I wouldn't be in your husband's shoes to-day for all
the money in London City. We may pull through--there would be rasher
promises than that; but Edmond Czerny will never see a white man's town
again--no, not if he lives a hundred years!"

"It would be justice, God's justice," said she, very slowly; "there is
that in the world always, Jasper. Whatever may be in store for me, I
should like to think that I had done my duty as you are doing yours."

"We won't talk of that;" said I; "the day is dark, but the sunshine
follows after. Some day, in some home across the sea, we'll tell each
other how we held Ken's Island against a hundred. It may be that, dear
friend; God knows, it may be that!"

* * *

It was five o'clock in the morning by my watch when I signalled for the
second time to the people on the beach, and half-past five when first
they answered me. Until that time I had not wished to awake Dolly Venn
or Mister Bligh; but now when it began to come to me that I might,
indeed, save these poor driven folks and add to the garrison which held
the house, sleep was banished from my eyes and I had the strength and
heart of ten. No longer could I doubt that my signals were seen and
read by some sailor on that distant shore. Driven out, as they must
have been, by the awful fogs which loomed over Ken's Island, gasping
for their lives at the water's edge, who shall blame their hesitation
or exclaim upon that delay? Over the sea they beheld a white flag
waving. Was it the flag which friend or foe had raised? There, from
that craggy rock, help was offered them. Could they believe such good
fortune, those who seemed to have but minutes to live?

Well, Dolly Venn came up to me, and Peter Bligh, half awake from sleep;
and all standing together (Seth Barker keeping watch below) I told them
how we stood and pointed out that which might follow after.

"There'll be no attack from Czerny's men with the light," said I; "for
so much is plain reason. If there's murder done out yonder, look for it
on Czerny's yacht when his friends would go aboard. Why, see, lads,
there are a hundred and twenty men, at the lowest reckoning, drifting
yonder in open boats. Who's to feed them, who's to house them? They can
go ashore on Ken's Island and dance to the sleep-music; but they are
not the sort to do that, from what we've seen of them! No, they'll have
it out with Edmond Czerny; they'll want to know the reason why! And let
the wind blow more than a