hey handled.

And while they worked, Dolores emerged from the tunnel, flashed one long
glance of derision at the moving schooner, and sped down the cliff to
stop her flight.

The Feu Follette was poorly enough manned with Peters and his four men.
With the ready help of Venner and Pearse the getting of the anchor and
the hoisting of the heavy fore and main sails was an arduous job, but it
was accomplished under the tremendous urge of remembrance. None wished
to have the experiences of the past days repeated; Peters was anxious to
get his beautiful vessel into safer waters; the Feu Follette's owner and
his guest were doubly anxious to drop those blue hills of ominous memory
below the horizon forever. They gave scant attention to the three great
iron-bound chests that stood between the guns along the waist; getting
clear occupied every faculty.

The tide setting directly on the Point, with a breeze dead in from
seaward, forced the schooner perilously close to the bar that had been
her undoing before; but, with the lead going, Peters speedily found that
his previous mishap must undoubtedly have been due to clever misleading.
After touching lightly once, and getting deeper water at the next cast
over the lee side, he understood the trick of the extended false Point
and stood boldly along shore.

And as the schooner gathered steerage-way, hugging the Point closely,
Dolores ran out along the sandy beach and plunged into the sea abreast
the moving vessel.

"Here's that vixen woman, sir!" cried Peters angrily, looking toward
Venner for instructions. Peters had the helm, and owner and guest stood
against the companion, ready to lend a hand at the sheets, forward or
aft.

Venner and Pearse stared at the swimmer, then turned and gazed
searchingly at each other. In the face of each lingered a trace of the
subjection they had fallen under; neither could quite so quickly forget
the allurements of this woman. Her kisses had been as sweet as her fury
had been terrible; and the absence of Craik Tomlin was an additional
incentive to memory.

"Shall we take her away?" asked Venner, avoiding Pearse's eye as he put
the question.

"Can't you make more sail, Peters?" was Pearse's reply.

Venner laughed softly, agreeably; and the next moment Dolores hailed
them. She swam swiftly, with effortless ease, slipping through the sea
like a sparkling nymph in her native element. But the schooner traveled
fast, and, though she lost no ground