CHAPTER VII.
"A BLESSED CHANCE."
When Lawrence heard that voice his hand suddenly slackened on the rope and the sail almost swung loose. The boat wavered, then with a quick firmness his grasp on the tiller and rope strengthened, and the craft gathered herself and darted forward, the water splashing away from her sides, the wind humming.
Lawrence did not turn his head, and at first he did not speak. The sail and the darkness shielded him.
"I thought I heard talking," went on the voice, "but the wind blew so I couldn't be sure. I hope no one knows about our lark. It would spoil the fun; besides, they'd worry."
Silence again. The boat gained in speed as it left the shelter of the land.
Was it a moment or was it a half-hour that passed before the voice said, sharply:
"Leander!"
"It's not Leander," was the just audible answer.
To this there was no response for so long a time that Lawrence almost began to think that his sense of hearing had played him false. Had he really heard anything? He made a great effort to become calmer. He had pulled the sail taut and fastened it. He now stood perfectly still, with the tiller in his hand. The boat was heeling over as she went on, the water hissing past her. He took note that the sky seemed to be clearing; the stars were brighter.