with the chief boatman watching the pier-head, she would be
discovered to a certainty.

The Commandant's last hope was gone.

Just as he realised this, to his utter astonishment, he heard the voice
of Archelaus grumbling outside in the passage. And Archelaus had gone
to rest an hour ago!

"Pretty time of night this, to come breaking a man's rest!" growled the
voice of Archelaus, audibly, and not without viciousness, as though he
meant it to be heard.

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Mr. Rogers. "You don't tell me we've roused the
old fellow out of bed? And I reckoned I was making no more noise than a
mouse!"

"He may have heard you throw that gravel against the pane." The
Commandant took a step towards the door, but halted irresolutely.

"Then he's a light sleeper," commented Mr. Rogers, "and an even more
dilatory dresser. Why, good heavens!"--the Lieutenant started up from
his chair--"he's undoing the bolts! Somebody's at the front door: one
of my men to report, I'll bet a fiver!"

He would have rushed out into the passage, but the Commandant caught
him by the arm.

"No need to hurry, my friend! Whoever it is, Archelaus will bring
word."

Many hasty surmises whirled together in the Commandant's brain--the
first, and hastiest, that Vashti, unable to make her escape, had
aroused Archelaus, and that Archelaus was unbarring the door for her on
the pretence of hearing a knock. Even so, she would be caught as soon
as she reached the shore. Still, occasion might be snatched to send
Archelaus after her to warn her; she might hide for the night at the
Castle under Mrs. Treacher's friendly wing. The instant need was to
hold back the Lieutenant from discovering her in the passage, and to
the Lieutenant's arm our Commandant clung.

"My good sir," expostulated Mr. Rogers, "it _must_ be one of my men.
Who else, at this hour?"

He fell back a step as the door opened.

"A person to see you, sir; from Saaron!" announced Archelaus. "Shall I
show her in?"

Before either could answer, Vashti herself stood on the threshold.

Of the two men, the Lieutenant excusably showed the blankest
astonishment. But the Commandant had to catch at the rail of a chair.
Vashti had discarded her cloak of furs, and faced him now in such garb
as is worn by the poorest in the Islands: a short gown of hodden gray,
coarse-knitted stockings, and stout shoes. Across her shoulder, for a
"turn-over," she wore a faded shawl of Tartan pattern. (The Commandan