ust now. Go, only go, and I will send you
some. I swear it."

"I cannot go," said the man.

"Why?"

"Never mind. I am watched." Here the voice muttered some words
which I could not catch. "So that unless you wish to see your
husband swing--and believe me, my confession and last dying speech
would not omit to mention the kind aid I had received from you and
Clar-"

"Hush! oh, hush! If I get you this money, will you leave us in peace
for a time? Knowing your nature, I will not ask for pity--only for a
short respite. I must tell Claire, poor girl; she does not know
yet--"

Quite softly my boat had drifted once more across the schooner's
bows. I pulled it round until its nose touched the anchor chain, and
made the painter fast. Then slipping my hand up the chain, I stood
with my shoeless feet upon the gunwale by the bows. Still grasping
the chain, I sprang and swung myself out to the jib-boom that, with
the cant of the vessel, was not far above the water: then pressed my
left foot in between the stay and the brace, while I hung for a
moment to listen.

They had not heard, for I could still catch the murmur of their
voices. The creak of the jib-boom and the swish of my own boat
beneath had frightened me at first. It seemed impossible that it
should not disturb them. But after a moment my courage returned, and
I pulled myself up on to the bowsprit, and lying almost at full
length along it, for fear of being spied, crawled slowly along, and
dropped noiselessly on to the deck.

They were standing together by the mizzen-mast, he with his back
turned full towards me, she less entirely averted, so that I could
see a part of her face in the moonlight, and the silvery gleam of her
grey hair. Yes, it was they, surely enough; and they had not seen
me. My revenge, long waited for, was in my grasp at last.

Suddenly, as I stood there watching them, I remembered my knife--the
blade which had slain my father. I had left it below--fool that I
was!--in the tin box. Could I creep back again, and return without
attracting their attention? Should I hazard the attempt for the sake
of planting that piece of steel in Simon Colliver's black heart?

It was a foolish thought, but my whole soul was set upon murder now,
and the chance of slaying him with the very knife left in my father's
wound seemed too dear to be lightly given up. Most likely he was
armed now, whilst I had no weapon but the naked hand. Yet I did no