the British Isles were continually on the look-out
for vessels attempting to land passengers, orders had been given that no
lights should be shown; the skylights and portholes were accordingly
covered with tarpaulins.

It wanted a quarter of an hour to midnight when Pharos came along the
deck and, standing by my side, pointed away over our bow.

"The black smudge you can distinguish on the horizon is England," he
said abruptly, and then was silent, in order, I suppose, that I might
have time to digest the thoughts his information conjured up.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Pharos and I stood leaning against the bulwarks, gazing at the land. For
my part I must confess that there was a feeling in my heart that was not
unlike that of a disgraced son who enters his home by stealth after a
long absence. And yet it would be impossible to tell you how my heart
warmed to it. Times out of number I had thought of my return to England,
and had pictured Valerie standing by my side upon the deck of the
steamer, watching the land loom up, and thinking of the happiness that
was to be our portion in the days to come. Now Valerie and I were
certainly nearing England together; Pharos, however, was with us, and
while we were in his power happiness was, to all intents and purposes,
unknown to us.

"What do you propose doing when you get ashore?" I inquired of my
companion, more for the sake of breaking the silence than for any desire
I had for the information.

"That will very much depend upon circumstances," he replied, still
without looking at me. "Our main object must be to reach London as
quickly as possible." Then, changing his tone, he turned to me.
"Forrester, my dear fellow," he said, almost sorrowfully, "you cannot
think how I regret our little disagreement of this morning. I am afraid,
while I am touchy, you are headstrong; and, in consequence, we
misunderstand each other. I cannot, of course, tell what you think of
me in your heart, but I venture to believe that if you knew everything,
you would be the first to own that you have wronged me. Bad as I may be,
I am not quite what you would make me out. If I were, do you think,
knowing your antagonism as I do, I should have kept you so long with me?
You have doubted me from the beginning; in fact, as you will remember,
you once went so far as to accuse me of the crime of murder. You
afterwards acknowledged your mistake--in handsome terms, I will own; but
to counterbalance such fran