one, as he calls it,"--and in an
undertone she added: "I wish it were the only throne I had to occupy."

But the professor, overhearing this--for little escaped him now--cleared
his throat and stepped nearer.

"She is mistaken, my boy Jack," he said suavely. "The march is quite
fatiguing, and I must insist that she conserve her strength. There will
be no more conversation."

Taken aback by this, I was on the point of giving him a jolly good
blowing up, but her ready acquiescence caused me to desist. Really, I
began to wonder if he had her hypnotized; and, furious--indeed, quite a
good deal hurt--by the cool way she obeyed him and began to ignore me, I
marched grimly ahead.

As, three hours later, we neared the cove I saw Tommy sauntering back.
His manner seemed an augury of trouble, and I hurried on to him, asking:

"What's happened?"

"The _Orchid_ isn't there," he turned and fell into step with me. "While
getting her out of Big Cove she fouled on a bar. She's still on it, poor
dear. So Monsieur sails with us, after all."

For several minutes I stood still in my tracks and swore, stopping only
when Doloria's chair came in sight.

"I'm glad you got that out of your system," Tommy grinned. "Now get busy
on a new line of attack. We've only three more days, and you'll have to
work fast. Surprise her, upset her, then cinch her before she knows
what's what. That's the way!" And he hurried back to pay his respects.

The mate and his fellows, even to Pete the cook, escorted us happily
down to the small boats. They were honestly glad, and made no pretense
of disguising their admiration for Doloria, to the increasing wrath of
Echochee.

If ever the men of my own boat crew were on their mettle it was when
they sat with oars straight up while I helped her into the gig and took
my place at her side--for this was an honor I could not yield to
Monsieur, etiquette demanding that, when going aboard, the owner must be
her personal escort. With a nod to them they snapped into stroke and we
shot away, leaving the old fellow much disgruntled.

At the top of the gangway she hesitated in pretty wonderment before
stepping on deck, for the _Whim_ was a smart craft and our sailors had
not been idle these few days past.

"Everything's so unreal," she murmured. "My house of cards has come
tumbling down about my ears, until I think it must be a dreadful dream."

"To be transported to a sure-enough throne is certainly dreamlike," I