ather
sheepish glances. Nobody likes to be caught making a mountain out of a
mole hill, and that was apparently what we had done. Our elaborate
preparations to defend the map during the past half hour had been
unnecessary.

"Tide right, Mr. Mott?" Blythe asked.

"All right, sir."

"Then we'll start at once."

I retired to my cabin, disposed of a certain document, and presently
returned to the deck. The engines were throbbing and the _Argos_ was
beginning to creep.

"We're off," I said to Miss Wallace, who was standing by my side on the
bridge deck leaning upon the rail.

"Yes, we're off. Luck with us," she cried softly with shining eyes.

I looked at her and smiled. The excitement that burned in her I could
understand, since I too shared it. We were answering the call of the sea
and its romance was tingling in our blood. Into what wild waters we were
to be whirled none of us had the slightest guess. It was fortunate that
the future was screened by a veil behind which we could not peep.

The quiver of the engines grew stronger. The _Argos_ was walking smartly
out into the bay, her funnels belching black smoke. A stiff wind was
blowing and the vessel leaped as she took the waves. Behind us in the
falling dusk the lights of the city began to come out like stars.

"I wonder when we'll see her again," my companion said softly, her gaze
on the hill of twinkling lights.

Like a Winged Victory her fine, lithe figure was outlined by the wind,
which had flung back the white skirt against the slender limbs, showing
the flowing lines as she moved. In her jaunty yachting cap, the heavy
chestnut hair escaping in blowing tendrils, a warmer color whipped into
her soft cheeks by the breeze, there was a sparkle to her gayety, a
champagne tang to her animation. One guessed her an Ionian goddess of
the sea reincarnated in the flesh of a delightful American girl.

It was this impression on me that gave the impetus to my answer.

"Not too soon, I hope."

Miss Berry joined us. I tucked her arm under mine and the three of us
tramped the promenade deck. Mott went down to his dinner and Blythe took
the wheel. My friend was an experienced sailor, and he had that dash of
daring which somehow never results in disaster. We could see the men
scurrying to and fro at his orders. The white sails began to belly out
with the whistling wind.

Blythe roared an order down the speaking tube and swung round the spokes
of the wheel. Straight t