The young leader was not giving much thought to either logs or his immediate surroundings just then, for his ears were still filled with the music that had come to him as mysteriously as had the vision of a few days earlier.
So lost was he in reflection that he started abruptly when the rowing again ceased, and one of the men whispered, hoarsely:
"Mist Pearl, look!"
He was pointing back from where they had come; and, turning, Peveril saw, apparently gliding from the very shore of the island they had just passed, a small schooner. She must have sailed from the bay into which they had gazed, and yet they believed they had scrutinized every inch of its surface.
"By gar!" cried Joe Pintaud. "Some more dev, hein?"
"It looks to me like the boat of your friends the smugglers," suggested Peveril, studying the vessel closely.
"Oui, certainment! It ees ze sheep of ze tradair."
"Then we will go and see where she came from, for so snug a hiding-place is worth discovering."
So the skiff was put about and rowed back to the little bay bisecting the island. Then it was found that there were two small islands, and that the supposed bay was really an inlet from the lake, which made a sharp angle at a point invisible from outside. This channel led to a narrow sound, from which another inlet cut directly into the rock-bound coast. It was quite short, and quickly widened into an exquisite basin, completely land-locked and very nearly circular.
Peveril had followed this devious course with all the eagerness of an explorer; but his men had cast many nervous glances over their shoulders, and even Joe Pintaud had expressed a muttered hope that they were not being led into some trap.