he creek at ten o'clock
that evening, at which time it would be dark. The yacht would then run
to near Otranto, to which she would send a boat to get any message I
might send. This was to be in a code, which we arranged, and would
convey instructions as to what night and approximate hour the yacht would
come to the creek.

The day was well on before we had made certain arrangements for the
future; and not till then did I feel again the pressure of my personal
restlessness. Rooke, like a wise commander, took rest whilst he could.
Well he knew that for a couple of days and nights at least there would be
little, if any, sleep for him.

For myself, the habit of self-control stood to me, and I managed to get
through the day somehow without exciting the attention of anyone else.
The arrival of the torpedo-boat and the departure of Rooke made for me a
welcome break in my uneasiness. An hour ago I said good-night to Aunt
Janet, and shut myself up alone here. My watch is on the table before
me, so that I may make sure of starting to the moment. I have allowed
myself half an hour to reach St. Sava. My skiff is waiting, moored at
the foot of the cliff on the hither side, where the zigzag comes close to
the water. It is now ten minutes past eleven.

I shall add the odd five minutes to the time for my journey so as to make
safe. I go unarmed and without a light.

I shall show no distrust of anyone or anything this night.

RUPERT'S JOURNAL--_Continued_.

_July_ 2, 1907.

When I was outside the church, I looked at my watch in the bright
moonlight, and found I had one minute to wait. So I stood in the shadow
of the doorway and looked out at the scene before me. Not a sign of life
was visible around me, either on land or sea. On the broad plateau on
which the church stands there was no movement of any kind. The wind,
which had been pleasant in the noontide, had fallen completely, and not a
leaf was stirring. I could see across the creek and note the hard line
where the battlements of the Castle cut the sky, and where the keep
towered above the line of black rock, which in the shadow of the land
made an ebon frame for the picture. When I had seen the same view on
former occasions, the line where the rock rose from the sea was a fringe
of white foam. But then, in the daylight, the sea was sapphire blue; now
it was an expanse of dark blue--so dark as to