the
bushes along the shore, we drew near the schooner which began to take
dim shape in the darkness.

The tide was still strong, and it carried our boat across the bow of the
schooner. The anchor chain was hanging and served to hold us in place,
though with each lift of the tide I was afraid those on board would hear
us grind against her side. Intermittently the voices came to us, though
we could make out no words.

We were in a good deal of danger, for any minute one of the crew might
saunter to the side of the vessel and look over. It was plain to me that
we could not stay here. Either we must go forward or back.

Now back I would not go without finding whether Evelyn was here, and to
try to board the schooner in attack would be sheer madness. My mind
caught at a compromise.

I whispered to Alderson directions, and when the jibboom of the schooner
came down with the next recession of a wave I swung myself to it by
means of the chain, using the stays to brace my foot.

Here I lay for a minute getting my bearings, while the sailors in the
boat below backed quietly out of sight among the shore bushes that
overhung the banks.

So far as I could see the deck was deserted. Carefully I edged on to the
bowsprit, crept along it, and let myself down gently to the deck. I
could see now that men were lying asleep at the other end of the vessel.

One was standing with his back toward me beside the mizzen-mast. From
his clothes I guessed the watch to be a native.

The voices that had come to us across the water still sounded, but more
faintly than before I had come on board. Evidently they were from below.

Probably the speakers were in a cabin with the porthole open. I could
not be sure, but it struck me that one of them was a woman. My
impression was that she pleaded and that he threatened, for occasionally
the heavier voice was raised impatiently.

From its scabbard I drew my revolver and crept forward in the shadow of
the bulwarks. My life hung on a hair; so too did that of the watchman
drowsing by the mast. If he looked up and turned I was lost, and so was
he.

Foot by foot I stole toward the forecastle ladder, reached it, and
noiselessly passed down the stairs.

I say noiselessly, yet I could hear my heart beat against my ribs as I
descended. For I knew now that the voices which came from behind the
closed door of the cabin to my right belonged to my sweetheart and to
Boris Bothwell.

"Not I, but you," he wa