ms water and good holding-ground."

The boat was manned with a couple of brown oarsmen in scanty kilts of
blue. The speaker, who was steering, wore white clothes, the full dress
of the tropics; a wide hat shaded his face; but it could be seen that he
was of stalwart size, and his voice sounded like a gentleman's. So much
could be made out. It was plain, besides, that the _Farallone_ had been
descried some time before at sea, and the inhabitants were prepared for
its reception.

Mechanically the orders were obeyed, and the ship berthed; and the three
adventurers gathered aft beside the house and waited, with galloping
pulses and a perfect vacancy of mind, the coming of the stranger who
might mean so much to them. They had no plan, no story prepared; there
was no time to make one; they were caught red-handed and must stand
their chance. Yet this anxiety was chequered with hope. The island being
undeclared, it was not possible the man could hold any office or be in a
position to demand their papers. And beyond that, if there was any truth
in Findlay, as it now seemed there should be, he was the representative
of the "private reasons," he must see their coming with a profound
disappointment; and perhaps (hope whispered) he would be willing and
able to purchase their silence.

The boat was by that time forging alongside, and they were able at last
to see what manner of man they had to do with. He was a huge fellow, six
feet four in height, and of a build proportionately strong, but his
sinews seemed to be dissolved in a listlessness that was more than
languor. It was only the eye that corrected this impression; an eye of
an unusual mingled brilliancy and softness, sombre as coal and with
lights that outshone the topaz; an eye of unimpaired health and
virility; an eye that bid you beware of the man's devastating anger. A
complexion, naturally dark, had been tanned in the island to a hue
hardly distinguishable from that of a Tahitian; only his manners and
movements, and the living force that dwelt in him, like fire in flint,
betrayed the European. He was dressed in white drill, exquisitely made;
his scarf and tie were of tender-coloured silks; on the thwart beside
him there leaned a Winchester rifle.

"Is the doctor on board?" he cried as he came up. "Dr. Symonds, I mean?
You never heard of him? Nor yet of the _Trinity Hall_? Ah!"

He did not look surprised, seemed rather to affect it in politeness; but
his eye rested on