progress
was arrested by a rank of boxes and flour-bags. Pressing his shoulder
against these, he hitched himself to his feet, turned and leaned across
them until his face was within a foot of the faint square of the window.
Against the half-darkness he could now see something indistinct in
shape, and all of a dense blackness save for a pale patch that he knew
to be a human face. It was Mary Kavanagh. She told him briefly of the
way she had turned the skipper from searching the coast for his boat and
his companion; of Flora's safety, and of how she hoped to accomplish
their escape before long--perhaps on the following night. Wick was
still hidden in the drook, she said. She would try to get a boat of some
kind around to him on the next night; and if she succeeded in that, she
would return and try to get Darling out of the store and Flora out of
the skipper's house.

The sailor was at a loss for words in which to express his gratitude.

"But ye must promise me one thing," whispered the girl. "Ye must swear,
by all the holy saints, to do naught agin Denny Nolan when once ye git
safe away--swear that neither Flora nor yerself puts the law on to
Denny, nor on to any o' the folks o' this harbor, for whatever has been
done."

"I swear it, by all the saints," replied Darling. "For myself--but I
cannot promise it for Flora. You must arrange that with her."

Several hours after Mary's interview with John Darling, old Mother Nolan
awoke in her bed, suddenly, with all her nerves on the jump. The room
was dark, but she felt convinced that a light had been held close to her
face but a moment before. She felt no fear for herself, but a chilling
anxiety as to what deviltry Denny might be up to now. Could it be that
she was mistaken in him after all? Could it be that he was less of a
man than she had thought? She crawled noiselessly from her bed and stole
over to the door of Flora Lockhart's room. The door was fastened. With
the key, which she had brought from under her pillow, she made sure that
it was locked. She unlocked it noiselessly, opened the door a crack and
peered in. The room was lighted by the glow from the fire and by a
guttering candle on a chair beside the bed. She saw that the room was
empty, save for the sleeping girl. Closing the door softly and locking
it again, she turned and groped her way across to the kitchen door,
beneath which a narrow line of light was visible. Scarcely breathing,
she raised the latch, drew