But the cruiser held on without further notice, sinking further astern with each minute.
The distance between widened to a mile, and still she gave no other sign, and those on the bridge looked at each other in wonder.
“You see, Captain,” said Miss Laura, betwixt a sob and a laugh, “I was right. She did not know us, and we are safe.”
“Steamers ahead!” came the hoarse cry from the look-out, like a croak of ill-omen.
Glasses were quickly raised for a long scrutiny of two small steamers low down in the water.
“Well?” said the Captain, with a look at Webster.
“Pilot boats mayhap,” said that officer, with a queer grimace and a swift glance at the young lady, whose face had paled again to the lips at this new anxiety.
“Oh, are they?” she asked, with a troubled look at the Captain.
“No, Miss Laura,” he said sadly; “they’re torpedo boats. That’s why the cruiser let us slip. They mean to take this boat without injury to her or us, and they’ve got us in a trap.”