"Pooh!" said Dorothy, with a laugh, "'t is but an old hoot-owl. If you'd been in the woods as much as I, you'd not be frightened so easily."

They came to a halt at the edge of the timber growth overlooking the rock peak above the Sachem's Cave, and crouched among the bushes to watch for the light, keeping a lookout as well upon the sea, for the first signal from the ship.

And there they remained, listening to the incessant crying of the insects in the gra.s.s and the rustling of the wind in the trees overhead, these being mingled with the never-ceasing sound of the sea, as the breakers of the incoming tide flung themselves against the boulders with a quavering roar that seemed to pulse the air like great heart-throbs.

Presently Mary whispered, "Why not let us go and stop beside Johnnie Strings?" Then quickly, "Oh, I forgot--the way you are dressed would make it imprudent."

"I should not care very much for Johnnie Strings," Dorothy began; but Mary said hastily,--

"Oh, no, Dot, 'twould never do."

A long silence ensued, broken at length by Mary saying in a tone of alarm, "Oh, Dot, whatever would we do, if your father went to speak to you for somewhat, and should not find us in the house at this late hour?"

"No fear of such a thing," was the confident reply. "He has made sure long since that I am abed and asleep."

It was half-past ten of the clock when the two girls left the house; and so they reckoned it must be now several minutes after the next hour.

"Suppose it should be far into the night before the ship comes in sight," Mary suggested, for she was beginning to feel cramped and uncomfortable. "Let's not wait for so long a time as that."

"No, we will not," Dorothy a.s.sented with a yawn. But the next moment she was all alive, with her small fingers holding Mary's arm in a tight clutch as she whispered excitedly: "Look, Mary--there it is! There was one light, and 't is gone. Now there are the two; and there comes the third, as Jack said."

The girls arose and stood erect in eager interest, looking out over the water, where, several hundred yards from sh.o.r.e, the lights gleamed and then disappeared. And now their eyes, accustomed to the gloom, discerned a slim blackness, as of a man's form, appear on the highest point of rocks above the cave; and then a soft glow of tremulous light illumined the darkness.

While they watched this, they were startled to see a taller figure spring from the shadows, and a second later the two seemed to melt into one enlarged blur, as if they were struggling.

Quick as thought the boyish form beside Mary broke from the bushes and sped with flying steps toward the peak.

"Dot--Dot--come back!" cried Mary, regardless now of who might hear her. "Whatever are you thinking to do?"

A low but clear reply came to her from over Dorothy's shoulder.

"The lanterns--they must be put out, else Jack may be hurt!"

On, on, she flew, with no fear of the peril into which she might be rushing,--with no heed of her unmaidenly garb. Her mind held but the one thought,--that the lanterns must be extinguished, for danger threatened her brother and his companions if they should seek to land unwarned.

So absorbed were the men in their fierce wrestling that neither of them saw nor heard the slight figure that came straight up to them, and then, dashing at the lanterns, sent them flying into the water beneath.

Then the larger of the two, catching sight of the intruder, relaxed his hold on the other; and Johnnie Strings, with a derisive whoop, twisted his wiry little body from the slackened grip and sped down the rocks and away into the night.

"You young rascal, what does all this mean?" demanded Southorn, for he it was; and seizing the boyish shoulder firmly, he shook the slender form.

Dorothy, although greatly overcome by agitation now that her brave deed was accomplished, thought she recognized the voice that addressed her so roughly, and was silent from embarra.s.sment.

"Are you dumb?" the Englishman asked angrily, shaking her again.

"Speak up, you young rebel, or I may try what a salt-water bath will do for the unlocking of your stubborn tongue."

"Stop shaking me, you great--brute," Dorothy gasped indignantly. "Have you no--manners?"

At sound of the soft-toned voice, Southorn seemed to feel that he was dealing with no yokel, as he had supposed; and now, peering closely, he saw that the head of his prisoner was finely shaped, and the features refined and delicate.

"If you object to rough treatment, my young friend," he said a little more gently, "you should not put your nose into such doings as these."

But he still kept a firm hold of the arm and shoulder, as though to stifle any idea of escape.

"I should say 't was you who deserved rough usage,--coming onto my father's land at this hour, and putting your nose into business that can in no wise concern you." Dorothy had by this time fully recovered her composure, and being certain as to the completeness of her disguise, spoke with saucy a.s.surance.

"Your father's land!" exclaimed the young man, in evident surprise.

"Pray, who is your father?"

"A gentleman who has no great taste for stranger folk prowling about his estate." She gave her arm and shoulder a slight twitch, as though to loosen them from his hold. But this he would not have, although his voice had a still milder sound as he asked, "Is your name Devereux?"

"And whether it is or not," she answered, "pray tell me what matters it to you?"

"It matters this to me," he said quickly: "that if it is, then I'll let you off, and will go on my way, although I don't quite like the looks of the doings I've seen on this rock, and out there on the water."

"By the Holy Poker!" Dorothy exclaimed, bent upon keeping up the part she had a.s.sumed. "But you talk as if you were the Lord High c.o.c.kalorum himself! Who are you, to say what you do and do not like here, on my father's premises?"

"Never mind who I am. Perhaps I can make more trouble for your father and his household than you are able to understand. But answer what I have asked, and you'll not be sorry."

Dorothy could not fail to note the earnestness with which he spoke, nor the intent look she felt rather than saw in the dim light. But she met all this with a mocking air and tone as she said, "Since you make it so worth my while to be kind to my neighbors, how know you but I might see fit to tell you an untruth, and say my name was Devereux, when it may be Robinson, or anything else?"

"If this is your father's estate, then your name must be Devereux,"

Southorn a.s.serted; "for the place is owned by one Joseph Devereux, as I have been told. So there's an end to your telling me anything misleading. And now answer me this,--know you the one who is called Mistress Dorothy Devereux?"

Dot waited a moment before answering. A new scheme had sprung into her quick-witted brain,--one that promised an effective means of getting rid of his embarra.s.sing presence, this being likely to interfere seriously with the landing of the arms and powder, were that still in contemplation.

She was wondering, too, what had become of Mary Broughton, and what she was doing all this time.

"Answer me," the young Britisher repeated sharply, "do you know her?"

And he gave a shake to the arm he still held.

"You seem over-fond of shaking folk, sir," she remonstrated. "I wish you'd let go my arm." And she pulled it impatiently.

"I will let it go at once, if you'll only tell me what I wish to know."

"And what may that be?" she asked, with an innocent _sang-froid_ that plainly angered him.

"You are a saucy boy," he said impatiently. "You remember well enough what I asked you. Do you know Mistress Dorothy Devereux?"

"Aye," was the quick reply; "I know her as well as you know your own face that you see in the gla.s.s every day." She stood rubbing the arm he had now released, and upon which his grip had been unpleasantly firm.

"Ah--then she is your sister." He had moved so as to stand directly in front of the slight figure, whose head reached but half-way up his own broad chest.

She looked at him for a second and then burst into laughter.

"I know you now," she said. "You must be the Britisher she told of this morning,--the one who came here, and whom Mary Broughton frightened so badly that he fell over and cut his head." And again the mocking laugh came from her ready lips.

"I don't believe your sister told you any such untruth," said the irritated young man. "I missed my footing, and fell; that was all. I meant no rudeness, although the lady you name--Mary Broughton, did you call her?--seemed not to believe me."