"Well," admitted his father, "it was, as I said before, the only course open to us. Now, I think all danger is past. They are not strong enough to attempt to seize our island, so we can go back with easy minds."
"I hope so," returned his son. "But my word, it's cost us something!"
"I can't understand that chap Blight," said Terence. "He seemed mighty curious to know how many of us lived on the island."
"You told him?"
"Yes! I let the cat out of the bag, I fear."
"You did?" replied Mi. McKay gravely. "I'm sorry; but perhaps there's no harm done. However, we'll set sail to-morrow morning in any case. I, for one, will not be sorry to say good-bye to Mr. Blight. Now, lads, you must turn in. I'll be all right here; and to-morrow, all being well, I'll make up arrears of sleep."
Left to himself, Mr. McKay sat in the cockpit and watched the orgies ashore till the fires died out and the sounds of the worshippers ceased. Half-an-hour later he appeared, to all intents and purposes, to be lying in the stern sheets fast asleep.
At about three in the morning the moon, now high in the heavens, threw her beams upon a strange drama.
Swimming with eel-like swiftness and silence towards the unguarded yawl came three men. Two were natives, the third a white man, and each had a glittering knife betwixt his teeth.
Grasping the boat's stern, Blight (for it was he) listened intently. Then, hearing only the sounds of deep slumber arising from the cabin, he cautiously placed his foot over the bobstay, and with slow and stealthy movement hoisted himself clear of the water.