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distance that was very little over a mile. Peyrol's heart flew into his mouth
at finding himself so close to the enemy. On board the Amelia at first no
notice was taken. It was simply a tartane making for shelter on the north side
of Porquerolles. But when Peyrol suddenly altered
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his course, the master of the manofwar, noticing the manoeuvre, took up the
long glass for a look. Captain
Vincent was on deck and agreed with the master's remark that ``there was a
craft acting suspiciously.'' Before the Amelia could come round in the heavy
squall, Peyrol was already under the battery of Porquerolles and, so far, safe
from capture. Captain Vincent had no mind to bring his ship within reach of
the battery and risk damage in his rigging or hull for the sake of a small
coaster. However, the tale brought on board by Symons of his discovery of a
hidden craft, of his capture, and his wonderful escape, had made every tartane
an object of interest to the whole ship's company. The Amelia remained hove to
in the strait while her officers watched the lateen sails gliding to and fro
under the protecting muzzles of the guns. Captain Vincent himself had been
impressed by Peyrol's manoeuvre. Coasting craft as a rule were not afraid of
the Amelia. After taking a few turns on the quarterdeck he ordered Symons to
be called aft.
The hero of a unique and mysterious adventure, which had been the only subject
of talk on board the corvette for the last twentyfour hours, came along
rolling, hat in hand, and enjoying a secret sense of his importance.
``Take the glass,'' said the captain, ``and have a look at that vessel under
the land. Is she anything like the tartane that you say you have been aboard
of?''
Symons was very positive. ``I think I can swear to those painted mastheads,
your honour. It is the last thing I
remember before that murderous ruffian knocked me senseless. The moon shone on
them. I can make them out now with the glass.'' As to the fellow boasting to
him that the tartane was a dispatchboat and had already made some trips, well,
Symons begged his honour to believe that the beggar was not sober at the time.
He did not care what he blurted out. The best proof of his condition was that
he went away to fetch the soldiers and forgot to come back. The murderous old
ruffian! ``You see, your honour,'' continued Symons, ``he thought I
was not likely to escape after getting a blow that would have killed nine out
of any ten men. So he went away to boast of what he had done before the people
ashore; because one of his chums, worse than himself, came down thinking he
would kill me with a dam' big manure fork, saving your honour's presence. A
regular savage he was.''
Symons paused, staring, as if astonished at the marvels of his own tale. The
old master, standing at his captain's elbow, observed in a dispassionate tone
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that, anyway, that peninsula was not a bad jumpingoff place for a craft
intending to slip through the blockade. Symons, not being dismissed, waited
hat in hand while Captain Vincent directed the master to fill on the ship and
stand a little nearer to the battery. It was done, and presently there was a
flash of a gun low down on the water's edge and a shot came skipping in the
direction of the Amelia. It fell very short, but Captain Vincent judged the
ship was close enough and ordered her to be hove to again. Then Symons was
told to take a look through the glass once more. After a long interval he
lowered it and spoke impressively to his captain:
``I can make out three heads aboard, your honour, and one is white. I would
swear to that white head anywhere.''
Captain Vincent made no answer. All this seemed very odd to him; but after all
it was possible. The craft had certainly acted suspiciously. He spoke to the
first lieutenant in a halfvexed tone.
``He has done a rather smart thing. He will dodge here till dark and then get
away. lt is perfectly absurd. I
don't want to send the boats too close to the battery. And if I do he may
simply sail away from them and be round the land long before we are ready to
give him chase. Darkness will be his best friend. However, we will keep a
watch on him in case he is tempted to give us the slip late in the afternoon.
In that case we will have a good try to catch him. If he has anything aboard I
should like to get hold of it. It may be of some importance, after all.''
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On board the tartane Peyrol put his own interpretation on the ship's
movements. His object had been attained.
The corvette had marked him for her prey. Satisfied as to that, Peyrol watched
his opportunity and taking advantage of a long squall, with rain thick enough
to blur the form of the English ship, he left the shelter of the battery to
lead the Englishman a dance and keep up his character of a man anxious to
avoid capture.
Real, from his position on the lookout, saw in the thinning downpour the
pointed lateen sails glide round the north end of Porquerolles and vanish
behind the land. Some time afterwards the Amelia made sail in a manner that
put it beyond doubt that she meant to chase. Her lofty canvas was shut off too
presently by the land of Porquerolles. When she had disappeared Real turned to
Arlette.
``Let us go,'' he said.
Arlette, stimulated by the short glimpse of Real at the kitchen door, whom she
had taken for a vision of a lost man calling her to follow him to the end of
the world, had torn herself out of the old woman's thin, bony arms which could
not cope with the struggles of her body and the fierceness of her spirit. She
had run straight to the lookout, though there was nothing to guide her there
except a blind impulse to seek Real wherever he might be. He was not aware of
her having found him until she seized hold of his arm with a suddenness,
energy and determination of which no one with a clouded mind could have been
capable. He felt himself being taken possession of in a way that tore all his
scruples out of his breast. Holding on to the trunk of the tree, he threw his
other arm round her waist, and when she confessed to him that she did not know
why she had run up there, but that if she had not found him she would have
thrown herself over the cliff, he tightened his clasp with sudden exultation,
as though she had been a gift prayed for instead of a stumbling block for his
pedantic conscience. Together they walked back. In the failing light the
buildings awaited them, lifeless, the walls darkened by rain and the big
slopes of the roofs glistening and sinister under the flying desolation of the
clouds. In the kitchen Catherine heard their mingled footsteps, and rigid in
the tall armchair awaited their coming. Arlette threw her arms round the old
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woman's neck while Real stood on one side, looking on.
Thought after thought flew through his mind and vanished in the strong feeling
of the irrevocable nature of the event handing him to the woman whom, in the
revulsion of his feelings, he was inclined to think more sane than himself
Arlette, with one arm over the old woman's shoulders, kissed the wrinkled
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