ent the hail
along:

"Loose both topsails and set them! Caliban, thou small villain, out and
loose the outer jib. Main-sheet here! Oh, haul, bullies! Flat--more
yet--so, belay!"

Then the girl flung the man from the wheel, seized the spokes herself,
and began to nurse the schooner to windward with truly superhuman art.
Closer yet she brought the graceful craft; closer, until the luffs
trembled and the seas burst fair upon the stem and volleyed stinging
spray the full length of her. And as she drew nearer, the blaze seemed
to diminish and blaze afresh as if fire-fighters were there indeed, but
lacking weapons to fight with.

"Is it the treasure-house?" Tomlin asked anxiously, stepping beside the
girl. She stood in deep shadow; the dim radiance from the lighted
binnacle touched her face, breast, and arms with soft light, and her
eyes, as they flashed swiftly toward the man, glittered with some subtle
quality that sent a shiver running down his spine.

"Treasure-house?" she repeated, and her voice was no longer soft and
alluring; it was metallic and menacing. For the second time, first in
Venner, now in Tomlin, she had seen the true source of their
fascination. "No, it is not the treasure-house. It is the council hall,
where thou wert lodged." She snatched her gaze from the compass and
fixed him with the cold, unwinking stare of a snake. "Where thou wert
lodged, my friend who would renounce all for me. Where, had I cared to,
I might have left two of ye, taking with me to safety only the one whose
brains are not afire with soulless gold and jewels."

Tomlin grew hot and uneasy. "My brain is on fire with your beauty,
Dolores," he returned, trying to force her gaze to meet his again.

"Prove it to me, then," she replied shortly, and waved him away,
devoting her attention now to making the anchorage, already close to.

CHAPTER XVI.

PEARSE ENTERS THE CAVE OF ALADDIN.

Lucky it proved that Pascherette had been left behind when the schooner
sailed after Yellow Rufe. Even Dolores, with all her consummate wisdom,
had forgotten the existence of the old woman she had degraded to kitchen
drudge; still more utterly had she forgotten the relationship existing
between the old woman and the late victim of her terrible vengeance.

Sancho had called the old crone mother, whether with blood reasons or
not none knew. And at bottom, much of Sancho's rebellion had come of
anger at the treatment meted out to her. And it was