so little. I know
I have been indiscreet, that you might justly deem me an adventuress.
But I am not, Gordon Craig; I am a good woman left to fight alone, and I
must have your faith, or break down utterly."

"Why do you suppose you have not?" I asked, grasping her hands in
complete forgetfulness. "We are together now in open fight against these
villains. There is no longer any purpose in acting a lie."

"It was a lie?"

"A bare-faced one. Never for an instant did I intend deserting you, or
becoming that man's tool."

"And you believe me--all I have told you; that I am really the wife of
Philip Henley?"

"Yes," I answered through clinched teeth, struggling to control myself.

For a moment she sat in silence, and, while I dare not look at her, I
knew her eyes were upon my face.

"Then I will do whatever you say, go wherever you tell me," she promised
gravely. "I cannot decide for myself. I am too confused to think
clearly, but I trust you as a friend."

"Is--is that all?" I stammered, unable to restrain the words.

"All! What do you mean? is that not enough?" in surprise.

My eyes met hers, and I cursed myself for a fool.

"Yes--I--I meant nothing," I managed to explain lamely. "That was a slip
of the tongue. Please forget it, and keep faith in me."

I drew aside the curtain draping one of the after ports, and glanced out,
eager for anything to distract attention. Through the clear glass I
could see the curve of shore-line forming the little cove. Just within
the foam of the breakers a half dozen men were launching a small boat. I
stared at them an instant, before realizing what it meant. Then I
dropped the curtain.

"The mate is coming aboard," I said swiftly. "You must go to your room;
here is the key; lock yourself in, and only open when you hear my voice."

"And you--?"

"I must take care of myself; don't worry about me."

She hesitated, yet the expression of my face decided her, and she held
out her hand.

"I--I said I would do whatever you told me to, and here I am questioning
the first thing. Forgive me."

Without so much as a glance at our prisoner, she opened the door, and,
with a swift look about the outer cabin, disappeared.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE CREOLE'S STORY

My time of preparation was brief, yet I already had a plan of operation
outlined. In truth, there was small choice left me. I must keep
Henley concealed and silent until darkness rendered our escape
poss