A few more strokes to leeward, and a spot of dull light broke through the darkness. He headed directly for it. To his relief it grew brighter; when suddenly, too late to stop the progress of his canoe, he shot under it, and the bow of his craft b.u.mped with a dull thud against the timber side of the schooner. Its dark outlines were just perceptible above him; and at one or two points there gleamed rays of light in the fog, green and red from the night lamps on the masthead, and dull yellow from the port holes in the rear. A second after the contact the canoe receded, then the wash of the sea drew her toward the stern. Another moment and Pembroke felt his prow sc.r.a.pe gently against the rudder, which prevented further drifting. Apparently, since he heard nothing from the deck above, he had reached his goal without attracting attention.

He kept perfectly still, however, for some little time, until satisfied that there was no one at the wheel above, he pushed the canoe softly back to the rope ladder, that a day or so before he had seen hanging over the side. It was the work of a moment to make his little boat fast to the lower rung. Then slipping over the rail, he climbed stealthily up till his head protruded above the gunwhale. The immediate deck seemed deserted; but he was sure that some one was keeping the watch, and probably near the point where he was, that is to say, where access to the deck was easiest. But the fog and the darkness afforded him protection, as he climbed over the gunwhale and, without making a sound, moved toward the stern, crossed the after-deck and found the wheel. As he had surmised, it was deserted. The watch evidently was forward. Beneath him, sending its ineffectual rays obliquely into the fog, shone the light from the little cabin below.

Determined to get a look through the port, he climbed over the gunwhale again, fastened a stern-sheet about his waist and to a staple, and at the risk, if he slipped or if the rope gave way, of plunging head foremost into the icy waters of the Cove, he let himself down until his head was on a level of the port.

Through the blurred gla.s.s he peered into a tiny cabin. There with back toward him, just a few feet away stood Nancy Frost. He steadied himself with an effort, and looking again saw that she was alone. A moment's hesitation, and he tapped resolutely on the pane with his finger tips. At first Nancy did not hear, but presently, aroused by the slight tapping, she glanced with a frightened expression toward the door, and stood anxiously listening. Tom continued to knock on the window, not daring to make it louder for fear of being heard above. The alarm deepened on Nancy's face, and in sheer pity Tom was tempted to desist; but at that instant her attention was riveted upon the spot whence the tapping came.

At last, still with the expression of alarm on her face, she came slowly toward the port. She hesitated, then pressed her face against the pane over which Tom had spread his fingers. At whatever risk, of frightening her or of danger to himself, as she drew back, he pressed his own face against the outside of the little window gla.s.s. She stared at him as if she were looking at a ghost.

He moved his lips to form the word "Open." At length, in obedience to this direction, Nancy cautiously unloosened the window of the port and drew it back.

"Good heavens, Tom!" she whispered. "Is it you?"

"Yes, yes," Pembroke whispered back. "But for G.o.d's sake, speak softly.

I'm in a devilishly unpleasant position, and can hang here but a minute.

Tell me quickly--are you here of your own free will or are you a prisoner?"

"How can you ask?" she exclaimed. "For the love of heaven, help me to escape."

"That's what I'm here for," was Toms reply. "Now, quick; are you only locked in or barred as well? I've brought some keys along."

"Only locked, I think."

"Where does that door lead?"

"Into a little pa.s.sage off the companion-way. Give me your keys. They have but one man on watch. The captain is on sh.o.r.e to-night, apt to return at any moment. And you?"

"I have a canoe tied to the ladder on the sh.o.r.e side. If the captain returns, I'm caught. Try those keys." He slipped into her the bunch of keys that he had brought along. "I was sure you were here, and against your will."

"Dan, too, is locked up on board."

"I thought as much; but you first. Hurry."

Nancy sprang to the door, trying one key after another in feverish haste.

At last, to Tom's infinite relief, he saw the key turn in the lock, and the door open.

"On deck," she whispered; "at the ladder. I'm not likely to be caught."

Then she waved her hand and disappeared into the pa.s.sage.

Tom pulled himself up, unloosed the rope, and stole along the rail toward the ladder. For a few moments, which seemed like a thousand years, he stood in anguished suspense waiting for Nancy. Then suddenly she came out of the mist and was at his side. They stood for a moment like disembodied spirits, creatures of the night and the fog. The next instant a hand shot out and grasped the girl's shoulder.

"_Peste! mam'zelle_," a rough voice hissed, "_ou allez-vous_?"

As the man spoke Tom swung at him with the b.u.t.t of his revolver, and without a murmur the figure fell to the deck.

"Quick now," Pembroke whispered, "down the ladder."

Instantly Nancy was over the rail and Tom was climbing down after her. As he knelt in the bow and fumbled with the painter, the plash of oars sounded a dozen yards away.

"_Ho! Croix du Midi_!" came a hail through the fog.

"Curse it!" muttered Tom; "the painter's caught." He drew out his knife, slashed the rope that bound them to the schooner, got to his place amidships, and pushed the canoe free. The lights of a small boat were just emerging from the dark a dozen feet away. But the canoe slid by un.o.bserved, in the fog. They heard the nose of the small boat b.u.mp against the schooner; then an oath, and a man's voice calling the watch.

"They've found my painter," whispered Tom, "and in a second they'll find the sailor on their deck."

The lights of the _Southern Cross_ grew dim; vanished; the sound of angry voices became m.u.f.fled. They were half-way to sh.o.r.e when they heard the noise of oars again. Evidently some one had started in pursuit. For a moment Tom rested, listening intently; but the sound was still some distance away. Probably, he thought, they were heading directly for the sh.o.r.e, whereas he, at a considerable angle, was making for the boathouse at the north end of the beach. In ten minutes he had beached the canoe within a rod of the point from where he embarked.

"I can't hear them," whispered Tom, after a moment's listening. "They've made for sh.o.r.e down the beach. They can't find us in the dark. I've got Fleetwing tied to a fence in the meadow yonder. Come."

It was the work of a moment to stow the canoe, lock the boathouse, run across the sands, and mount Nancy in front of him on the back of his trusty hunter. A second later Fleetwing's hoofs were striking fire on the stones that the high tides had washed into the beach road. In the distance there was a cry, the sharp ring of a pistol shot; but they were safe on their way, racing wildly for the Inn. The escape, the adventure had thrilled Nancy. Tom's arms were around her, and her hands on his that grasped the bridle. At last they were in the avenue, and Tom pulled in under the great branches of the Red Oak. He slipped from the back of the horse and held out his arms to Nance.

"We are safe, girl," he whispered.

"You are sure? Oh, thank G.o.d, thank G.o.d! Quick, let us in! Can they be following?"

"No, no. They won't follow. It's all right. Easy,--before we go in--please, dear--once--kiss me."

"Oh, Tom, Tom," she whispered, as she lifted her face to his.

"I have you at last, sweetheart," he murmured. "You love me?"

"Ah!" she cried, "with my whole heart and soul."

CHAPTER XV

NANCY

It was after eleven before Nancy rejoined Tom in the bar. She seemed more like herself as she slipped in and took her accustomed seat beside the blazing logs.

"Oh, I am all right, thank you," she insisted, declining the gla.s.s of wine that Pembroke poured out for her. "I wonder, Tom, if you killed that poor wretch on the deck?"

"Don't know," Tom answered. "I hope so. But what the deuce, Nance, has been happening? I can wait till to-morrow to hear, if you are too tired to tell me; but I do want awfully to know."

"I am not tired," Nancy replied, "and I shan't sleep a wink anyway. If I close my eyes I'll feel that hand on my shoulder and hear the thud of that man's fall on the deck. I can't bear to think that this miserable business will bring bloodshed."

"But tell me, Nance, who is the Marquis--what happened--how did they get you away?"

"Ah! the Marquis," exclaimed Nancy with a shudder. "I am glad you have him locked up. I can't bear to think of him, but I'll tell you what I know. You remember, Tom, he tried to be friends with me from the first; and he seemed to fascinate me in some unaccountable way. Then he questioned me about my ident.i.ty, and began to drop hints that he knew more than he cared to let appear to the others, and my curiosity was excited. I have always known of course that there was some mystery about my being left to Mrs. Frost's care. She has been kind, good, all that she should be; but she wasn't my mother. Well, the Marquis stirred all the old wonder that I had as a child, and before long quite won my confidence. He told me after a time that I was the daughter of his elder brother, the Marquis Francois de Boisdhyver, who in 1814 stayed here at the Inn at the Red Oak under the name of General Pointelle. I was not altogether surprised, for I have always believed that I was French by birth, and his a.s.sertion that I was his niece seemed to account for his interest in me. My father, if this Marquis de Boisdhyver was my father, was one of the Emperor Napoleon's marshals and was a party to the plot to rescue the Emperor from Elba. He was obliged to return to France, and since it was impossible for him to take me with him--I was a little girl of two at the time--he left me with Mrs. Frost. Thinking of my future, he hid a large treasure in some secret chamber off the Oak Parlour."

"I know," Tom interrupted.

"What? You mean there is a treasure?"

"I think there is; but go on. I will tell you afterwards."

"Then he set sail for France, took part in the great events of the Hundred Days, and fell at Waterloo. It was on the field of Waterloo that he met his younger brother--our Marquis--and told him about the child left in America and about the treasure hidden in the Inn at the Red Oak."