pistol from the holster, if you please, Mademoiselle."

They had not realized we had halted, for the last rider charged past us
before he could check himself. I had a glimpse of his face, white against
the night, and I saw him tug furiously at his bit--an unfortunate matter,
so it happened, for the footing beneath the marsh grass was bad, and his
horse slewed and fell on top of him.

"Pah!" exclaimed my father. "It is almost sad to watch them. Let us go,
Henry. He is knocked even more senseless than he was before. Keep the
saddle, Mademoiselle, and we will lead you across. I fancy that is the
last of them for a moment."

So we tumbled through the mud at a walk, slipping noisily at every step,
but my father was correct in his prophecy. Only the noise of our
progress interrupted us. The sand dunes were becoming something more than
a shadow. My father walked in tranquil silence at the bridle, while I
trudged beside him.

"Are you hurt, Captain?" Mademoiselle demanded.

"Indeed not," he replied. "What was there to hurt me? I was thinking.
That is all; but why do you ask, my lady?"

"Only," said Mademoiselle, "because you have been silent for the past
five minutes, and you never are more gay than when you embark on an
adventure. I never heard you say two words, Captain, until that night on
the Loire."

"Let us forget the Loire," replied my father. "Shall I be quite frank
with you, Mademoiselle?"

"It would be amusing," she admitted, leaning from the saddle towards him,
"if it were only possible," she added.

"Then listen, Mademoiselle," he continued, "and I shall be very frank
indeed. It must be the sea air which makes me so. I seldom talk unless I
feel that my days for talking are nearly over, and at present they seem
to stretch before me most interminably. In a moment we shall see the
boat, and in a moment the _Sea Tern_. I fear I have been very foolish."

"Father," I inquired, "will you answer me a question?"

"Perhaps," said my father.

"What has my uncle to do with the paper?"

"My son," said my father, "may I ask you a question?"

"Perhaps," I replied.

"How much money did your mother leave you at her death?"

"She had none to leave," I replied quickly.

"Ah," said my father, "have you ever wondered why?"

"You should be able to tell me," I answered coldly.

"Indeed," said my father. "But here we are at the dunes. The boat, my
son, do you see it?"

I scrambled up ahead through the sand and beac