return there had been the inevitable
result of the first mistake, and the rest had followed with a fatal
ease. Whatever had been the deficiences of the past twelve years he
had been free from new complications, fresh treacheries. Now, with
hardly a struggle, he was falling back into the old trap.

The wind died away absolutely, and a haze gathered delicately over the
sea, thickening through the afternoon, and turned rosy by the
declining sun. The shore had faded from sight.

A sudden energy leaped through John Woolfolk and rang out in an abrupt
summons to Halvard. "Get up anchor," he commanded.

Poul Halvard, at the mainstay, remarked tentatively: "There's not a
capful of wind."

The wide calm, Woolfolk thought, was but a part of a general
conspiracy against his liberty, his memories. "Get the anchor up," he
repeated harshly. "We'll go under the engine." The sudden jarring of
the _Gar's_ engine sounded muffled in a shut space like the flushed
heart of a shell. The yacht moved forward, with a wake like folded
gauze, into a shimmer of formless and pure color.

John Woolfolk sat at the wheel, motionless except for an occasional
scant shifting of his hands. He was sailing by compass; the patent
log, trailing behind on its long cord, maintained a constant, jerking
register on its dial. He had resolutely banished all thought save that
of navigation. Halvard was occupied forward, clearing the deck of the
accumulations of the anchorage. When he came aft Woolfolk said
shortly: "No mess."

The haze deepened and night fell, and the sailor lighted and placed
the port and starboard lights. The binnacle lamp threw up a dim,
orange radiance on Woolfolk's somber countenance. He continued for
three and four and then five hours at the wheel, while the smooth
clamor of the engine, a slight quiver of the hull, alone marked their
progress through an invisible element.

Once more he had left life behind. This had more the aspect of a
flight than at any time previous. It was, obscurely, an unpleasant
thought, and he endeavored--unsuccessfully--to put it from him. He was
but pursuing the course he had laid out, following his necessary,
inflexible determination.

His mind for a moment turned independently back to Millie with her
double burden of fear. He had left her without a word, isolated with
Nicholas, concealing with a blank smile his enigmatic being, and with
her impotent parent.

Well, he was not responsible for her, he had