igher pitch.

"You are chilled, my son?" he asked. "Never mind, we will have brandy in
a moment."

Strange how the years make the path seem smooth and mellow. As I look
back on it today, boarding the ship seems a light enough matter, though I
know now that every moment we remained by the ladder, eternity was
staring us in the face. Even now, when I look back on it, the water is
not what I see, nor Brutus grasping at the dangling rope, but rather my
father, standing watching the ladder, detached from the motion and
excitement around him, a passive onlooker to whom what might happen
seemed a matter of small concern. Brutus, holding Mademoiselle on one
arm, managed the ladder with ready adroitness, and I followed safely, but
not before I had been hurled against the side with a force that nearly
drove away my breath. I reached the deck to find a lantern thrust into my
face, and stared into it, for the moment quite blinded.

"It is the son," remarked a voice which I thought I remembered, and then
my father followed me.

"We are on board, Mr. Aiken," he called. "Never mind the boat. Get your
men on the braces, or we'll blow on shore."

"Yes, Captain Shelton," said the voice again. "You are on board, to be
sure, and very prettily done. I have been waiting for you all evening.

"Indeed," said my father, in his old level tone, "and who the
devil are you?"

"Mr. Sims, Captain," came the reply. "I managed to seize your ship before
it left the river. It is hard, after so much trouble, but you are my
prisoner, Captain Shelton."

My eyes had become accustomed to the light. I looked about me to find we
were in the center of a group of men. Mr. Sims, small and watchful, his
face a pale yellow in the glow, was standing beside a tall man who held
the lantern at arm's length. My father was facing him about two paces
distant, his hand on the wet and bedraggled lapel of his coat, his glance
vague and thoughtful, as though he was examining at his leisure some
phenomenon of nature. Brutus, looking as unpleasant as I had ever seen
him, had half thrust Mademoiselle behind his back, and stood half
crouching, his eye on my father's hand, his thick lips moving nervously.
My father patted his coat gently and sighed.

"I must admit," he said, "that this is surprisingly, indeed, quite
delightfully unexpected. I hope you have been quite comfortable."

Mr. Sims permitted himself to smile.

"I told them you were a man of sense," he said. "I