bled and white, but
upon the lips and brows, what scorn! He was a god among men.... How
she loved him, and he scorned her! Poor Murthering Moll!

She looked up.

"Have you no word for me?" she cried passionately.

"Only this, Lady Landale: I will forget."

* * * * *

Back towards the distant northern light the schooner clove her
valiant way in spite of adverse winds and high seas.

The return journey was slower than the outward, and since the second
day of it the lady kept much to her cabin, while the captain would
pace the deck till far into the night, with unwonted uneasiness. To
him the white wings of his _Peregrine_ were bearing him all too slowly
for endurance, while to the stormy woman's heart that beat through the
night watches in passionate echo to his restless tread, every instant
that passed but brought nearer the prospect of a future so intolerable
that she could not bring herself to face it.

A gloom seemed to have come over the tight little craft, and to have
spread even to the crew, who missed the ring of their captain's jolly
laugh and the sound of his song.

When, within a day's sail of the goal, the planned disguise was
finally carried out upon the schooner's fair sides and rigging, her
beautiful stretch of sail curtailed, and her name (final disgrace),
superseded by the unmeaning title of _The Pretty Jane_, open murmurs
broke out which it required all Curwen's severity--and if the old
martinet did not execute the summary justice he had threatened he was
quite equal to the occasion nevertheless--and all Jack's personal
influence to quell.

The dawn of the next day crept gloomily upon a world of rain; with
long faces the men paddled about the deck, doing their duty in
silence; Curwen's old countenance, set into grimmer lines than ever,
looked as if it had just been detached from the prow of some vessel
after hard experience of stress and storm. The spirits of the captain
alone seemed to rise in proportion as they drew nearer land.

"The moon sets at half-past eleven," he said to Curwen, "but we need
not fear her to-night. By half-past twelve I reckon on your having
those twenty-five damned casks safe in the cave you took them from; it
is a matter of three journeys. And then the nose of the _Pretty Jane_
must be pointed for the Orkneys. All's going well."

* * * * *

Night had fallen. "The gaudy bubbling and remorseful day" had "