Jean suffered the embrace, but there was no responsive yielding in the slender, rigid figure. When Helen released her she drew away, and started toward the gate. Helen did not stir, and when Jean had gone a few steps she paused and turned her white, stricken face toward her sister.
"You need not worry about me," she repeated, "I am all right." And then, with a pathetic outstretching of her hands, she added: "It was only my imagination."
Helen sprang forward, but Jean waved her back, and in another moment the shadows of the gloaming hid the flitting figure from Helen's tearful eyes.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE "VORTEX" DEPARTS.
"Let fall! Give way!"
Two oars struck the water with a splash, and the dingey shot out from the gang steps of the Sylph the steady strokes of two sturdy sailors sending the little craft swiftly on its way. The owner lounged lazily in the cushioned stern, one leg swung over the other, the tiller-ropes held loosely in his hands. They were sweeping under the stern of the Vortex when a voice from the schooner's deck hailed them. The sailors held their oars suspended, and Churchill pushed back his cap and looked up, frowning slightly, for the sun was in his eyes.
"Hello, Farr."
"Hello, old man. Going ashore?"
"Yes. Want a lift?"
"Thanks, if you don't mind putting back."