The little craft rolled and spun over the bay, puffing, and reeking with odors of oil; sometimes sliding down into black water as it came upon the wash of a big vessel; but always it held on its way, and in an hour the lights of Boston began to show plainly, as the craft moved in and out among the shipping in the harbor.
"I wish that crow had not come," exclaimed Lawrence once, when a hoarse murmur from behind Prudence came to his ear.
Prudence smiled rallyingly.
"Are you going to be superstitious?" she asked.
"No; but that crow is a link with Savin Hill. I want to forget that I was ever there."
The girl made a movement nearer her lover.
"I will help you to forget," she said, with a glance, "or"—and she drew herself up slightly—"there is yet time to go back. Leander knows it was by accident we were on the Vireo. We can take a train from Boston out to Savin Hill, tell them about our accident, and all will be as before. You will return to your old life, and I,—God help me!—I return to mine, in which I must never think of you. It is not too late, Rodney. Choose."
As she spoke, Prudence held herself aloof, looking at Lawrence. The crow crept out from behind her and hopped on to her knee, cocking his sharp eye up at Lawrence and making a chuckling noise as it did so.
"I have chosen," he answered, in a whisper, "and I would not go back. Do you think I could leave you,—you? No, not though I were to go through even more dishonor to gain you."
The crow chuckled again. A dark flush rose to the young man's forehead.