er put about and bear down full upon me. It
was an anxious time as she came up. No one on board, it was clear,
guessed who I might be; nor, I think, did any one perceive me as I lay
there, except the man at the prow, who, seeing me resolved to be run
down, left me to take my will. By this time my pursuer was a hundred
yards away, thinking himself sure of me at last, and saving his breath.
It was a race whether he or the _Misericorde_ would be upon me the
sooner, but I settled that. For, as the ship came up, slowing towards
the end of her tack, I took a few strokes out to meet her, and then
turning my boats' head quickly slipped close under. I had already
marked a rope that hung from the poop within reach, and on this, when
the moment came, I ventured my all. Taking the cloak over my shoulder,
and casting away my oars, I sprang to my feet, and gave one leap which
sent my empty boat staggering back into her owner's hands, while it left
me hanging 'twixt heaven and earth.

To haul myself aboard was the work of a minute; even as I did so, I
could see out of the corner of my eye my pursuer staring round at me,
amazed, while he reached out to secure his truant craft. But that was
all I saw of him, for next moment I stood on deck half-fainting, face to
face with Ludar and the maiden and a stranger.

CHAPTER TEN.

HOW WE SAILED WITH A POET OF THE FIRST WATER.

Ludar told me, when presently I had revived enough to hear his story,
that when the tide turned and I did not appear, the Frenchman laughed
and bade them haul the anchor and thank Heaven they were rid of a thief.
"Whereat," said Ludar, "we came to words, and the maiden took your part
and besought the fellow to wait a half-hour. But he would hear none of
it. He said he was master here, and, if we liked not the ship, we might
go out of it. Indeed," added he, "he had a mind, he said, to put us all
out and be rid of so ill a company. Then there was nothing left but to
let him have his will, and we sailed. Yet I was not surprised to see
you back."

"And she--she did not deem me a traitor?" I asked.

"That maiden," said Ludar, gravely, "knows not what traitor means."

Whereat I felt partly humbled, partly comforted.

"Yes," said Ludar, "I am glad to have you back, Humphrey, for this
voyage bodes uneasily."

"How do you mean?" I asked.

"Our messmates," said he (and then I noticed that he wore a sailor's
jacket), "are a scurvy crew, as you will pres