to know every rock
and reef in the bottom of the sea. Our only chance is to make the
island on the south side, where there are no passages at all except one
that leads into a bay; but if we run into that, our masts will be seen
against the southern sky, even from the harbour where the schooner lies.
If we are seen, they will be prepared for us, in which case we shall
have a desperate fight with little chance of success and the certainty
of much bloodshed. We must therefore run straight for another part of
the shore, not far from the bay I have referred to, and take our chance
of striking. I _think_ there is enough of water to float this little
cutter over the reefs, but I am not sure."

"Think! sure!" echoed Thorwald, in a tone of exasperated surprise; "and
if we _do_ strike, Mr Gascoyne, do you mean us to go beg for mercy at
the hands of your men, or to swim back to Sandy Cove?"

"If we strike I shall take the boat, land with the men, and leave the
cutter to her fate. The _Avenger_ will suffice to take us back to Sandy
Cove."

Ole was rendered speechless by the coolness of this remark, so he
relieved himself by tightening his belt and spouting forth volcanoes of
smoke.

Meanwhile, the cutter had run to within a short distance of the island.
The night was rendered doubly dark by the rapid spreading of those heavy
clouds which indicated the approach of a squall, if not a storm.

"This is well," said Gascoyne in a low tone to Henry Stuart, who stood
near him; "the worse the storm is to-night the better for the success of
our enterprise. Henry, lad, I'm sorry you think so badly of me."

Henry was taken aback by this unexpected remark, which was made in a low
sad tone.

"Can I think too badly of one who confesses himself to be a _pirate_?"
said Henry.

"The confession is at least in my favour. I had no occasion to confess,
nor to give myself up to you."

"Give yourself up! It remains to be seen whether you mean to do that or
not."

"Do you not believe me, Henry? Do you not believe the account that I
gave of myself to you and your mother?"

"How can I?" said the young man, hesitatingly.

"Your mother believed me."

"Well, Gascoyne, to tell you the plain truth, I _do_ feel more than half
inclined to believe you; and I'm sorry for you--I am, from my soul. You
might have led a different life--you might even do so yet."

"You forget," said Gascoyne, smiling sadly, "I have given myself up, and
you are