had time to talk, why, I may be as far away as Indjy or Cochin Chiny.”
Then he arose and picked up the empty barraca and led the way up to the house.
It was maybe half an hour before everything was ready for the departure. Beside a barraca of fresh water, they brought down and stowed away in the boat a ham, a flitch of bacon, a bag and a half of biscuit, and a lemon net full of yams. Everything was done so silently that the pirate captain and his wife and the wounded Hands slept on undisturbed by their preparations. Then, all being ready, they shoved the yawl off from the shore, and drew it around to the end of the wharf, where they lashed it with stern-lines and bow-lines to the piles. “Now, lad,” said Dred, “we’re ready to start; and if you’ll go up and fetch the young lady, I’ll go up to the house and bring down the two storm-coats. Like enough we’ll need ‘em afore we gets to the end of our cruise.”
Jack found Miss Eleanor Parker ready, and waiting for him. He climbed the ladder to the window, and she handed him out her traveling-bag. Then he noiselessly assisted her to the ladder, and thence to the ground. He did not say anything to her nor she to him, as they walked rapidly away together in the silence down toward the boat. Before they had gone very far they caught up with Dred, carrying the two storm-coats. He opened one of the pockets, and showed Jack that he had brought Captain Teach’s case-bottle, which had been newly filled with rum, and he burst out into a soundless laugh as he dropped the bottle back into the pocket again. “A cruise with a girl and a boy,” he said, “and a yawl-boat for to cruise in! What d’ye think of that for a bloody salt like I be?” and he fetched Jack a slap on the back. Jack could smell the fumes of rum upon his breath, and he knew that Dred must have been taking a drink before he left the house. He did not reply, and after that they walked on in silence down to the little wharf and out to where the yawl lay at the end of the landing.
“I tell ye what ’tis, mistress,” said Dred; “if your father don’t stand to me for this here, there’s no such thing as thankfulness in the world. I tell you, he ought to pay me well for doing this, and trying to get you back home again.”
“Indeed – indeed, my father’ll never forget what you’re doing for me!” she cried. “Nor shall I ever forget it either, but will be grateful to you both for as long as ever I live.” Then Jack and Dred helped her down into the boat. As Dred stepped forward to spread the sail, Jack pushed the yawl off with one of the oars, and it drifted slowly away from the end of the little wharf into the broad, dim, night-lit waters of the creek. Then he turned to help Dred loose the sail, the boat drifting slowly further and further away into the pallid night, and the young lady sitting silent and motionless in the stern thwarts.
CHAPTER XXXV
THE BEGINNING OF THE VOYAGE
AT FIRST the three fugitives – the young lady and Jack and Dred – sailed away in silence. The wind blew swiftly, and the dark, silent shores seemed to slide away strangely and mysteriously behind them. As they ran out into the broad, misty waters of the greater river, the distorted half-moon was just rising from a bank of clouds in the east, and a sort of obscure light lit up everything indistinctly. The wind was blowing fresh and cool, and as the boat came further and further out into the wider waters it began to pitch and dance. “About!” called Dred, and, as he put down the tiller and drew in the sheet, hand over hand, the sail flapping and fluttering, Jack and the young lady crouched, and the boom came swinging over. The boat heeled over upon the other course, and then drove forward swiftly with a white splash of loud water at the bow, and a long misty wake trailing behind, flashing every now and then with a sudden dull sparkle of pallid phosphorescence.
Neither Jack nor Dred had spoken anything to the young lady since they had left the wharf behind, and she sat silent and motionless in the stern where they had placed her. Jack had gone forward to raise the peak a little higher. As he came back, stepping over the thwarts, he looked at her; her face shone faint and pallid in the moonlight, and he saw her shudder. “Why, mistress,” he said, “you are shivering – are you cold?”
“No, I’m not cold,” said she, in a hoarse, dry voice. And then, for the first time, Jack noticed the sparkle of tears upon her cheeks. Dred was looking at her, and perhaps saw the tears at the same time.
“Here,” said he, suddenly, “put on this overcoat; ‘twill make you more comfortable.” She protested feebly, but Dred and Jack persisted, and Jack held the coat for her as she slipped her arms into it.
“There’s a scarf in the traveling-bag yonder,” she said. “If you’ll let me have it I’ll put it on.”
Jack reached the bag to her, and she placed it upon the seat beside her and opened it, turning over the clothes until she found what she wanted. Then she wrapped the scarf around her head, tying it in beneath her chin. She felt in her pocket for her handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “How long will it take us to get back to Virginia?” she asked.
Jack looked at Dred. “Why, I don’t know,” said Dred. “Maybe not more’n a week.”
“A week!” she repeated.
“Why, yes. Perhaps not that long, though,” he added, “if the weather holds good, and we’re not stopped any place.” No one said anything for a while, and the boat plunged swiftly on, the waves, every now and then clapping against the bow, sending a dash of spray astern, and the water gurgling away noisily behind. Suddenly Dred turned toward the young lady again. “You must be tired,” he said. “I know very well you must be tired.”
“No, I’m not very tired,” said she, faintly.
“Why, mistress, I know you must be tired from the sound of your voice. Here, lad” – to Jack – “you take the tiller while I see if I can make her comfortable. Now, then,” he said, as he turned to her, “you lie down there with your head on this here bundle, and I’ll cover you over.”
She obeyed him silently, and he covered her over with the second overcoat, tucking it in under her feet. “I’ll never forget what you are doing for me, as long as I live,” she said. “I – ” her lips moved, but she could not say anything more.
“That’s all very well, mistress,” said Dred, gruffly. “Never you mind that, just now.”
Jack looked long and fixedly at the young lady’s face, pallid in the growing moonlight which sparkled in her dark eyes; she looked singularly beautiful in the white light. “Where be ye going?” called out Dred, suddenly. “Keep to your course!” And then he came back to himself and the things about him with a start, to find the yawl falling off to the wind. Then once more Dred settled himself in his place, relieving Jack of the tiller. Presently he took out his tobacco-pipe and filled it. He struck the fire with the flint and steel, holding the tiller under his arm as he did so. Then he lit his pipe, puffing hard at it for a while. The wind blew the young lady’s hair across her face and she raised her hand to put it back. Jack half lay upon the bench opposite, resting upon his elbow, his cheek upon his hand.
“D’ye see,” said Dred, beginning abruptly with the thoughts in his mind, and without any preface, “according to what I calculate they won’t be able to folly us afore late to-morrow morning. ‘Twill take ‘em some time to get a crew together to man the sloop, and it may be ten o’clock afore they gets away. In course, arter they do have her manned they’ll overhaul us fast enough; but if we have so much start as we’re like to have, why, ’tis like we’ll keep our lead till we get up into the Sound.” Jack listened, saying nothing. In spite of himself he was dozing off every now and then, and awakening with a start. As Dred talked to him, the words came distantly to his ears. “D’ye see,” said Dred, after puffing away at his pipe for a while in silence – and once more Jack aroused from the doze with a start at the sound of his voice – “D’ye see, what we’ll have to do’ll be to sail up into Albemarle Sound, past Roanoke Island and so into Currituck Sound. The waters there be shoal, and even if the sloop should folly us we can keep out of her way, maybe, over the shallows. Old Currituck Inlet – if’t is anything like I used to know it three year ago – is so as we can get over it at high tide in the north channel; that is, we may if the bar ain’t closed it yet. The sloop can’t folly through the inlet; she draws too much water for that, and if we once get there, d’ye see, we’re safe enough from all chase. Contrarywise, if they run down to Ocracock, thinking we took that way – what with running so far down into the Sound and we having the gain on ‘em of so much start, they’d have as poor chance as ever you saw in your life to overhaul us afore we gets inside of Cape Henry. D’ye understand?”
Again Jack had dropped off into a dim sleep; at the last question he awoke with a start. “What did you say, Dred?” he asked; “I didn’t hear the last part.”
Dred looked keenly at him for a moment or two; then he took the pipe out of his mouth and puffed out a cloud of smoke. “Well,” he said, “it don’t matter no way. You lay down and go to sleep.”
“No, I won’t,” said Jack. “I’ll just rest this way.” He was lying upon the thwart, his head propped upon his arm. He tried to stay awake, but presently he began again dozing off, waking every now and then to find Dred steadily at the helm, and the young lady lying motionlessly opposite to him. At last he fell fairly asleep and began dreaming.
When he awoke again he found the day had broken, although the sun had not yet risen. They were running down about a quarter of a mile from the shore. A dark, dense fringe of pine forest grew close to the water’s edge. The breeze was falling away with the coming of the day, and the boat was sailing slowly, hardly careening at all to the wind.
Jack sat up, looking about him, and then at the young lady, and there his gaze rested. She looked very white and wan, but she was sleeping deeply and peacefully, her eyelids closed, and the long, dark lashes resting softly on her cheek. Dred followed Jack’s look, and there his eyes rested also. As Jack moved, stretching his stiffened arms, Dred put his finger to his lips and Jack nodded.
About a half a league over the bow of the boat Jack could see the wide mouth of a tributary inlet to the Sound. He slid along the seat toward Dred. “What water is that over there?” he whispered.
“That’s the mouth of the Pungo,” said Dred. “I’m a-going to run ashore at the p’int, and I hope the wind’ll hold to reach it. There’s a lookout tree there, and I want to take a sight to see if there’s any sign of a chase. I don’t know as we’ll get there without oars, though,” he said, “for the wind’s dying down. I tell you what ’tis, lad, you’d better whistle your best for a breeze; for just now ’tis worth gold and silver to us, for the furder we reaches now, the safer we’ll be. By and by, about this time, they’ll be stirring at home to find we’ve gone. If we’d have to lay at the p’int yonder all day, ‘twill give ‘em a chance to man the sloop and be down on us. As like as not they’ll be getting a slant o’ wind afore we do, if it comes out from the west, as ’tis like to do.”
Jack looked over the edge of the boat and down into the brackish water, clear but brown with juniper stain. It seemed to him that the yawl barely crept along. “At this rate,” said Dred, “we’re not making two knot an hour.”
The sun rose round and red over the tops of the trees of the distant further shore, and the breeze grew lighter and lighter. Every now and then the sail, which lay almost flat, began to flutter. Presently the boom swayed inward a little, and as it did so a level shaft of light fell across the young lady’s face. She moved her hand feebly over her face; then she opened her eyes. Jack and Dred were gazing at her as she did so. First there was a blank look of newly awakened life in her face, then bewilderment, then a light of dawning consciousness. Then she sat up suddenly. “Where am I?” she said, looking about her, dazed and bewildered.
“You’re safe enough so far, Mistress,” said Dred; “and I’m glad you’re awake, for’t is high time we was taking to the oars. An ash breeze is all we’ll be like to have for a while now.” He gave the tiller a quick jerk or two. “Come, Jack,” said he; “I’ll make out well enough to do the sailing, but’t is you’ll have to take to the oars.”
“Very well,” said Jack; “that suits me well enough.”
He drew out the oars, clattering, and dropped them into the rowlocks. Then he shot a quick glance over the bow, spat on his hands, and gripped the oars. As he began rowing, the sail swung in over the boat, and Dred steadied it with one hand, holding the tiller with the other. He laid the bow of the boat for a little cypress-tree that stood out beyond the tip of the point in the water. Jack rowed and rowed, and the shore drew foot by foot nearer and nearer; and presently they went slowly around the point into a little inlet or bay sheltered by the woods that stretched out like arms on either side. Then the bow of the boat grated upon the sand, and Dred arose from where he sat. “Here we be,” he said, stretching himself.
Fronting upon the beach was a little sandy bluff three or four feet high, and beyond that stretched away the pine forest, the trees – their giant trunks silver-gray with resin – opening long, level vistas into the woods carpeted with a soft mat of brown needles. “We’ll go ashore here a bit,” said Dred; “you come along o’ me, Jack, and we’ll go down to the p’int to the lookout tree. Don’t you be afraid if we leave you a little while, mistress; we’ll be back afore long.”
“I would like to get out of the boat for a little while too,” she said, “for I’m mightily tired.”
“To be sure you be,” said Dred. “Come, Jack, lend a hand to help her young ladyship ashore.”
They spread out one of the overcoats upon the sand, and made her as comfortable as they could. The sun, which had now risen above the tops of the trees, shone warm and strong across the broad, level stretch of smooth water. The young lady sat gazing away into the distance. “We’ll be back again soon,” said Dred. “Come along, Jack.” She looked toward them and smiled, but made no other reply.
“Methinks she appears better already,” said Jack, as he and Dred walked away together.
“Ay,” said Dred, briefly.
They walked down along the sandy shore for some little distance, and then cut across a little narrow neck of land to the river shore upon the other side. A great, single pine-tree stood towering above the lower growth, and there were cleats nailed to the trunk, leading from the earth to the high branches above. “Here we be,” said Dred; “and now for a sight astern.” He laid aside his coat, and then began ascending the tree by means of the cleats. Jack watched him as he climbed higher and higher until he reached the roof-like spread of branches far overhead. There he flung one leg over the topmost cleat, and, holding fast to the limb, sat looking steadily out toward the westward, his shirt gleaming white among the branches against the sky of the zenith. He remained there for a long time, and then Jack saw him climbing down again. He brushed his hands smartly together as he leaped to the ground, and then put on his coat.
“Well,” said Jack, “did you see anything?”
“No,” said Dred, “I didn’t. ’Tis a trifle thick and hazy-like – d’ye see? But so far as I could make out, there ain’t no chase in sight yet awhile.”
The young girl, when they returned, was walking up and down the beach. She hesitated when she saw them, then came a lingering step or two to meet them, and then stood waiting.
“I see naught so far, mistress,” said Dred, when they had come up to her; “so far as I see we’re safe from chase.”
“You are very good to me,” she said. “I was just thinking how kind you are to me.” She looked from one to the other as she spoke, and her eyes filled with tears. Jack looked sheepish at the sight of her emotion, and Dred touched his forehead with his thumb, with rather an abashed salute. They stood for a moment as though not knowing what to say.
