No answer came at first. Then, “Who is it?” in the voice of Aunt Lucinda.
“It is I, Mr. Henry—” but I paused: “—It is I, Black Bart the Avenger,” I concluded. “May I come in?”
Silently the door opened, and I entered the little reception-room which lay between the two staterooms of this cabin. Before me stood Helena! And now I was close to her, I could see the little curls at her temples, could see the double curves of her lips, the color in her cheek. Ah! she was the same, the same! I loved her—I loved her not the same, but more and more, more!
She held her peace; and all I could do was to stand and stare and then hold out my hand. She took it formally, though her color heightened. I saluted Aunt Lucinda also, who glared at me. “How do you do?” I said to them both, with much originality and daring.
“Black Bart!” snorted Aunt Lucinda. “Black Bart! It might be, from these goings on. What does it all mean?”
“It means, my dear Mrs. Daniver,” said I, “that I have taken charge of the boat myself.”
“But how?” demanded Helena. “We did not hear you were coming. And I don’t understand. Why, that rascally little nephew of mine, in the mask, frightened auntie nearly to death. And he said the most extraordinary things!
“Where is Mr. Davidson?” she added. “He didn’t tell us a word of this.”
“He didn’t know a word of it himself,” I answered. “Let me tell you, no self-respecting pirate—and as you see, I am a pirate—is in the habit of telling his plans in advance.”
“A pirate!”