Brandon had no means of telling the time, but it must have been well along towards ten o’clock—perhaps later—when he heard the two gentle raps for which he had been so anxiously listening.
“Are you there, Brandon?” whispered the captain’s daughter, and as Don pulled the door slightly ajar, she seized his hand, and aided him through the opening.
“Is the coast clear?” he asked anxiously.
“Sh! Yes, father and Mr. Marsh have gone up town with some of the men, and Mr. Barry has finally gone to bed.” (Mr. Barry was the second officer.) “I was afraid that he’d never stop talking to me. I had to fairly freeze him out,” and the merry girl laughed softly.
“But Leroyd?” pursued Brandon.
“He’s gone, too.”
“To bed?”
“No; up the street. I hope you can get off the brig before any of them get back. Now hurry.”
“You’re a good girl, Miss Milly. I hope I shall be able to repay you some time.”
“Hush! go along now,” she said, smiling, but pushing him toward the companionway. “What’s that for?” for Brandon had thrust a little wad of bank notes into her hand.