our cruise for an indefinite time. I was sorry to leave these good
people, but to stay with that mocking enigma of a woman was impossible.
She had possessed herself, in the most crafty and unwarrantable manner,
of information which she had no right to receive and I had no right to
give, and then contemptuously laughed in my face. My weakness may have
deserved the contempt, but that made no difference in my opinion of the
woman who had inflicted it upon me. I was glad, when we bade good-night
and farewell to the little party, that the Person was not present.

But early the next morning, just as we were hoisting sail on our boat,
this lady appeared, walking rapidly down to our beach. She was dressed
in a light morning costume, with some sort of a gauzy fabric thrown over
her head, and if I had not hated her so thoroughly I should have
considered her a very picturesque and attractive figure.

"I am glad I am in time," she called out. "I don't want you to go away
with too bad an opinion of me, and I came to say that what you have
confided to me is just as safe with me as it would be with anybody else.
Do you think you can believe that if you try?"

It was impossible for me to make any answer to this woman, but I took
off my hat and bowed. The sail filled, and we glided away.

Walkirk was not in good spirits. It was plain enough that he liked the
Tangent Island and wanted to stay; and he had good reason, for he had
found pleasant company, and this could not always be said to be the case
when sailing in a small boat or camping out with me. My intention was to
sail to a town on the mainland, some thirty miles distant, there leave
our boat, and take a train for Arden. This, I considered, was
sacrificing to appearances as much time as I could allow.

But the breeze was light and fitful, and we made but little progress,
and about the middle of the forenoon a fog came slowly creeping up from
the sea. It grew thicker and heavier, until in an hour or two we were
completely shut out from all view of the world about us. There was now
no wind. Our sail hung damp and flabby; moisture, silence, and obscurity
were upon us.

The rest of the day we sat doleful, waiting for the fog to lift and the
wind to rise. My fear was that we might drift out to sea or upon some
awkward shoals; for, though everything else was still, the tide would
move us. What Walkirk feared, if anything, I do not know, but he kept up
a good heart, and rigged a l