throwing open the door. "But
you must bring your aunt's parole also. You must give no alarm, for we
have every reason here for silence."

She turned back and held some converse with Auntie Lucinda, and by
what spell I know not, won the promise of the latter to remain silent
and make no attempt at escape. A little later she was at my side in
the dim light cast by a flickering and distant arc light at the
street.

"I have your word, then?" I demanded of her.

"Yes. You can't blame me for wanting to get out, to see what is going
on."

"A great deal may be going on here any moment," said I. "In fact, if I
could show you the evening newspapers--which I purpose doing to-morrow
morning--it might seem to you that a great deal already has gone on.
For one thing, Cal Davidson is in town ahead of us. That's his boat
yonder, rubbing sides with us. He doesn't know we're here. He himself
is off up-town, at the Boston Club, probably, or perhaps some of the
cafes--he knows a thousand people here."

"So do I, Harry," said she. "To think of going by in this plight! And
to think of leaving New Orleans without even one little supper at
Luigi's, Harry--it breaks my heart."

"We are almost ready to sail, Helena. Suppose we see Luigi's some
other time. Things are getting pretty close about us here."

"Any pirate should be a man of courage," said she; "he should be ever
willing to take a chance."

"Very well; have I not taken several chances already?"

"And again, a pirate ought to be kind toward all women, oughtn't he,
Harry? I asked you this afternoon, why couldn't we be friends again
and stop all this foolishness. Let's forget everything and just be
friends."

"What! Again, Helena? Have I not tried that and found it a failure?"

"You have no courage. You are no pirate. I challenge you to a test."

"What is it, Helena?"

"Let us go up-town and have a little supper at Luigi's, the way we
used to, Harry, when we really were friends."

"What, with Cal Davidson loose in the town and his boat lying here?"

"That is the adventure!"

"You would turn me over to the authorities?"

"No, but I would sell my parole for a mess of woodcock, Harry." She
laid a hand upon my arm. "I can't tell you how much I want a little
supper at Luigi's, Harry. I like the Chianti there. Between us we
could afford thirty cents a bottle, could we not? Now, if I gave my
parole--and of course, every one would be here at the boat just the
same--But of c