This scornful laughter was answered from the yacht by the firing of the second cannon, which was fully loaded. The ball fell into the water close to the windward of the boat.
The answer was renewed laughter from the smugglers' boat; whose crew, urged by the twofold desire to save their cargo and to make fools of the Custom-house officers, continued to increase the distance between themselves and the yacht. In spite of the more skillful guidance, the two oars of the latter could not overtake the four men. But the lieutenant's full strong voice could still be heard:—
"Stop, or I will shoot you to the bottom!"
But he did not shoot, for the smugglers' boat was already out of the reach of shot.
At this moment it would have been impossible to detect the least trace of the amiable, good-natured Gudmar Guldbrandsson, the favorite of all the ladies, with his light yellow curls and his slightly arched forehead, and the beautiful dark blue eyes, which when not enlivened by the power of some passion, sometimes revealed that half-dreamy expression that women so often admire.
Majke ought to have seen her commander now, as he stood for a moment on the deck, leaning on his gun, his glass in his hand.
"Row, boys, row with all your might! I will not allow—" The remainder of the sentence was lost in inarticulate tones.
Once more he raised the glass to his eyes.
The chase lasted some time, without any increase of the intervening distance, or any hope of its diminution. It was a grave, a terrible chase.
Meantime new and strange intentions had occurred to the commander of the smugglers' boat. From what dark source could he have received the inspiration that dictated the command?