The Commandant had turned to his writing-table, and was holding the letter under the lamplight.
"I can go bail for Miss Cara," he answered, but without looking up. "Undoubtedly she comes from Saaron, and is Mrs. Tregarthen's sister. Also this letter, though we cannot deal with it to-night, is addressed to Eli Tregarthen in the Lord Proprietor's handwriting. It gives him formal notice to quit and deliver up his farm. I can give no hope of help—no hope at all." Here his voice trembled slightly. "The most I can promise is to consider it."
"And the best we can do for the moment is to escort Miss Cara down to her boat and get one of my men to sail her back to her island."
"I incline to think," said the Commandant, after a pause, "that Miss Cara—from what I have seen of her skill—is competent to sail back alone. If not, I would suggest that you or I escort her, towing my boat across for the return journey. In any case, if we can get your men out of the way, it would be wiser, perhaps, for her sake."
"And for mine, begad!" agreed the Lieutenant! "Else I shall have every man of them grinning behind my back for a month of Sundays. 'Rogers' smuggling-chase'—I can hear the villains chuckling over it.... But I say, though"—he turned on Vashti admiringly—"you'll want an escort across, eh? You don't tell me you're man enough to handle that boat alone?"
"If you please, sir."
"The Channel's none too easy on a dark night."
Vashti smiled. "My father taught it to me, sir, before I was ten years old. I could sail it blindfold."
"And you have the nerve?... And yet just now, the dark frightened you, and you ran for your life!"
"No," said Vashti, demurely, "I just stood still."