Evidently Shackelford was a man of discretion as well as astonishing boldness, for there is such a thing as uniting the two qualities.
Roderic aroused early enough.
The morning had just broken and the glowing eye of old Phœbus was glancing above the horizon when he proceeded to dress.
This operation had been about completed when, by chance of course, he looked out of the port hole to see just how far they were from the steamer, since darkness had been upon land and water during the little drama of the preceding night.
To his surprise he failed to behold the object of his solicitude.
He rubbed his eyes and looked again—surely he must be dreaming, or else with a change of tide the steam yacht had headed another way, cutting him off from the view he had before obtained.
And yet, so far as he could tell his lookout still faced the town and port, and he could swear the blockade runner should lie between.
Mayhap Shackelford had taken his craft in to a dock for some purpose.
Roderic snatched up his marine glasses and scanned the shore line.
There was only disappointment awaiting him.