bag at once to General Rolleston, and
assured him a wearied duck had come on board, and his wife had detached
the writing.

They took in coal; and then ran westward once more, every heart beating
high with confident hope.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

HELEN'S act was strange, and demands a word of explanation. If she had
thought the steamboat was a strange vessel, she would have lighted the
bonfire; if she had known her father was on board, she would have lighted
it with joy. But Hazel, whose every word now was gospel, had said it was
Arthur Wardlaw in that boat, searching for her.

Still, so strong is the impulse in all civilized beings to get back to
civilization, that she went up that hill as honestly intending to light
the bonfire as Hazel intended it to be lighted. But, as she went, her
courage cooled, and her feet began to go slowly, as her mind ran swiftly
forward to consequence upon consequence. To light that bonfire was to
bring Arthur Wardlaw down upon herself and Hazel living alone and on
intimate terms. Arthur would come and claim her to his face. Could she
disallow his claim? Gratitude would now be on his side as well as good
faith. What a shock to Arthur! What torture for Hazel! torture that he
foresaw, or why the face of anguish, that dragged even now at her
heart-strings? And then it could end only in one way; she and Hazel would
leave the island in Arthur's ship. What a voyage for all three! She stood
transfixed by shame; her whole body blushed at what she saw coming. Then
once more Hazel's face rose before her; poor crippled Hazel! her hero and
her patient. She sat down and sighed, and could no more light the fire
than she could have put it out if another had lighted it.

She was a girl that could show you at times she had a father as well as a
mother. But that evening she was all woman.

They met no more that night.

In the morning his face was haggard, and showed a mental struggle; but
hers placid and quietly beaming, for the very reason that she had made a
great sacrifice. She was one of that sort.

And this difference between them was a foretaste.

His tender conscience pricked him sore. To see her sit beaming there,
when, if he had done his own duty with his own hands she would be on her
way to England! Yet his remorse was dumb; for, if he gave it vent, then
he must seem ungrateful to her for _her_ sacrifice.

She saw his deep and silent compunction, approved it secretly; said
nothing, but smi