The girl noticed this vacantly, for her mind was busy, and she was filled with a strange excitement. For the last week or two she had borne a heavy strain, and her thoughts had been concentrated on finding a means of escape. Now they were free to dwell upon a greater matter. The struggle that began when she boarded the Enchantress was ended, and she could rejoice in her own defeat, as she had not been quite able to do when, on first surrendering, she had written her note at Rio Frio. Prudence, ambition, and self-interest were driven from the field; love had utterly routed them. She loved Grahame, and she knew that he loved her, though he had not avowed it yet. Blanca had spoken truly: words were not needed: it was easy to read a man's heart.
Evelyn knew what he thought. He was a poor adventurer, and she was rich. She blushed with shame, remembering how this had once weighed with her. Now it did not matter at all. Nothing mattered except that he belonged to her; but while this had never been so plain, it had not dawned on her with a sudden flash. The light had been steadily creeping in for a long time, while she stubbornly tried to shut it out, until she abandoned her futile efforts and let the warming brightness flood her.
Then she thought of Grahame's danger. Don Martin had not received the note. Suppose it had fallen into Gomez's hands. What use might not that half-breed make of it!
Evelyn shuddered, and breathed a half-conscious prayer that Don Martin's messenger might reach her lover in time.
CHAPTER XXV
A TRIAL OF SPEED
Night was falling over the troubled water, and there were threats of a tropical storm. The Enchantress, with her anchor down, rolled uneasily on the broken swell. A sandy point ran out to windward, but the combers that beat upon its seaward side with a thunderous roar swirled in a white turmoil round its end and filled the lagoon with an angry heave. The palms on the landward shore bent in the wind and the dense green jungle behind them rolled in tossing waves of green. To the north, the sky was barred by leaden clouds and the sea-tops cut against it, lividly white.
A trail of smoke whirled about the funnel, now streaming out to lee, now eddying down, for a quantity of ammunition and contraband material had just been landed, and Grahame was ready to go to sea again. There was some danger in remaining, but the weather was bad, and he half expected fresh instructions from Don Martin.
While he sat smoking in the lee of the deck-house and Walthew leaned against the rail, Macallister looked out of the engine-room door.
"I can give ye steam enough to take her out at half an hour's notice, but if ye're no' likely to need it, I'll bank my fires," he said.