He started back, one hand on the knob of the door, but West stopped him.
"Do you mind telling me where we are bound?" he questioned.
Hogan smiled, but the smile was not altogether a pleasant one.
"You will have to wait, and find that out for yourself, Captain. My orders are not to talk."
"From Hobart?"
"Sure; Jim is engineering this deal, and whatever he says goes, for he's the guy who has his hands on the dough—see?"
He slipped out, closing and locking the door behind him. West, more thoroughly confused than ever over the situation in which he found himself, paced the brief length of the narrow stateroom, and then paused to stare moodily out of the port. His eyes rested on the same wide expanse of water, no longer brightened by the glow of the sun. A mass of clouds veiled the sky, while a floating bank of fog obscured the horizon, limiting the scope of his vision. Everything appeared grey and desolate, and the restless surge of waves were crested with foam. It was hard to judge just where the sun was, yet he had an impression the vessel had veered to the north, and was proceeding straight up the lake, already well out of sight from either shore.
He had learned little of the slightest value; merely that Natalie had been of the party leaving in the automobile the night before. She, undoubtedly, had been the one who had dropped the note. Then, in spite of all they said about her, in spite of what she had told him, she was actually a prisoner, desperately begging for assistance to escape. As to the other things Hogan had told him, the probability was they were mostly lies. West did not believe the girl had returned to 'Fairlawn,' the story did not sound natural. If she had written that note, these fellows would never trust her alone, where she could communicate with friends. They might venture to send her in to talk with him, knowing her every word was overheard, but surely they would never be reckless enough to leave her free to act as she pleased. That was unthinkable. Besides why should they have taken this yacht, and sailed it out secretly in the night unless she was hidden away aboard? The only conceivable object would be to thus keep her safely beyond sight and hearing. And that would be a reason why Hobart's wife should also be on board—to look after the girl. The longer he thought it all over, the more thoroughly was he convinced they were both prisoners on the same vessel. Yet what could he do? There was no answer forthcoming; no possibility of breaking forth from that room was apparent; he was unarmed, helpless. If he did succeed in breaking through the door, he would only encounter an armed guard, and pit himself against five or six men, criminals probably, who would count his death a small matter compared to their own safety. He sank down, with head in his hands, totally unnerved—it was his fate to attempt nothing; only to wait on fortune.
Mark brought in food, merely opening the door slightly, and sliding the tray in on the floor. No words were exchanged, nor was the tray removed until just at twilight, when the fellow appeared again on a similar mission. It became dark, but no light was furnished. Outside the clouds had thickened, and a heavy swell was tossing the vessel about rather roughly. Seemingly the engine was merely endeavouring to maintain head-way, with no port in immediate prospect; they were steering aimlessly into the promise of a stormy night. No sound reached him from the cabin, and finally, worn out mentally and physically, West flung himself on the lower bunk, and lay there motionless, staring up into the intense darkness.
Lying there motionless, yet wide awake, his senses alert, every slightest sound and movement made clearer the situation. He could feel the laboured efforts of the vessel, the slap of waves against the side, the rush of water astern. Occasionally the echo of a voice reached him from the deck above, and once footsteps were audible almost over his head. The engine strokes were regular, but slow, the vibrations shaking the boat in its sturdy battling against the forces of the sea. TheSeminolerolled heavily, yet there was nothing at all alarming in her actions, and West felt no premonition of illness, or fear as to the sea-worthiness of the little craft. Whoever was handling her was evidently a seaman, quite capable of conquering a storm of this magnitude. No noise came to him from the cabin, yet he had no thought it could be deserted. Hogan would certainly retain a guard there, and probably others—with no duties of seamanship weighing on them—would seek refuge there from the wind-swept deck above. No doubt the fellows had a skipper, as neither Hogan, nor the man Mark, bore any resemblance to a lake sailor. Quite possibly the entire crew were innocent of what was actually transpiring aboard, and equally indifferent, so long as their wages were satisfactory. Yet it was even more probable that they had been selected for this special service because of lack of ordinary scruples; men who would never question so long as the pay was adequate for the danger involved. It seemed to West the wind and sea were slowly decreasing in violence; there was less noise and turmoil. The movement of the vessel began to lull him into forgetfulness, his vigilance relapsed, his mind drifting in thought. He endeavoured to arouse himself, to keep awake, but finally fatigue conquered, and he sank into a deep sleep. He had no knowledge of how long this slumber lasted, or what suddenly awakened him, so startled at the moment that he sat up in the berth, staring into the blackness. Was it a dream, or a reality? Had some one spoken? He could neither see nor hear anything; the boat seemed to be motionless, not even throbbing now to the beat of the engine—the silence was uncanny. It seemed to him his own heart had stopped, so still it was, and he felt a cold perspiration break out on his flesh. Something was wrong, must be wrong. Where were they—at anchor in some harbour? or helplessly adrift on the lake? The sea must have gone down; waves no longer dashed against the side, and there was no shriek of wind overhead; the yacht rocked gently, as though the swell of the sea no longer buffeted her; there was no sound of action on the deck above. Then he heard a voice again, outside, reaching him this time plainly through the open port.
"All set, Mapes," it said sharply. "Come on down. You finished the job?"
"Ay, ay, sir," the answer gruff, but with a tinge of excitement in the tone. "She's fixed all right. Hold hard, now, mate."
West, thoroughly aroused, realizing instantly the importance of this new move, and as quickly suspecting its purpose, leaped to the port-hole, and, endeavoured to gain a glimpse without. The night was still intensely black, the sky overcast and starless, the only glimmer of light the reflecting of foam tipped surges. If land was near it remained invisible, nor could he even be sure of the close proximity of a boat. There seemed to be a smudge there at the left, a black, lumping shadow, shapeless against the background of sea; yet he could not be sure. Even as he gazed at it doubtfully, the dim object disappeared, fading away like a mirage. No sound reached him to cause the vision to seem real—no voice, no creak of oars, no flap of a sail; yet something told him that mysterious shadow was a boat, a boat filled with men, creeping away silently into the night, fleeing from the yacht, and vanishing into the darkness.
My God, what could such action mean? Why were these fellows deserting theSeminole, leaving him helpless aboard, locked into that stateroom? Was the yacht disabled? sinking? and had they merely forgotten him in their own eagerness to escape? Were they in mid-lake? or close to some point of land? Had every one gone, leaving the vessel totally abandoned, a wreck buffeted by the surges, doomed to go down, unseen, its final fate unknown? Unknown! The word rising to his brain was the answer. There was the crest of the plot. What could be easier, or safer, than this ending? Who would ever know the truth? Who could ever prove anything, even if they suspected? And who was there to suspect?
No one had reason to believe he was aboard theSeminole; not even McAdams. If it was to their interest to get him permanently out of the way—if Hobart had so decided—what simpler method could be found than the sinking of the yacht? The very crew might be innocent of the purpose, dupes of the conspiracy; they might even be unaware of his presence aboard, and deceived by Hogan into the belief that the vessel had opened a seam, and must sink shortly, would take to the boat without suspecting any one was left behind. They could so testify in all honesty if any question ever arose. The very simplicity of the scheme meant safety; yet the possibility of such cold blooded murder had never before occurred to him. Unknown! without a trace left; only a boat crew landing somewhere on the coast at dawn, and scattering to the four winds. It was a plot infernal.
West stopped, his hands clinched, his heart seeming to stop its pulsing. But if Natalie Coolidge was also prisoner on board, what of her? Wasn't that the very thing most probable? Of course it was; how foolish he had been. These men, recklessly criminal, as they were, would never sacrifice the yacht, and risk their own lives, merely to put him out of the way. He was not important enough for that; he was but an incident. It was an accident which had made him a prisoner. While this was—must be—a carefully arranged plan. The girl then must be the real victim; his own plight arose merely because he chanced to be there, and the villains dare not leave him alive to tell the story.
The certainty of this acted like an electric shock. He had not felt seriously alarmed before as to his own fate. He had only been conscious of a deep anger, a mad determination to make Hogan pay. If theSeminolewas sinking, and beyond doubt this was the intention of those deserters, it was going down slowly, so slowly there would be ample time for escape. He was not asleep, but wide awake, and far from paralyzed by the danger. He was not the sort to give up while there was any hope left. Surely the guard in the cabin would have departed with the others, leaving him free to act. He could smash his way out through that door, and find something on deck to construct a raft from. This was Lake Michigan, not the ocean, and not many hours would pass before he was picked up. Vessels were constantly passing, and daylight would bring rescue.
But now the task became difficult. He must find the girl, and serve her. To his surprise, his heart beat rapidly in contemplation of the task. Surely she must welcome his coming to her assistance now. She would be alone, free to reveal the truth of all this strange mix-up of affairs; perhaps the old trust, the old confidence between them would be renewed. At least in the midst of such peril, alone on the sinking yacht, facing possible death together, he would again discover the real Natalie Coolidge. The hope instantly inspired action. Every minute might mean life or death; the work must be accomplished now, if ever. TheSeminolewas evidently deserted, the boat containing the fleeing crew already far enough away to be beyond sound of any noise he might make. He already felt the wallowing of the deck beneath his feet, a dead, dull feeling, evidence enough that the deserted vessel was slowly, but surely going down. The condition could not last long; faster and faster the water would seep into her hold, until suddenly, without warning, perhaps, she must go down like a stone.
All these thoughts flashed across his mind almost in an instant; there was no hesitancy, no waste of time. His eager eyes searched the narrow confines of the stateroom for some possible weapon with which to assail the door. The stout stool alone seemed available. Swinging this over his shoulder, hampered by the narrowness of space, he struck again and again, with all his strength, the upper panel splintering beneath the third crashing blow. He could see nothing, but felt with his fingers along the jagged ends of the shattered wood, and redoubled his efforts, striking wildly, but with effect, until suddenly the lock gave, and the door burst open. He was in the main cabin, which was unlit and deserted. Standing there confused in the grim silence, unable for the instant to determine how to advance in the dark, he could hear the rapid beating of his own heart, and the continuous lap of waves outside. God! how sodden the deck felt under foot; what a sickening swell hurled the craft, and such stillness! If the girl was aboard why did she not cry out? Surely she must have heard that noise, the rain of blows, the crunch of wood.
He stood, crouched, listening intently for something to guide him in the right direction. And yet, even if Natalie had heard, what reason would the girl have to suspect the truth? Likely enough she was sound asleep, completely worn out, and with no knowledge of what had occurred on board. It was only the sound of that voice speaking loudly in the boat alongside which had aroused him. She had no reason to suspect desertion, no occasion to believe any other prisoner than herself was aboard. The noise of crashing wood, even if it awoke her, would have no special meaning to her mind, only perhaps to add to her terror. He must act alone; there was no other way. If he could only have a light of some kind, and not be compelled to grope blindly about in that intense darkness.
He stepped cautiously forward, with hands outstretched, swaying to the sudden roll of the sinking hulk underneath his feet. He struck a piece of furniture, a bench bolted to the deck, and then his groping fingers came in sudden contact with the cabin wall, which he followed, circling to the left. In this manner he succeeded in finally locating the door opening out on to the deck, and had grasped the knob, when a deep moan from the black void behind caused him to become suddenly erect, his heart beating like a trip-hammer. No other sound followed, no repetition, and yet there could be no mistaking what he had heard. It was a groan, a human groan, emanating from a spot but a few feet away. He took a single step in that direction; then hesitated, fearful of some trap; in the silence as he stood there poised, he could faintly distinguish the sound of some one breathing unnaturally.
"Who is there? Who moaned just now?" he asked, struggling to control his voice.
"I did," the answer was a mere husky whisper out of the darkness."Masters, the watchman; but who are you? I don't know your voice."
"It makes no difference; are you hurt? Where are you? How can I get a light?"
"Yes, sir; I'm about done for I guess; you're over by the door, ain't you? There's a hangin' lantern just up above, if you've got a match with you. Say, that looks good; I didn't hardly know but I was dead, it was so black. But I never saw you before; how did you get aboard here?"
The flame of the match caught the wick, and flared up, throwing a dim illumination over the cabin interior. West drew down the glass, before he ventured to glance in the direction of the voice. A man lay facing him, curled up on the deck, his hair, matted with blood, hanging over eyes that were burning with fever. He made no attempt to rise, apparently was unable to move, and a dark, bloody stain covered the deck. West sprang forward, and lifted the head on his arm.
"You are hurt—badly?" he exclaimed. "What can I do for you?"
"Nuthin', I reckon," still in that same strained whisper. "I'm done for; no doubt of it. That guy got me. You ain't one o' that murderin' gang, are you?"
"No; I was a prisoner on board; I came here to help a girl."
"A girl! Miss Coolidge you mean, sir?"
"Yes, Natalie Coolidge; do you know anything about her? Where she is?"
"Sure, I know; the damn whelps left her here; that was their dirty game, sir. 'Twas because I tried to unlock her door that Hogan slugged me. The boat's goin' down, ain't it? I know'd it was; I heard the skunks talk about what they was goin' to do, an' then I tried to get her out, sir."
"You were the watchman?"
"Yes, sir; down in the lagoon at Jackson Park. These fellows come off to the yacht about midnight, an' they had Miss Coolidge with 'em. That's what fooled me, sir, an' I let 'em get aboard, thinkin' it must be all right. After that I couldn't do nuthin'—there was six to one, an' that 'Red' Hogan had a gun in his mitt. They hustled me down into the cabin. I didn't even know she was a prisoner until they locked her into a stateroom; then I got wise, but it was too late."
"And she is there yet, Masters? What room is it?"
"The last one to the right, sir. Don't you mind about me; I'm done for, but maybe there's a chance for you two."
The man was evidently dying. West, from his experience on European battle-fields, felt assured the end was indeed close at hand. His face under the flitting rays of the swinging light was ghastly and drawn, his words were barely audible, and painfully uttered, while, as the arm supporting his head was withdrawn, he sank back heavily into his former position, and his eyes instantly closed. Only as West bent lower could he determine the surety of his breathing still.
There was nothing to be done for Masters; no occasion for lingering there helplessly. The yacht was sinking under their feet, going down slowly, but surely, and the end could not be far off. The very movement of the vessel sickened him, brought to him a sensation of fear. Moreover he knew the truth now, and saw clearly his duty. The watchman had not told much, but it was sufficient to verify all his former suspicions. These fellows he fought were desperate criminals, playing for high stakes, conspiring to even commit murder to achieve their object—which could be nothing less than gaining possession of the Coolidge fortune. To that end they had coolly planned the sinking of theSeminolein mid-lake, with the helpless girl locked securely in her cabin. It was a cowardly, diabolical crime, and yet, no doubt, they had figured it as the safest method of completely disposing of her. And, but for the accident of his presence on board, and his having been awakened by that incautious voice, the foul plot would probably have proven successful. They had already got safely away, leaving her behind a prisoner, her only possible rescuer this watchman wounded unto death. The yacht was sinking in the dark, going steadily down in those night shrouded waters. Who would ever know? The main body of the crew, perhaps, never even dreamed of her presence aboard. There was no evidence, nothing to convict the men really guilty. Here was the scheme of a master-mind in crime. West weaved his way across the rolling deck of the cabin to the stateroom door Masters had pointed out as the one sheltering the girl. There was no sound from within, nor would the knob yield to his grasp. It was locked, the key gone. There was no time to wait and hunt for that missing piece of metal doubtless safely hidden in Hogan's pocket, or else thrown overboard; he must break a way in; but first he must explain to her, so as to spare her the sudden fright of such an assault. He rapped sharply on the panel, pausing an instant for a response. None came, and he knocked again more roughly.
"Miss Coolidge: you are there, are you not?"
"Yes; who is that?" almost a cry of delight in the voice. "You—you have a voice I know."
"I am Matthew West; but do not ask questions now. The yacht is going down, and I must break this door in to release you. Stand back while I smash the boards. You hear and understand?"
"Yes—yes: I am safely away; have no fear."
The light revealed the weapon he required just beyond where Masters lay—a heavy hatchet, still stained with blood, probably the very instrument with which the watchman had been brutally struck down. That made no difference now, and West snatched it up, and began to splinter the wood with well directed blows. He worked madly, feverishly, unable to judge there in the cabin whether he had a minute, or an hour, in which to effect their rescue. All he knew was that every second was worth saving, and with this impulse driving him, swung the sharp blade with all his strength and skill, gouging out great splinters of wood, and finally forcing the lock to yield. He sprang eagerly through the opening, the hatchet still in his grasp, and faced her.
She stood there looking straight at him, seemingly unable even yet to wholly realize the marvellous truth of his presence. The light from the swinging lamp in the big cabin beyond, streamed in through the shattered doorway, and revealed her face, pale, but unafraid, the eyes wide-open, the lips parted. An instant both paused, and then she cried out in sudden relief.
"Oh, it is really you, Captain West. I know now. What has happened? How did you come to be here?"
"Not now," he insisted. "Don't ask me now. Just come as quick as you can.Do you not realize the boat is sinking, going down under our very feet?For all I know it may take the plunge before we can reach the deck. Thereis no time for anything but action. Quick; let me take your hand."
She obeyed without a word, and he pressed her before him out through the door into the more brightly lighted cabin. Her eyes opened in horror at the sight of Masters, and she drew back trembling against West's arm.
"Who—who is that? A dead man?"
"I fear so; wait just a second until I learn; if he still lives we cannot leave him here."
West bent over the motionless figure; the flesh was no longer warm; and he could detect no breath. Satisfied, he regained his feet.
"It is all over with," he said gravely. "He is beyond human aid."
"But—but, please, who is he?" she insisted, clinging to his arm. "SurelyI have seen the man before; what has happened?"
"He was the watchman on the yacht—Masters he said his name was," West explained impatiently. "He was still alive when I first came, and told me where you were confined. He tried to serve you when the others left, and was struck down by Hogan."
"The others left! Is the boat deserted? Are we here all alone?"
"Yes; the villains left us both locked into state-rooms to die. They deserted the yacht, expecting it to sink, and take us both down with it. The craft is near foundering now, and our only hope is to obtain the open deck at once. Do not question any more, but do just as I say. You trust me, do you not?"
"Trust you! of course I do."
"Then let's talk afterwards. All I can think about now is how best to save your life."
She permitted him to draw her through the door on to the black, deserted deck. For the first moment, as they hesitated there, little could be perceived other than vague shadows. The sky was overcast, but the wind light, yet with sufficient swell to the water to cause the yacht to wallow uncomfortably. West, bracing himself to the sudden plunging, managed to reach the rail. He drew back, sick at heart at the sight of the waves lapping the side almost on a level with the sloping deck on which he stood. The sight brought home to him as never before the drear deadly peril in which they were. It was already a matter of minutes; any second indeed that labouring hulk might take the fatal plunge. The knowledge brought back all his soldier instincts of command, his rough insistence. He would find some means of rescue; he must! He was back instantly, grasping her arm.
"Quick," he cried. "You knew this yacht; what small boats did she carry?"
"Only the one; the other was so warped it had been taken ashore."
"Only one! Those fellows put off in that. There was nothing else to save life aboard?"
"There are life-belts here; see, hung to the front of the cabin. Was that what you meant?"
"Yes, and no." He snatched one from the hook, and hastily strapped it about her. "These may help, but we shall need more. Was there no life-raft? My God! there must surely be something of that kind."
"Yes, there is; I remember now. It is forward there, near the engine-room hatch. Percival Coolidge explained to me how it worked once. But—but I don't believe just the two of us could ever launch it over the rail."
"We will, because we must—it is our only hope. I'll take the other belt; now come. We haven't an instant to waste—the water is even now almost level with the deck; any second we may be awash, and go down like a stone. Hold on tight to me."
The deck was already sloping to port in a dangerous degree, and West was compelled to cling to the rail, as they slowly made passage forward through the darkness. Their eyes had by then adapted themselves to the night, so as to distinguish larger objects, and, as there was no litter to encounter, as in the case of a ship wrecked by storm, the two progressed safely as far as the engine-hatch. Neither spoke, but West still clasped the hatchet, peering anxiously about for some signs of the life-raft. He located it at last, securely fastened to the side of the deck house, and, leaving the girl to hold herself upright as best she could, began to hack it loose. It was quite an affair, cork-lined, and evidently capable of sustaining considerable weight when once launched in the water, but cumbersome and hard to handle on deck, more particularly because of its awkward form.
Fortunately it hung to the port side with a rather steep slant to the rail, which was not high. The waters of the lake, threatening to engulf them with every sodden roll of the vessel, were almost within reach of an outstretched hand, while occasionally a wave danced along the bulwark, and scattered its spray over the deck. West, working with feverish impatience, realized suddenly that his companion had deserted the place where he had left her and was also tugging and slashing at the lashings of the raft. These finally yielded to their blind attack. Without the exchange of a word the two grasped the sides and shoved the thing hard down against the port rail.
"Wait now," he cried exultantly. "Stay behind, and brace yourself against the hatch-cover. I'll get underneath and lift. Once on the rail the two of us must shove it free overboard. Here, keep a grip on this line, so the raft can't float away."
She understood instantly, and, with a single swift glance at her dimly revealed figure, West straightened up, bearing the full weight on his shoulders, every muscle strained to the utmost, as he thus pressed it over inch by inch across the wooden barrier. Twice he stopped, breathless, trembling in every limb, seemingly unable to exert another pound of strength. Perspiration dripped from his face, his teeth clinched in desperate determination. At the second pause, she was beside him, pressing her way in also beneath the sagging burden. He felt the pressure of her body.
"No, no; I can make it alone," he panted indignantly.
"Not so well as we both can, working together. I am strong, Captain West.Try it again now, and see."
Suddenly the great unwieldy mass moved, slid forward, poised itself an instant on the rounded rail. The yacht rolled sharply to port, flinging both on to the deck together, but sending the raft crunching overboard, clear of the side. West grasped her, and dragged her to her feet. His one thought was that they were actually going down, but, even as he held her in his arms, ready to leap out into the black water, the shuddering vessel, with a last despairing effort, partially righted herself, and staggered on.
"The rope," he questioned. "Did you lose grip on the rope?"
"No, it is here. I can feel the jerk of the raft."
"Thank God for that; let's pull it closer to the side. We can't wait to take anything with us; even if I knew where provision and blankets were, I could never find them in this darkness. I would not dare leave you to search; another dip like that must be the very last. Here, let me hold you up; can you see the raft?"
"Yes; I'm sure it is just below; why I could almost touch it."
"Can you jump to it from the rail? It is either that, or the water. Are you afraid to try?"
"Afraid—no. Hold me; yes; that way, but—but what are you going to do?"
"Follow, of course; but I shall take to the water. There are no oars here. Nothing to use as a substitute for them. I'll have to swim, and push that old ark as far away as possible. When the yacht goes down, the suction is liable to swamp us, if we are close in."
"But I can swim, Captain West."
"I am glad to know that; but now you do just as I say. There is no necessity for both of us getting wet through. Are you ready?"
She poised herself, held steady by the grip of his hands, her eyes on the dark outline of the floating raft. There was no hesitancy, no questioning.
"Say when," he said sharply.
"Now."
She sprang outward, and came down, sinking to her knees, and clinging fast, as the raft bobbed up and down under her sudden weight, dipping until the water rolled completely over it.
West leaned far out, and stared off at the faint blotch made by the raft against the water surface. He could perceive little except a bare, shapeless outline.
"Did you make it? Are you all right?"
"Yes, I'm safe enough; but wet just the same; the thing bobbed under."
"It will hold us up though, don't you think?"
"Why, of course, it will float; it is supposed to support four people. It rides dry enough now. But—but, Captain West, I want you to come."
"I'm coming; I'll throw my shoes and coat over there to you first. To be rid of them will make swimming easier. Watch out now—good! Now draw in the line; we may need it. Got it all right? Very well; here goes."
He made the plunge, coming up to the surface close beside the raft, the edge of which he quickly grasped with his hands. The girl remained motionless, barely perceptible through the gloom, but with anxious eyes marking his every movement. The frail support beneath her rose and fell on the swell of the waters, occasionally dipping beneath the surface. Beyond, a grim, black, threatening shadow, wallowed the wreck. West swam steadily, urging the unwieldy raft away from the menacing side of the vessel, driven by the necessity of escaping the inevitable suction when she went down. It was a hard, slow push, the square sides of the raft offering every obstacle to progress. Yet the waves and wind helped somewhat, the raft being lighter than the water-soggedSeminole, so that gradually the distance widened, until there extended a considerable waste of water between the two. Exhausted by his exertion, and breathing hard, West glanced back over his shoulder at the dimmer shadow of the yacht, now barely revealed against the clouded sky. The bulk of it seemed scarcely visible in any defined form above the level of the sea—the end must be almost at hand.
Satisfied that they were far enough away for safety, he clambered cautiously upon the platform, the girl as carefully making room for him on the few dry planks. The raft tossed dizzily under the strain, but he made it at last, the water draining from his soaked clothing, his flesh shivering at the touch of the cool night air. He sat up, his limbs braced to hold him erect, glancing aside at her, wondering at her continued silence. Even in the darkness she must have known his eyes were searching her face.
"You are cold," she said, doubtfully. "Here is your coat, and I have kept it dry—no, really, I do not need it; I am quite warmly dressed."
He threw the garment over his wet shoulders, gratefully, and the two sat there very close together, staring back at the labouringSeminole. There was nothing to say, nothing to do; for the moment at least they were safe, and perhaps morning would bring rescue. Suddenly West straightened up, aroused by a new interest—surely that last wave went entirely over the yacht's rail; he could see the white gleam of spray as it broke; and, yes, there was another! Unconsciously his hand reached out and clasped that of his companion. She made no effort to draw away, and they sat there in awed silence, watching this weird tragedy of the sea, with bodies braced to meet the bobbing of the unwieldy support beneath them.
At first the labouring vessel seemed to hold its own, fighting desperately to remain afloat, a mere shadow above the surface. Then, almost without warning, the end came. She went down bow first, the stern lifting until West could discern the dark outlines of the screw, and then dropped like a stone, vanishing almost instantly. One moment she was there; the next had disappeared, the black waters closing over. There was but little evidence of what occurred; only a deeper swell, tossing the raft giddily about for a moment, and causing West to tighten his grip on the girl's hand. She gave utterance to a half-smothered cry, and her body dropped forward as though she would hide the scene from her eyes.
"That is the last of theSeminole" West said, feeling the necessity of strengthening her. "But it is nothing to frighten you. We are safe enough here."
"Oh, it is not that," she explained hastily, lifting her head, and facing him. "I—I do not think I am frightened. I have not broken down before, but—but I thought then of that dead man lying there all alone in the dark cabin. It seemed so terrible when the yacht sank. Please do not find fault with me."
"That was not why I spoke. But you must keep your nerve; we may be afloat for hours yet before we are picked up."
"You are sure we will be?"
"The probability is altogether in our favour," he insisted, as much to encourage himself as her. "This is Lake Michigan in summer time, and boats are plying everywhere. We shall surely be sighted by something when daylight returns. There is no sign of a storm brewing, and all we need do now is hold on."
She was silent a moment, with head again bent forward.
"What do you suppose became of the men who deserted the yacht?" she asked, her voice natural and quiet.
"Ashore, perhaps, by this time."
"Then we cannot be far away from land?"
"I have no means of knowing. Probably not, if they relied upon oars."
"Why should they? There was a mast and sails stowed in the boat; they were always kept there for an emergency." She lifted her eyes, and stared about into the gloom. "Do you suppose, Captain West, they could have remained nearby to make sure the yacht sank?"
"No, I do not," he said firmly. "I thought of that once myself; but it is not at all probable. They were too certain they had done a good job, and too eager to get away safely. Hogan never deemed it possible for us to get away alive. As it was, the escape was almost a miracle."
"A miracle!" softly. "Perhaps so, yet I know who accomplished it. I owe my life to you, Captain West," she paused doubtfully, and then went on impulsively. "Won't you explain to me now what it all means? How you came to be here? and—and why those men sought in this way to kill me?"
"You do not know?"
"Only in the vaguest way; is it my fortune? I have been held prisoner; lied to, and yet nothing has been made clear. This man who went down in the cabin—you said he died trying to save me?"
"Yes; he endeavoured to release you from the stateroom, and was caught byHogan. In the struggle he received a death wound."
"I heard them fight. This Hogan then was the leader?"
"Of those on board—yes. But he is only the tool of others. This devilish conspiracy has been plotted for a long while. There must be a dozen involved in it, one way or another, but, as near as I can learn, the chief devil, the brains of the gang, is the fellow named Hobart. Have you known him—long?"
She hesitated, and West glanced aside wonderingly. Would she venture to deny her knowledge of the man?
"No," she said at last doubtfully, "not unless his other name was Jim. There was a fellow they called Jim. He was my jailer after that woman locked me into a room."
"A woman? The same one who was with you on the yacht?"
"Yes."
"Where was this?"
"Why surely you must know. In that cottage where we stopped with PercivalCoolidge."
He drew a deep breath, more thoroughly puzzled than ever. What could be her purpose to make so bold an effort to deceive? Did she imagine for a moment that he could be made to believe she had been continuously held prisoner since that Sunday morning? It was preposterous. Why, he had seen her again and again with his own eyes; had talked with her, and so had Sexton. His heart sank, but he determined to go on, and learn how far she would carry this strange tale. Perhaps out of the welter he could discern some truth.
"The fellow's name is Jim, all right, Jim Hobart. I've looked him up in the police records. He is a confidence man, with one charge of assault with attempt to kill against him. Nothing lately, however; it seems he disappeared about ten years ago, and has just drifted back. The woman passes as his wife. You knew nothing of all this?"
"No; I only saw the man twice; he was very rough then, and swore when I questioned him."
"And the woman?"
"She would not talk either; only once she told me that Percival Coolidge had committed suicide. That made me wonder, for I believed he had something to do with my being held there. What did he say when he returned to the auto without me? What explanation did he make for my absence?"
"Explanation! He needed none; you came out of the cottage with him."
"I? What do you mean?"
"But I saw you with my own eyes, talked with you, and all three of us drove back to 'Fairlawn' together. My God, Miss Natalie, have you lost your mind? Do you even deny dismissing me from your service?"
She gazed at him through the gloom, utterly unable to comprehend.
"I must have, if what you say is true," she admitted, "For I certainly have no such recollection."
"You remember nothing of going back with us to 'Fairlawn'?"
"Absolutely nothing."
"Or of a conversation had with me later in the library?"
"No, Captain West."
He stared off into the black night, his lips pressed closely together. Could this be false? Could she sit there calmly, in the midst of such peril as surrounded them, and still deliberately endeavour to deceive?
"And you knew nothing of the death of Percival Coolidge, except what was told you by that woman?"
"She brought me a newspaper which I read; that was all I knew."
"And in that house on Wray Street where I met you again last night. I suppose you were not there either?"
"Wray Street? I do not know; I was at some place with a saloon on the ground floor. I could not tell you where it was."
"That is where it was—Wray Street, on the northwest side, a thieves' rendezvous. And you talked with me there; tried to get me to quit following you. You surely haven't forgotten that already?"
She dropped her face wearily into her hands, and her voice sounded listless.
"I—I almost believe you are the crazy one, Captain West. I swear I have never knowingly met, or spoken to you since we drove to that cottage on Sunday. I cannot believe what you say."
"Yet it is true, every word true"; he asserted stoutly. "Why else should I be here? You returned with us to 'Fairlawn,' and we chatted together pleasantly all the way. Later you seemed to change, and discharged me rather rudely. Then Percival Coolidge was killed—shot down by an assassin, not a suicide. I know because I found the body. You were at the inquest, and testified. I saw you with my own eyes. The next day you discharged Sexton, and later he learned, and reported to me, that some one called you on the phone from Wray Street, and wanted you to come over there at once."
"Was that why you went there?"
"Yes; I felt something was wrong; the killing of Percival Coolidge had aroused my suspicions; and I sought to learn who those people were you had visited in the cottage. They were gone, and only for this telephone call, I should have lost the trail entirely. I found you there, and this fellow Hobart with you."
"But, Captain West, I never saw you; I never left the room in the third story where I was locked in, except when they took me away in a machine to the yacht."
"You dropped a note in the alley, enclosed in a silver knife?"
"Yes, I did. I dared not hope it would be found, but I took the chance.Did you find it?"
"Sexton did, and that was what brought me here."
"But it is all so strange," she exclaimed despairingly. "How could I have done all these things, been in all these places, and yet know nothing about it? Could I have been drugged? or influenced in some way by those people? I have read there is such a power—where one person can make another obey absolutely, with no knowledge of what he is doing; what do they call that?"
"Hypnotism. I have seen it cut some odd capers; but I do not believe you were either hypnotized or drugged. Good God; why did I not think of this solution before? I must have been blind; that was not you; I can recall a hundred little things now to convince me."
"What is it you mean?"
"Another woman played your part; a woman most wonderfully like you, even to the voice. There is no other solution of the problem. And that reveals the plan of robbery—to get you out of the way, and then have her take the fortune. Who would ever suspect such a fraud?"
She sat silent, motionless, apparently unable at once to grasp all the meaning in his words. It seemed unbelievable, and her gaze was straight out across the black waters, one hand clinging firmly to offset the rocking of the frail raft. Then she pointed away into the distance.
"See, there is light over there," she exclaimed eagerly. "That must be the east, and it is morning."
West was so immersed in his own thoughts, awakened by these new developments, he apparently did not hear what the girl said. She reached out and pressed his arm.
"Do you not see, Captain West? Daylight is coming; it is much lighter over there."
He lifted his head, and looked where she pointed. A dull, grey light topped the waters, and the sky above held a faint tinge of crimson. The wan glow accented the loneliness, and for the moment left him depressed. Was there ever a more sombre scene than was presented by that waste of tumbling waves, stretching to the horizon, arched over by a clouded sky? It grew clearer, more distinct, yet remained the same dead expanse of restless water, on which they tossed helplessly and alone. Nothing broke the grimness of it, not even a bird in the air, or a leaping fish; complete desolation met the eye in every direction, a threatening, menacing dreariness amid which each approaching swell seemed about to sweep them to destruction. The wind increased slightly with the dawn, buffeting the frail raft to which they clung desperately, and showering them with spray, while, as the light became stronger, they searched vainly for any sign of ship, or shadow of land. Nothing appeared within range of vision to break the drear monotony of grey sea and sky. Neither felt any desire to speak; they could only stare out silently across the desolation of waters, feeling their helplessness and peril. This then was the morning they had struggled forward to—this green, grey monster, whose dripping jaws showered wet foam over them; this terrible nothingness which promised death.
Her head sank forward into her hands, as though she would thus shut out the whole weird picture, and West, aroused by the slight movement, glanced quickly aside. The sight of her distress gave him instant mastery over his own depression. His hand sought her own, where it gripped for support, and closed over it warmly.
"It cannot be as bad as it seems," he insisted, trying to say the words cheerfully. "I know these waters, and they are never long deserted. Luck will change surely; perhaps within the hour we shall be picked up, and can laugh at all this experience."
She lifted her head, and their eyes met frankly.
"I am not afraid," she protested. "Not physically, at least. Truly I have not felt fear since you joined me, Captain West. Before that I was alone, and was frightened because I could not in the least understand why I was being held a prisoner, or what my fate was to be. Now all I must meet is the danger of the sea, with you to share the peril with me."
"But you are very tired?"
"Perhaps so, yet I have not thought about that. There are other things; you do not believe in me."
"Why say that?" he asked, in astonishment. "There is no question of the kind between us now."
"Truly, is there not? There has been, however; I know from the way you spoke. What was it you believed of me—that—that I was part of this conspiracy?"
"I do not know what I believed, if I actually believed anything, Miss Natalie," he explained rather lamely. "I cannot make the situation altogether clear even to myself. You see I kept meeting and talking with you—or I thought I did—and yet never found you to be the same. I was all at sea, unable to get anything straight. One moment I was convinced of your innocence; the next something occurred to make you appear guilty, a co-conspirator with Jim Hobart. Under the circumstances, you cannot condemn me justly."
"Condemn! I do not. How could I? You must have kept faith in me nevertheless, or you would never be here now. That is what seems marvellous to me—that you actually cared enough to believe."
"I realize now that I have," he said gravely. "Through it all I have kept a very large measure of faith in you."
"Why should that faith have survived?" she questioned persistently, as though doubt would not wholly leave her mind, "we had no time to really know each other; only a few hours at the most, and even then you must have deemed me a strange girl to ask of you what I did. Surely there was never a madder story told than the one I told you, and I couldn't have proven an item of it."
"Yet it has shown itself true," he interrupted.
"You actually believe then that there is another woman—a counterfeit of myself?"
"It is the only theory feasible; you have convinced me of that."
"Yet this does not answer my question altogether. You are convinced now, perhaps, because you accept my word, but how have you kept faith in me when you believed just as strongly that it was actually I who met and talked with you? I who was playing in the game with the man Hobart?"
"Will you believe what I say?"
"Implicitly."
"Perhaps it sounds like a fairy tale," he spoke frankly, his eyes seeking her own, all their surroundings forgotten in the eagerness of the moment, "but I will tell you the exact truth. Before this misunderstanding occurred you had confided in me, trusted me, although I was a stranger and I believed absolutely in your story. I had that basis to rest on. In addition to this, those few hours I passed at 'Fairlawn' served to confirm my faith. I got hold of various odds and ends of evidence which convinced me that something was wrong—that you were actually being conspired against. I even gained a suspicion that Percival Coolidge was the actual leader of the conspiracy."
"Percival Coolidge! but why? What could he gain by such a crime?"
"I have not found the answer yet, but my conviction remains strong—stronger, indeed, than ever since our talk last night. You could never have been made prisoner in that cottage without his connivance; he must have lured you there for that particular purpose, so that this other girl could take your place without danger of discovery. It was a neat trick, so well done as to even deceive me. The reason for Percival's participation is only a guess, but my theory is the fellow had so juggled your fortune, and the time for final accounting was so near, he had to take a desperate chance in order to save himself."
"You mean the opportunity came, and he could not resist?"
"Perhaps so, and perhaps it was his own deliberate plan. That remains to be discovered. My own theory is that when Hobart learned what Percival Coolidge proposed doing, his own criminal tendencies told him that here was some easy money. The girl was undoubtedly wholly under his control; some denizen of the underworld probably. She had already played her part sufficiently well to convince Hobart of success. Why then, shouldn't he have this money instead of Percival? There was no reason except that Percival was in the way. That was why he was killed."
"By Hobart?"
"He may not have fired the shot, but I have no doubt he inspired it; and the job was so expertly done the coroner called it suicide. The way was open; you were a prisoner, and the false Natalie Coolidge safely installed as mistress of 'Fairlawn.' No one apparently suspected anything wrong."
"And," she questioned breathlessly, "the man meant to murder me also?"
"Not at that time in my judgment," West answered thoughtfully. "Such an additional crime was not a part of the original plan. There was no apparent necessity. Your estate was about to be settled finally, and given over to your control in accordance with the terms of your father's will. Hobart must have known all this from Percival Coolidge, and exactly what steps must be taken to secure it. Once the money, and other property, were delivered to the fake Natalie, the cashing in and get away would be easy; even the identity of the thieves would be concealed. Killing you was not at all necessary to the success of their scheme."
"But they did try to kill me."
"Yes, later, by the sinking of the yacht. Probably I am largely responsible for that."
"You?"
"Yes; the persistency with which I stuck to the trail. They became frightened. My appearance in Wray Street must have been quite a shock, and when I succeeded in escaping from their trap there, Hobart very evidently lost his head completely. He did not dare risk my ever finding you. The knowledge that I was free, perhaps in communication with the police, led to your night trip to theSeminole, and the secret sinking of the yacht. He had gone too far by then to hesitate at another murder."
She waited breathlessly for him to go on, her eyes on the tumbling waste of water. He remained quiet, motionless, and she turned toward him expectantly.
"I—I think I understand now," she admitted, "how all this occurred; but why—why were you so persistent? There—there must have been a reason more impelling than a vague suspicion?"
"There was—the most compelling impulse in the world."
"You mean faith in me?"
"Even more than that; love for you. Natalie, listen; what I have to say may sound strange, cruel even under such conditions as now surround us, but you force me to say them. I love you, have loved you all the time, without fully realizing exactly what it meant. There have been times when I have doubted you, when I could not wholly escape the evidence that you were also concerned personally in this fraud. I have endeavoured to withdraw from the case, to forget, and blot everything from memory. But something stronger than will prevented; I could not desert you; could not believe you were wilfully wrong. You understand what I mean."
"Yes," the words barely reaching him. "It was the other girl; she undermined your faith."
"That is the truth; yet how could it be, do you suppose? My very love should have enabled me to detect the difference. I can see now, thinking back, where the fraud was even apparent—in mood, temper, action—and yet at the time these made no such impression. Even Sexton never questioned her identity; in face, figure, dress the resemblance was absolutely perfect. Good heavens, but she is an actress!"
She touched his arm with her hand, and under the slight pressure he looked aside at her.
"You know now," she said softly, "and I know. All this is passed and gone between us. We are here alone, the sport of the waves, and I have no reason to be other than frank. I believe in you, Matthew West; in your honesty and manhood. You say you love me?"
"With all my heart and soul; it seems to me now I have always loved you—you came to me, the lady of my dreams."
Her eyes were wet with unshed tears, yet she smiled back into his face, her voice trembling as she answered.
"And I," she said slowly, "have had no thought but of you since our morning in the garden together. How far away that seems."
"You mean you love me?"
"Yes; I love you; there is no word stronger, but I would speak it—is that not enough?"
He held her in his arms, in spite of the trembling raft, tossed by the swell of the sea, and crushed her against him in the ardent strain of passion. An instant she held her head back, her eyes gazing straight into his; then, with sigh of content, yielded, and their lips met, and clung.
The very silence aroused them, startled both into a swift realization of that dreary waste in which they floated helplessly alone, a drifting chip on the face of the waters. Her eyes swept the crest of the waves, and she withdrew herself partially from his arms.
"Why, we must be crazed to dream of happiness here," she exclaimed. "Was there ever before so strange a confession of love? I am trying to be brave—but—but that is too much; that waste of green water, with the grey sky overhead. There is no ending to it—just death mocking us in every wave. Oh, Matthew, can this be all? Only this little moment, and then—the end?"
He held her hands tightly, his heart throbbing, but his courage and hope high.
"No, dear," he whispered eagerly. "Don't think that for a moment. We have passed through too much to dream of such an ending now. There will be ships—there must be. Look! what is that, yonder against the sky-line? It is, sweet-heart; it is the smoke of a steamer."
They watched with sinking hearts, West rising to his knees, and shading his eyes with his hand, as that thin spiral of smoke crept along the horizon, and finally disappeared into the north. The raft rode so low in the water that no glimpse of the distant steamer could be perceived, and, when the last faint vestige of smoke vanished, neither said a word, but sat there silent, with clasped hands. The bitterness of disappointment wore away slowly, and as the uneventful hours left them in the same helpless condition, they fell again into fitful conversation, merely to thus bolster up courage, and lead their minds to other thoughts. It was maddening to sit there motionless and stare off across the desolate water, seeing nothing but those white-crested surges sweeping constantly toward them, and to feel the continuous leap and drop of the frail raft, which alone kept them afloat.
The hours went by monotonously, with scarcely an occurrence to break the dreariness or bring a ray of hope. The clouds obscured the sky, yet occasionally through some narrow rift, came a glimpse of the sun, as it rose to the zenith, and then began sinking into the west. The air was soft, the breeze dying down, and the height of the waves decreasing; the raft floated more easily, and it no longer became necessary for them to cling tightly to the supports to prevent being flung overboard. But there came out of the void no promise of rescue; the sea remained desolate and untraversed, and finally a mist hung over the water, narrowing the horizon. During the day they saw smoke but always far to the east, and quickly disappearing. Once West felt assured his eyes caught the glimmer of a white sail to the southward, but it was too far away for him to be sure. At best, it was but a momentary vision, fading almost instantly against the grey curtain of sky. He had scarcely attempted to point it out to Natalie when it completely vanished.
Their effort to talk to each other ceased gradually; there was so little they could say in the presence of the growing peril surrounding them. They had become the helpless sport of the waves, unable to act, think or plan, surrounded by horror, and aimlessly drifting toward the gloom of another night. Wearied beyond all power of resistance, the girl sank lower and lower until she finally lay outstretched in utter abandonment. West thrust his coat beneath her head, securely binding her to the raft by the rope's end, and sat beside her dejectedly, staring forth into the surrounding smother. She did not speak, and finally her eyes closed. Undoubtedly she slept, but he made every effort to remain awake and on watch, rubbing his heavy eyes, and struggling madly to overcome the drowsiness which assailed him. How long he won, he will never know; the sun was in the west, a red ball of fire showing dimly through the cloud, and all about the same dancing expanse of sea, drear, and dead. The raft rose and fell, rose and fell, so monotonously as to lull his consciousness imperceptibly; his head drooped forward, and with fingers still automatically gripped for support, he fell sound asleep also.
The raft drifted aimlessly on, the waves lapping its sides, and tossing it about as though in wanton play. The currents and the wind held it in their relentless grip, and bore it steadily forward, surging along the grey surface of the sea. The girl lay quiet, her face upturned, unconscious now of her dread surroundings; and the man swayed above her, his head bent upon his breast, both sleeping the sleep of sheer exhaustion. Out of the dim mist shrouding the eastern sky the vague outline of a distant steamer revealed itself for a moment, the smoke from its stacks adding to the gathering gloom. It was but a vision fading swiftly away into silence. No throb of the engines awoke the unconscious sleepers; no eye on the speeding deck saw the low-lying raft, or its occupants. The vessel vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving nothing but a trackless waste of sea. The two slept on.
It was the startled cry of Natalie that roused West, and brought his drooping head, upright. She was sitting up, still held safely by the coil of rope, and pointing excitedly behind him.
"Oh, see there! Look where I point—isn't that land?"
The raft rocked as he swung his body hastily about, and gazed intently in the direction indicated. Land! of course it was land; land already so close at hand, his eyes could trace its conformation—the narrow strip of sand beach, the sharp bluff beyond, the fringe of trees crowning the summit. He rubbed his eyes, scarcely able to credit his sight, half believing it a mirage. Yet the view remained unchanged; it was land, a bit of the west shore, a short promontory running out into the lake toward which the raft, impelled by some hidden current, was steadily drifting. His arm clapped the girl in sudden ecstasy.
"Yes, it's land, thank God!" he exclaimed thoughtfully. "We are floating ashore, Natalie—saved in spite of ourselves. Why, we could not have been so far out in the lake after all. That must be why all those vessels passed to the east of us. I ought to have thought of that before; those villains would never have deserted the yacht in mid-lake, and taken to the boat. They must have known they could make shore easily."
Her glance searched the face of the bluff, which with each moment was becoming more distinctly visible.
"You don't suppose they landed here, do you?"
"Not very likely; even if they did they are not here now. They would have made it before daylight this morning. All the time we have been drifting out there they had to get away in. There is no danger that Hogan is anywhere along this shore now."
"You think he and—and those others have all gone?"
"Yes; why should they hang around here? The last idea in their heads would be the possibility of our ever drifting in alive. Hogan has gone back to Chicago to make a report to Hobart, and the rest have scattered like a covey of partridges. Not one of them has a thought but that we went down in theSeminole. Now they'll pull off their graft, and pull it quick."
"And what will you do?"
"Get safely ashore first. It will be dark in less than an hour; but we are too far out yet to venture swimming. We shall have to hang tight to the raft a while yet, and drift; the current is carrying us all right. Do you see any sign of life over there—houses, or smoke?"
"No; I have been looking; the whole shore-line appears utterly deserted.Have you any idea where we can be?"
"Not the slightest; only this is certainly the west shore; there is no such abandoned spot anywhere between Chicago and Milwaukee, and we must be much farther north. They had plenty of time to put the yacht quite a ways up shore before they sank her."
"Hogan must have known where he was."
"Unquestionably; it was all planned out; he knew exactly where he intended to land, and how long it would take them to reach there after they left the yacht."
"Perhaps," she suggested hesitatingly, "the gang had some rendezvous up here in these north-woods, a place where they could hide."
West shook his head negatively.
"No, I don't think that; they may know the country, and how best to get away quickly. But those fellows are city thieves—Hobart and Hogan anyway—and would feel far safer back in their haunts in Chicago. There is no place like a big city to hide in, and besides, even if they have got the money already,—which I doubt—there has been no chance to divide it, and 'Red' would never let Hobart get away without paying him his share. They are not loitering around here, Natalie, waiting for ghosts to appear; they are back in town hours ago."
"But what can we do?"
"Get ashore first, of course, and discover the quickest way to return to the city. None of this shore is deserted, and we'll find houses back behind that fringe of woods. I figure we have a big advantage. We know their real game now, and they are so sure we are both dead, they'll operate in the open—walk right into a trap. By this time McAdams must have discovered some clue as to the whereabouts of Hobart. With him under arrest, and our story told, some of these fellows will confess, and it will all be over with."
"But suppose they have already succeeded in their purpose?"
"That can hardly be possible, Natalie. There hasn't been time yet. Certain legal forms must be complied with. You could only draw a limited amount."
"Until I reached a certain age; after which there was no restriction. I attained that age yesterday."
"And they are aware of it, no doubt. Yet there must be some legal authorization necessary which may cause delay. The sooner we reach Chicago, the better. It is twilight already—the sun has gone down behind the bluff, but it will require an hour yet for this raft to drift into shallow water. You swim, you told me?"
"Yes, very well indeed."
"Shall we risk it then together? It is not far to the end of the point yonder."
She looked where he pointed and smiled, glancing back into his questioning eyes.
"Why, that involves no danger at all. I will do anything to get off this raft. But if we are going to have light we must start at once."
The two slipped silently over the edge of the dipping raft, and struck out for the nearest point of land, West loitering slightly behind, afraid lest she might be hampered, and perhaps dragged down by her water-soaked clothes. A few strokes reassured him as to this, as she struck out vigorously, her every motion exhibiting trained skill. She glanced back at him, and smiled at his precaution; then faced resolutely toward the distant shore, swimming easily. He followed closely, timing his strokes to her own, confident, yet watchful still, while behind them, now but a dim speck in the grey sea, wallowed the deserted raft.
The distance was greater than it had seemed, the twilight deceiving their eyes, while their clothing had a tendency to retard progress. Weakened by lack of food, and buffetted by cross currents, both were decidedly exhausted by the time their lowering feet finally touched bottom. Natalie staggered, faint and dizzy from the exertion, but West grasped her in his arms before she could fall, and carried her across the sand beach to the foot of the cliff. She laughed as he laid her gently down in the soft sand, putting up her arms to him like a child, and drawing his face down until their lips met.
"Oh," she exclaimed breathlessly, "That was glorious, but I hardly had enough strength left to make it. It—it was an awfully long way."
"There are currents off shore," he explained. "That was what made the swimming so difficult. You are all right now."
"Yes; at least I think so," she sat up. "Why, it is almost dark already. I cannot see the old raft at all. I—I wish it would come ashore; it gave you to me, Matt."
"And you are not sorry, even now, safe here on shore?"
"Sorry! Why I am the happiest girl in all the world this minute. I can hardly think about that money at all, or those scoundrels trying to rob me. I am here with you, and you love me—what more can I ask? Is that silly, dear?"
He laughed, and kissed her, neither giving a thought to their dripping garments, or a regret for the hardships they had passed through. They were there alone, safe, together—all else for the moment mattered not.
"Yes, I love you, Natalie, dear," he answered. "So it is not silly at all. But we must seek shelter and food. Are you strong enough now to climb the bluff? See, there is a ravine leading up yonder, where the footing is easier."
She nodded her readiness to try, too happy for words, and hand in hand they toiled their way upward through the gloom.