A moment of silence followed, silence as complete as the darkness of the night. On the ladder Pierce and I hung as if frozen to the rungs. The tone of Betty’s call seemed to permeate the air; its pleading, compelling notes lingered like a perfume. Oh, the power of woman! The might of so slight a part of her as the nuances of her speech! For the call of Betty was a command. Nay, it was a force, a law, as indubitable as the law of gravity. It was surcharged with the thrill and power of Nature’s will. It was Woman. And Brack would go. He must go, in response to it. And Betty knew it.
Brack’s laugh, short and excited, sounded aft.
“Ah! Yes, yes; one minute.” His voice was exultant. “I’m coming.”
He must have leaped at the last words, for instantly there was a clatter as he dropped into the boat. Then the creak of an oar as he swung the boat clear.
“Where are you, Miss Baldwin?” he laughed.
And then, when it was too late, I recovered from the shock that had congealed me. I cried out, an involuntary, agonized cry, and as if in response a man come running swiftly to the ladder and peered over the rail.
“Who’s dere; who is it? Speak, or I’ll shoot!”
Head and voice I recognized as one of the most vicious of Brack’s men, and it was too late to attempt to retreat.
“It’s Mr. Pitt,” said I, and climbed upward.
“Hold on; stop right dere.”