"Myles Rudstone."

There was an exclamation of surprise, and a moment later a rope ladder was thrown down to us. Baptiste and I and the girl preceded the captain, and as he followed us he cast the boat adrift. At the first sight, seeing him on deck by the glare of a lantern, I was favorably impressed by Hiram Bunker. He was a short, thick-set man, with a sandy beard and a shrewd, good natured face. He scanned Miss Hatherton and myself with open amazement, and shook hands heartily with Captain Rudstone.

"Glad to meet you again, sir," he cried in a nasal voice. "My mate wakened me up to listen to the row over yonder," pointing to the sh.o.r.e, "and that's why I'm on deck at this hour. I might have guessed you had a hand in the rumpus. But what does it mean, anyway?".

The captain explained, making the situation thoroughly clear, and the little skipper listened with thoughtful attention.

"It's an ugly sc.r.a.pe," was his grave comment.

"It is that; but you can get us out of it. What do you say?"

"I say I'll do it," cried the skipper. "I'm a Hudson Bay man at heart, and I'll save the lot of you--hang the risk!"

"And you will sail at once?"

"At once. I've got my full cargo on board, and I was only waiting for daylight to start. It's not far off that now. But, shiver my timbers, if there don't come the rascals you thought you had slipped!"

He pointed up the river, and I saw a longboat approaching swiftly. It was still a good distance off, but there was not a moment to lose, and the skipper was aware of the fact. He hastily roused the crew, and I never saw a more pleasing sight than that hardy lot of men as they set to work to unfurl the sails and get the vessel under way.

Miss Hatherton stood with me at the bulwark, holding to my arm, and asking me what I thought of the situation. I hardly knew how to answer her, for there was no telling as yet what was going to happen. A stiff breeze was blowing ready for the canvas, and when the anchor was lifted we began to drift. But meanwhile the boat had come up close, and with evident determination to board us. It held ten men, and they were mostly at the oars.

"Sheer off, there!" cried the skipper. "What do you want?"

"You are sheltering fugitives from the law," a harsh voice replied.

"Give them up. It's a case of murder!"

The skipper refused in plain terms, and catching a sudden gleam of steel, he shouted savagely:

"If you come any nearer or fire a single shot I'll give you a volley of ten guns!"

By this time the ship was under way and moving with full canvas spread.

The pursuing boat fell back, its occupants yelling curses and threats; and so the danger pa.s.sed. The Speedwell bore swiftly on, leaving a foamy wake dancing on the bosom of the St. Lawrence, and in my delight I felt tempted to throw my arms about Miss Hatherton. Captain Rudstone joined us, and with thankful hearts we watched the lights of Quebec fading in the distance.

CHAPTER VIII.

CLOSE TO PORT.

I need make but brief mention of the long cruise that followed our escape, of the days that pa.s.sed slowly while we worked our way down the mighty St. Lawrence, out to the open Atlantic by the rocky gates of Newfoundland, and thence up the coast of Labrador to Hudson Straits. For the most part wind and weather favored us, yet it was a matter of six weeks before we got into the bay and made sail across that inland waste of water toward our destination, Fort York, which was far down in the southwestern corner. The distance from Quebec by land would have been far less. Our course, as a map will show, was along the three sides of a square.

The Speedwell was a sound little ship, and carried a mixed cargo to be delivered at the Hudson Bay posts. We were well fed and snugly berthed, Miss Hatherton having a cozy cabin all to herself. The crew were good fellows, and Hiram Bunker was a typical New England skipper--bluff, honest and popular. I did not see very much of him, for he and Captain Rudstone became boon companions and stuck well together. It was the same with the captain. Indeed, he seemed to take pains to avoid me, except when others were present, thereby causing me some perplexity and chagrin. And if we happened to find ourselves alone he appeared ill at ease, and would look at me in a strange and shifty manner, as though he had something on his mind. But for all that the time did not hang heavily on my hands, nor was the voyage an uneventful one to me, as I shall relate in a few words.

It came about naturally enough that Miss Hatherton and I spent the long days together. In less than a fortnight we were calling each other by our Christian names. Secluded in some nook of the deck, we would talk for hours, or I would read aloud from one of the few volumes that the skipper's cabin afforded. She told me much of her life in London. Her father had been a gentleman of some means until speculation wrecked him, and later she confided to me the whole of her sad story.

There was more than I had known before, as Captain Rudstone suggested.

It seems that prior to her father's death the only son of Lord Selkirk fell in love with the girl. She did not return his affection, and, indeed, she disliked the young man. But the old lord was either ignorant of this fact or would not believe it. He had higher matrimonial views for his son, and so, in order to get Miss Hatherton out of England, he hatched the plot that resulted in the poor girl making her father a sacred promise that she would go to the Canadas and marry Griffith Hawke. She had no relatives to interfere, and a cruel disadvantage was taken of her helplessness and poverty. She spoke of the matter only on the one occasion, and it did not come up between us again. Nor had I the heart to mention it, since she was clearly resigned to her future.

But I pitied the girl deeply, and I would have been more than human, with the opportunities afforded, had I not fallen a victim to her charms and loveliness. I did not perceive where I was drifting. I did not realize my danger until it was too late. In short, I, who had hitherto felt but contempt for all womankind, suddenly discovered that I was a slave to the great pa.s.sion. It was a sharp awakening, and it destroyed my peace of mind. To me Flora Hatherton was a divinity, a G.o.ddess. It gave me the keenest torture to think that she would soon be the wife of old Griffith Hawke. I knew that she was as far out of my reach as the stars above, and yet I felt that I should love her pa.s.sionately all my life--that the memory of her sweet face would shatter all the joys of existence for me.

I could have cursed myself for being such a fool, and I hated the factor for sending me on such a mission. It never entered my head to play him false and try to win Flora, nor did I believe there was any chance of doing so. Day after day we were together, and with Spartan courage I hid my feelings--or, at least, I thought I was hiding them. It was a hard task, for every word or look that the girl gave me seemed to turn my blood to fire. That she was indifferent to me--that she regarded me only as a friend--I was convinced. I was a youngster and inexperienced, and so I was blind to the girl's pretty blushes, to the averting of her eyes when they would meet mine, and to other signs of confusion that I remembered afterward. To remain at Fort Royal, a witness of Griffith Hawke's domestic happiness, I knew to be impossible. I determined to seek a new post, or to plunge far into the northern wilderness, as soon as I should have delivered Flora at her destination.

The days slipped by fraught with mingled joy and bitterness, and at sunset one chilly August evening I stood alone on deck by the port bulwark. The wind was rising, and there was a clammy mist on the gray, troubled waters. We were nearly across the bay, and in the morning we expected to sight the marshy sh.o.r.es that lay about Fort York. Flora was in her cabin. She had seemed depressed all day and I remembered that an hour before, when the skipper told her how near we were to land, she had smiled at me sadly and gone below. I had no wish for the voyage to end.

The thought of the morrow cut me like a knife, and I was lost in gloomy reflections, when a hand clapped me on the shoulder. I turned round with a start, and saw Captain Rudstone.

"A few hours more, Mr. Carew," he said, "and we shall have dropped anchor under the walls of the fort. Do you expect to meet your factor there?"

"It is doubtful," I replied. "He will hardly look for our arrival so soon. We took an earlier ship, you will remember, and our pa.s.sage has been a swift one."

"It was a dangerous pa.s.sage," he said meaningly--"at least, for you. I take it you will be glad of a few days of grace. But may I ask--I happen to have a curiosity--how this thing is to end?"

"What thing?" I cried, ruffling at once.

"You love Miss Hatherton," he answered with a smile.

I felt my face grow hot.

"Does that concern you?" I demanded curtly. "I will thank you to mind your own affairs, Captain Rudstone."

"The girl loves you," he replied calmly.

"I don't believe it," said I.

"Bah! you are a blind fool," he muttered. "I gave you credit for more perception. But it is just as I said--the girl returns your affection.

What are you going to do about it? Will you allow her to marry Griffith Hawke?"

I could have struck the captain for his jesting tone, and yet at the same time I detected a ring of truth in what he had said. It flashed upon me that I had indeed been blind, and the revelation thrilled my heart.

"Miss Hatherton is the promised wife of Griffith Hawke," I answered hoa.r.s.ely; "and Griffith Hawke is my superior officer. I am acting under his orders, and I dare not betray my trust. I am a man of honor, and not a knave. I scorn your suggestion, sir."

"Do you call it honorable," sneered the captain, "to help this innocent girl, whose heart belongs to you, to marry another man?"

I looked at him with some confusion for, to tell the truth, I had no answer ready to my lips. And just then Hiram Bunker strode up to us, his countenance unusually grave.

"It's going to be a nasty night, or I'm no mariner," he exclaimed.

"There's a storm brewing, and we are perilously near the coast. I don't like the prospect a bit, gentlemen."

Captain Rudstone made some fitting reply, but I was in no mood to heed the skipper's words, or to give a second thought to the prophecy of a storm. I left the two together, and with my brain in a whirl I crept down to the seclusion of my cabin.

CHAPTER IX.

AT THE MERCY OF THE SEA.