"Peril!" repeated Wyzinski, as he stooped over Hughes and moved a knight
on the board. "Check to your king and castle--both. It and I are old
friends."

And Hughes told his tale, while the game proceeded in a most irregular
manner.

Captain Weber sauntered up, and looked knowingly at the board, though he
did not understand anything about it.

"Have you spoken to Adams and to Morris?" asked the missionary.

"Yes, and they are prepared--and what is better, yonder in the cabin is
the arm-chest securely locked. It was a lucky thing I placed it there.
The villains are unarmed."

"They have their knives--there are eleven of them, and we count how
many?" quietly asked the missionary.

"Seven," answered the old sailor; "but Adams is still very weak. Will
you open yonder chest, pretty one," he continued, for he ever addressed
Isabel by that endearing epithet; "will you open yonder chest, and push
the revolvers within my reach with your foot."

Wyzinski took her place at the chess-board, as Isabel rose to do as she
was desired, and the captain having placed a couple of pairs of
revolvers in the pockets of his monkey jacket, moved forward among the
men, talking and chatting as if nothing was wrong.

It was Sunday; the breeze died away towards evening, and the missionary
read the service of the day in the makeshift cabin. He possessed a
fine, clear voice, and, aware of their great danger, his hearers found
the beautiful litany of the church more solemn, perhaps, than usual.

To Isabel it was all very strange, but as the sun sank to rest among the
ocean waves, she joined in the rites of her husband's creed with a
simple, and confiding faith, not understanding them, and night gradually
gathered round the crew of the raft. Inured to danger, and now fully
armed, one after another of the little party lay down to sleep, and soon
all was quiet on board.

The wind had fallen, and with it the sea, the motion of the spars
becoming less and less. The night was warm, the stars were shining
brilliantly, and the moon, in her first quarter, was rising over the
ocean, making a long narrow strip of silver on the waves. The sail was
raised at the opening of the cabin, and on the planking before it sat
Isabel. Her husband's arm was round her, and her head leaned back on
his breast, the long hair uncared for, falling on the planks which
formed the deck, while the starlight shone on her face, and twinkled in
her black eyes. The