“She has gone,” said Miss Anstrade, with an hysterical sob.
The Captain shook his head.
“She has put out her lights, and will hang about till morning.”
“We’d better slip away, sir,” said Webster.
The Captain lifted his fist, and banged it into his open hand.
“By the Lord,” he growled, “I’ll not leave this ship without a fight for it!”
The Captain, however, gave way so far to the urgent protestations of Miss Anstrade, that he abandoned any idea of placing a crew on board the derelict until daylight revealed whether there was any chance of getting clear away. Fires were kept going on board the Swift, a look-out was stationed on the larger vessel, and the men were sent to their berths. Miss Anstrade retired to snatch an uneasy sleep, and the Captain, leaving Webster and Hume in charge, went also to his cabin, falling almost immediately into a sound sleep. The small hours of the night passed anxiously to the two officers who patrolled the poop of the Irene in silence, listening for any sound that would indicate the whereabouts of the stranger. There was, however, no sign of her presence, and when the intense darkness of the night began to fade before the dawn, a thick, white, low-lying mist wrapped the ship as in an impenetrable cloak.
Webster, to get a view over the mist, if possible, went aloft, his figure soon becoming blurred, and after a long stay, descended rapidly.
“She is near us,” he said in an excited whisper to Hume. “Waken the Captain. We could slip away without being seen.”
Very soon Captain Pardoe climbed on board, and heard what his Lieutenant had to say.