"I meant all that I said one other night, and I am ready to prove it," he said. "Whether I shall ever return or not, I say it solemnly, only Gods knows; but if I live to reach our camp, I think Hilton Dane will."
For a moment Lilian's eyes grew hazy, and she looked away from him. Then, though there was moisture on her lashes, she turned fully toward her companion, holding out her hand.
"Heaven send you both back safe! You are a good man, and very generous. I knew it the evening we passed the Hallows Brig—but——"
"Destiny arranges these things for us," Maxwell interrupted quietly. "I am glad that your good wishes follow me to Africa."
Thomas Chatterton came up panting as he spoke, the warning of the last bell broke through the rattle of the windlass, and Maxwell bent bareheaded over Lilian's hand. Then she and Chatterton went down the side together, a deep-toned whistle vibrated above the waters as the steamer slowly forged ahead, and Maxwell saw a white-gowned figure in the boat beneath her side turn with a farewell smile and wave a hand to him. Once more he raised his hat, and when the boat slid astern Lilian's eyes grew hazy as she gazed after the departing vessel.
"That man will go far," said Chatterton. "Once he makes up his mind the devil himself would hardly turn him. He is one of the steely, quiet kind who are never more in earnest than when they are silent, but I am anxious. He is bound for a very deadly country."
Cool breezes followed the steamer to the African coast, and Maxwell had recovered part of his vigor before the first palm-crowned bluff rose out of the sea. He had sufficient funds at his disposal, but arduous work to do, and he held himself apart from the few passengers, thinking earnestly. Among other things he decided to fit out the relief expedition at Redmond's factory at Little Mahu, because, though more difficult, the road from there was shorter and less likely to be watched; and he surmised that Rideau, who must hear of his presence on the coast sooner or later, would expect him to start from Castro's factory. Maxwell knew he had not seen the last of their treacherous partner.
At the last moment, he so far modified his plans as to call upon Dom Pedro.
It was a fine afternoon when the cliff with the tall palms on the crest of it, and low whitewashed buildings nestling between them and the smoking beach, rose to view, and the purser, strolling past, halted near Maxwell.
"We have several boat-loads of cottons for this place, and as the surf is high it will take us until sunset to land them safely," he said. "Then, as there are nasty reefs to thread through, the skipper will probably wait for moonlight before he heaves the anchor; so if you don't mind a spray bath you might have a few hours ashore."