down the declivity. That swift
glance showed them the camp deserted except for the wondering women, who
wandered idly among the empty huts, ever looking toward the forest
wherein had vanished all their men, waiting with bovine patience for any
one to settle their uncertainty for them.

And the forest was yet very still. The Feu Follette lay at a single
anchor, heading in the light breeze fair to seaward; a few heads showed
above her rail, and the stops had been cast off from her snowy sails. At
her gangway a single boat lay, the painter made fast on deck; on the
foreshore the other two long-boats were drawn up on the sand, planks
running up to their sides in readiness for the embarkation of yet more
treasure.

Venner and Pearse raced down the steep path, using little precaution,
sending showers of stones and clods flying before them. And Peters, the
schooner's sailing-master, saw them coming, and his voice rang out
calling for hands to man the boat. Two men answered and entered the boat
as the two fugitives reached the shore and ran along the Point. Pearse
counted the minutes at their disposal, and saw the futility of waiting
for that boat. He clutched eagerly at Venner's arm, and panted in his
ear:

"Tell them to hold on! Let them get the schooner ready for swift
departure. Come, we must swim for it."

Venner hesitated but a second. Then his hail went hurtling over the
still haven, and the two seamen scrambled out of the boat again.

"Swim it is, Pearse," he said, leading the way down to deep water. "Swim
it is, and may the ever-cleansing sea wash out of us the last traces of
insanity."

Together they plunged into the blue sea and swam swiftly out to the
schooner.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE FLIGHT OF THE FEU FOLLETTE.

Dolores, flinging herself down upon Craik Tomlin, seized his face
between her hands and raised his head, placing her knee beneath it. She
panted like an exhausted doe, yet the fire that leaped from her eyes
gave the lie to her attitude of sorrowing humility. Her lips moved
feverishly, but she could not or would not speak aloud. Tomlin's eyes
were closed in agony, his teeth were clenched tightly upon his under
lip; he gave no sign that he knew of her presence. And a sudden fury
seized her at his irresponsiveness. She shook his head between her hands
savagely.

"Wake! Speak!" she cried hoarsely. "Art indeed dead, at the moment of my
triumph?"

Tomlin's eyelids flickered, and his lips strov