Kenyon made no reply. However, her words of a very little while before came back to him, and his blood thrilled with the renewed realization of the fact that what Webster said was true. She had told him that she wished to believe in him. She had put it into words; and her manner spoke so plainly. The way to set every lingering doubt that she might have regarding him, at rest, was to win; and he set his teeth and narrowed his eyes as he looked into the darkness ahead.
“It’s somewhere out there,” he muttered. “We are coming nearer to it with every moment that goes by. I do not know whom I have to fight, or why. But I don’t care, either. It’s for her; and I’m going to do it.”
XX
BAFFLED
“This sort of fox is sometimes more than usually cunning.”
—The Long Island Huntsman.
The November mist had settled heavily upon the East River; and when they ran out into it, they could hear the foghorns and bells being tooted and rung all about them.
“A bad night for making out any craft,” remarked the owner of the power-boat. “We can’t see more than a dozen feet on any side of us.”
The man who attended to the engine suddenly lifted his head.
“There goes the Piedmont,” said he.
“Well, if you can see her, you’ve got mighty good sight,” laughed Webster.