crew.
Molly stood, wrapped up in her cloak, at the door of the cabin,
watching.

One of the revenue men came forward and attempted to speak--but the
captain impatiently cut him short.

"I have no time to waste in talk, my man," he said commandingly. "How
many were you on board the cutter?"

"Nine," answered the man sullenly.

"How many have we got here?"

"Six, sir," interposed Curwen. "Those three," pointing to three
disconsolate and dripping figures, "were all we could pick up."

"Hark ye, fellows," said the captain. "You barred my road, I had to
clear you away. You tried to sink me, I had to sink you. You have lost
three of your ship-mates, you have yourselves to blame for it; your
shot has drawn blood from one for whom I would have cut down forty
times your number. I will send you back to shore. Away with you! No, I
will hear nothing. Let them have the gig, Curwen, and four oars."

"And now God speed the _Peregrine_," cried Jack Smith, as the revenue
men pushed off in the direction of the light and the wind was again
swelling every sail of his gallant ship. "We are well out of our
scrape. Shape her course for St. Malo, Curwen. If this wind holds we
should be there by the nineteenth in the morning, at latest."

CHAPTER XXV

THE FIGHT FOR THE OPEN

As o'er the grass, beneath the larches there
We gaily stepped, the high noon overhead,
Then Love was born--was born so strong and fair.
Knowest thou! Love is dead.

_Gipsy Song._

At last he was free. He had wrested his bride and the treasure trusted
to his honour from the snares so unexpectedly laid on his path;
whatever troubles might remain stored against him in the dim distance
of time, he would not reck them now. The present and the immediate
future were full of splendour and triumph.

All those golden schemes worked out under yonder light of
Scarthey--God bless it--now receding in the gloom behind his swift
running ship, whether in the long watches of the night, or in the
recent fevered resolves of imminent danger, they had come to pass
after all! And she, the light of his life, was with him. She had
trusted her happiness, her honour, herself, to his love. The thought
illumined his brain with glory as he rushed back to the silent muffled
figure that still stood awaiting his coming.

"At last!" he said, panting in the excess of his joy; "At last,
Madeleine ... I can hardly believe it! But selfish brute that I am,
you mus