for the Girondin, now almost hull down to the north-west, they had the
sea to themselves. It was hot enough to make the breeze caused by the
launch's progress pleasantly cool, and both men lay smoking on the deck,
lazily watching the water and enjoying the easy motion. Hilliard had
made the wheel fast, and reached up every now and then to give it a
slight turn.

"Jolly, I call this," he exclaimed, as he lay down again after one of
these interruptions. "Jolly sun, jolly sea, jolly everything, isn't it?"

"Rather. Even a landlubber like me can appreciate it. But you don't
often have it like this, I bet."

"Oh, I don't know," Hilliard answered absently, and then, swinging round
and facing his friend, he went on:

"I say, Merriman, I've something to tell you that will interest you, but
I'm afraid it won't please you."

Merriman laughed contentedly.

"You arouse my curiosity anyway," he declared. "Get on and let's hear
it."

Hilliard answered quietly, but he felt excitement arising in him as he
thought of the disclosure he was about to make.

"First of all," he began, speaking more and more earnestly as he
proceeded, "I have to make you an apology. I quite deliberately deceived
you up at the clearing, or rather I withheld from you knowledge that I
ought to have shared. I had a reason for it, but I don't know if you'll
agree that it was sufficient."

"Tell me."

"You remember the night before last when I rowed up to the wharf after
we had left the Coburns? You thought my suspicions were absurd or worse.
Well, they weren't. I made a discovery."

Merriman sat up eagerly, and listened intently as the other recounted
his adventure aboard the Girondin. Hilliard kept nothing back; even the
reference to Madeleine he repeated as nearly word for word as possible,
finally giving a bowdlerized version of his reasons for keeping his
discoveries to himself while they remained in the neighborhood.

Merriman received the news with a dismay approaching positive horror.
He had but one thought--Madeleine. How did the situation affect her? Was
she in trouble? In danger? Was she so entangled that she could not
get out? Never for a moment did it enter his head that she could be
willingly involved.

"My goodness! Hilliard," he cried hoarsely, "whatever does it all mean?
Surely it can't be criminal? They,"--he hesitated slightly, and Hilliard
read in a different pronoun--"they never would join in such a thing."

Hilliard took the