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ed nor desired any. His orders were to follow the boat, and stand in as near the Ile Nou as possible without arousing attention on shore; there to wait until the launch returned, or to approach still closer to the island, if pursuit rendered it advisable. These orders Virginia knew he would obey to the letter; and she knew also, though no word had been spoken to her on the subject, that the little cannon, which had been silent since the _Bella Cuba_ had been a lightly armoured despatch-boat in the American-Spanish War, were ready to speak to-night, if worst came to worst. It was that vague "worst" that troubled Virginia's soul as, almost soundlessly, the heart of the _Bella Cuba_ began to beat, and she glided through the glimmering water. If only one could know exactly where and how to expect the blow, the thought that it might fall would be more bearable, the girl felt. But one of many things might happen to wreck their hopes; and failure now probably meant failure forever. Maxime Dalahaide might be too ill to make the attempt to-night, or he might be watched in the act of making it. The men in the launch might miss seeing him, even if he had contrived to escape from the hospital and gain the beach. Or his flight might be discovered, and the launch only arrive near the shore in time for its occupants to see him dragged back to the old life, with all its past horrors, and many new ones added by way of punishment. Possibly the coral reefs and jagged rocks might prevent the launch getting close to shore, and Maxime would have to swim out to it. Then, there were the sharks. Virginia had already seen two or three to-day--hideous, black shapes swimming far down below the surface of the clear water--and she shuddered as she remembered the great snouts and cold, evil eyes of the man-eaters. What was that the Commandant had said in the afternoon? "The sharks are the best guardians the Ile Nou can have." Were those horrible watch-dogs of the sea on the lookout now? At the same moment, the same thought was in the minds of Roger Broom and George Trent, as the little electric launch rounded the point of rock and lost sight of the _Bella Cuba_. The water, as they looked toward the Ile Nou, which must be their destination, was a flood of molten silver poured from the white-hot furnace of the full moon. They knew how black the launch must be on this sheet of radiance, how conspicuous an object to watchful eyes on shore; and thoug
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