IN THE FOG
Tom Pembroke was as good as his word. He returned to the little room, in
which he had confined the Marquis, within an hour after he had left him.
It was then nearly supper-time and dusk was fast settling upon the gloomy
countryside. An unwonted calm had fallen upon land and sea after the
sharp blow of the previous night, but the sky was still gray and there
was promise of more rain, if not of wind.
To Tom's indignation and alarm, though scarcely to his surprise, there
had been no sign or word from Dan or Nancy. Shortly after he had left the
Marquis, he saw, by aid of the field-glass, Madame de la Fontaine,
attended by two seamen, leave the schooner and return to the House on the
Dunes. He smiled a little as he thought of the account the lively young
maid-servant would give of his recent visit. But withal, he felt very
much as if he were playing a game of blind man's buff and that he was
"it." He was impatient for his interview with the Marquis, though he was
but little hopeful that an hour's confinement would have been sufficient
to bring the old gentleman to terms. Nor was he to be surprised.
He found Monsieur de Boisdhyver huddled in a great arm chair near the
fire that that been kindled on the hearth of his prison. The Marquis
glanced up, as Tom entered, but dropped his eyes at once and offered him
no greeting. Tom placed his candle on the table and, drawing up a chair,
seated himself between the Marquis and the door.
"Well, sir," he said at last, "as I promised you, I have returned within
an hour. Have you anything to say to me?"
"Have I anything to say to you!" exclaimed the Marquis. "For why,
monsieur? If I venture to express my astonishment and indignation at the
way I am treated, you subject me to a barbarity that could be matched no
where else in the civilized world than in this extraordinary country. My
life is menaced with firearms. My protests are sneered at. I have left
but one inference--you have gone mad."
"No, marquis," said Pembroke, "I am not mad. I am simply determined that
the mysteries by which we have been surrounded and of which you are the
center, shall cease. You have a free choice: put me in the way of getting
my friend and his sister back to the Inn, or resign yourself to a
prolonged confinement in this room."
"But monsieur I have nothing to communicate to you concerning the
disappearance of your friends."
"Pardon me, marquis," returned Pembroke; "you have much to communicate to
me. Perhaps you are not aware that I know the motive of your coming to
the Inn at the Red Oak; that I know the reason for your prolonged stay
here; that I know of the influence that you have acquired over Nancy
Frost; and that I have been a witness of your midnight prowlings about
the Inn. Nor am I in ignorance of your connection with the
rascally-looking captain of the schooner at anchor in the Cove and with
the mysterious woman, who has taken possession of the House on the Dunes.
I am convinced that you know what has become of Dan as well as what has
happened to Nancy. And, believe me, I am determined to find out."
"_Bien_!" exclaimed Monsieur de Boisdhyver, "permit me to wish you good
luck in your undertaking. I repeat, Monsieur Pembroke, I have no
information to give to you. I do not know to what extent I have been
watched, but I may say with truth that my actions do not in the least
concern you."
"They concern my friends," said Tom. "Dan, as you know, is more to me
than a brother; and as for his sister Nancy, I hope and expect to make
her my wife."
"In that case," rejoined the Marquis with ill-concealed irony, "I may be
permitted to offer to you my congratulations. But even so, monsieur,
there is nothing that I can do to facilitate your matrimonial plans."
"You refuse then to come to terms?" asked Pembroke.
The Marquis raised his hands with a gesture of despair. "What shall I
say, monsieur? If you insisted upon my flying from here to yonder beach,
I might have all the desire in the world to oblige you, but the fact
would remain that I was without the means of doing so. Since you are so
little disposed to accept my protestations, I will no longer make them,
but simply decline your proposal. And, pardon me, but so long as I am
submitted to the indignity of this confinement, it would be a courtesy
that I should appreciate if you would spare me your company."
"Very good," said Tom. "Your meals will be served regularly; and you may
ask the servant for anything necessary. I shall not visit you again until
you request me to do so."
"_Merci_," said the Marquis drily. He rose from his seat as Dan turned
toward the door, and bowed ironically.
Pembroke went downstairs to have his supper with Mrs. Frost. He said what
he could to pacify her, not altogether with success, for as darkness fell
the old lady became increasingly apprehensive.
"I know you are anxious, Mrs. Frost," said Tom, "but you must not worry.
Try to believe that all will come out right. I am going out after supper,
but I shall leave Jesse and Ezra on guard, and you may be sure everything
will be safe."
It was some time before Mrs. Frost would consent to his leaving the Inn.
If she had yielded to her inclinations, she would have spent the evening
in hysterics with Tom at hand to administer comfort. Pembroke, however,
deputed that office to black Deborah, and immediately after supper set
about his business.
He gave the necessary instructions to Jesse, Ezra and the maids, saw that
everything was closely locked and barred, supplied himself with arms and
ammunition, and slipped out into the night. Having saddled Fleetwing, he
swung himself on the young hunter's back, and trotted down the avenue to
the Port Road. The night was intensely dark and still. The moon had not
yet risen, and a thick fog rolled in from the sea, shrouding the
countryside with its impenetrable veil.
At the Beach Road Pembroke dismounted, tied his horse to a fence rail,
and proceeded thence on foot toward the Cove. Stumbling along through the
heavy sand, he made his way to the boathouse at the northern end of the
little beach. There he ventured to light his lantern, unlocked the door
and stepped within. On either side of the entrance were the two sailboats
that he and Dan used in summer and to the rear was the old-fashioned
whaleboat with which they did their deep fishing. Over it, in a rudely
constructed rack, was the Indian birch-bark canoe which Dan had purchased
in the mountains a few years before. As the sea had fallen to a dead
calm, he decided to use this canoe, which he could paddle quite
noiselessly, and pulling down the little craft from its winter
resting-place, he carried it to the water's edge. The sea, so angry the
night before, now scarcely murmured; only a low lazy swell, at regularly
recurring intervals, slapped the shore and hissed upon the sands. Tom
pushed the nose of the canoe into the water, leaped lightly over the
rail, and with his paddle thrust it off the beach. He was launched
without mishap.
Not the faintest gleam of light showed the position of the _Southern
Cross_, but estimating as well as he could the general direction, he
paddled out through the enshrouding fog. For ten minutes or so, he pushed
on into the strange, misty night. Then suddenly he found himself
alongside an old fisherman's yawl that had been rotting all winter at her
moorings, and he knew from her position that he could not be far from the
_Southern Cross_.
A few more strokes to leeward, and a spot of dull light broke through the
darkness. He headed directly for it. To his relief it grew brighter; when
suddenly, too late to stop the progress of his canoe, he shot under it,
and the bow of his craft bumped with a dull thud against the timber side
of the schooner. Its dark outlines were just perceptible above him; and
at one or two points there gleamed rays of light in the fog, green and
red from the night lamps on the masthead, and dull yellow from the port
holes in the rear. A second after the contact the canoe receded, then the
wash of the sea drew her toward the stern. Another moment and Pembroke
felt his prow scrape gently against the rudder, which prevented further
drifting. Apparently, since he heard nothing from the deck above, he had
reached his goal without attracting attention.
He kept perfectly still, however, for some little time, until satisfied
that there was no one at the wheel above, he pushed the canoe softly back
to the rope ladder, that a day or so before he had seen hanging over the
side. It was the work of a moment to make his little boat fast to the
lower rung. Then slipping over the rail, he climbed stealthily up till
his head protruded above the gunwhale. The immediate deck seemed
deserted; but he was sure that some one was keeping the watch, and
probably near the point where he was, that is to say, where access to the
deck was easiest. But the fog and the darkness afforded him protection,
as he climbed over the gunwhale and, without making a sound, moved toward
the stern, crossed the after-deck and found the wheel. As he had
surmised, it was deserted. The watch evidently was forward. Beneath him,
sending its ineffectual rays obliquely into the fog, shone the light from
the little cabin below.
Determined to get a look through the port, he climbed over the gunwhale
again, fastened a stern-sheet about his waist and to a staple, and at the
risk, if he slipped or if the rope gave way, of plunging head foremost
into the icy waters of the Cove, he let himself down until his head was
on a level of the port.
Through the blurred glass he peered into a tiny cabin. There with back
toward him, just a few feet away stood Nancy Frost. He steadied himself
with an effort, and looking again saw that she was alone. A moment's
hesitation, and he tapped resolutely on the pane with his finger tips. At
first Nancy did not hear, but presently, aroused by the slight tapping,
she glanced with a frightened expression toward the door, and stood
anxiously listening. Tom continued to knock on the window, not daring to
make it louder for fear of being heard above. The alarm deepened on
Nancy's face, and in sheer pity Tom was tempted to desist; but at that
instant her attention was riveted upon the spot whence the tapping came.
At last, still with the expression of alarm on her face, she came slowly
toward the port. She hesitated, then pressed her face against the pane
over which Tom had spread his fingers. At whatever risk, of frightening
her or of danger to himself, as she drew back, he pressed his own face
against the outside of the little window glass. She stared at him as if
she were looking at a ghost.
He moved his lips to form the word "Open." At length, in obedience to
this direction, Nancy cautiously unloosened the window of the port and
drew it back.
"Good heavens, Tom!" she whispered. "Is it you?"
"Yes, yes," Pembroke whispered back. "But for God's sake, speak softly.
I'm in a devilishly unpleasant position, and can hang here but a minute.
Tell me quickly--are you here of your own free will or are you a
prisoner?"
"How can you ask?" she exclaimed. "For the love of heaven, help me
to escape."
"That's what I'm here for," was Toms reply. "Now, quick; are you only
locked in or barred as well? I've brought some keys along."
"Only locked, I think."
"Where does that door lead?"
"Into a little passage off the companion-way. Give me your keys. They
have but one man on watch. The captain is on shore to-night, apt to
return at any moment. And you?"
"I have a canoe tied to the ladder on the shore side. If the captain
returns, I'm caught. Try those keys." He slipped into her the bunch of
keys that he had brought along. "I was sure you were here, and against
your will."
"Dan, too, is locked up on board."
"I thought as much; but you first. Hurry."
Nancy sprang to the door, trying one key after another in feverish haste.
At last, to Tom's infinite relief, he saw the key turn in the lock, and
the door open.
"On deck," she whispered; "at the ladder. I'm not likely to be caught."
Then she waved her hand and disappeared into the passage.
Tom pulled himself up, unloosed the rope, and stole along the rail toward
the ladder. For a few moments, which seemed like a thousand years, he
stood in anguished suspense waiting for Nancy. Then suddenly she came out
of the mist and was at his side. They stood for a moment like disembodied
spirits, creatures of the night and the fog. The next instant a hand shot
out and grasped the girl's shoulder.
"_Peste! mam'zelle_," a rough voice hissed, "_ou allez-vous_?"
As the man spoke Tom swung at him with the butt of his revolver, and
without a murmur the figure fell to the deck.
"Quick now," Pembroke whispered, "down the ladder."
Instantly Nancy was over the rail and Tom was climbing down after her. As
he knelt in the bow and fumbled with the painter, the plash of oars
sounded a dozen yards away.
"_Ho! Croix du Midi_!" came a hail through the fog.
"Curse it!" muttered Tom; "the painter's caught." He drew out his knife,
slashed the rope that bound them to the schooner, got to his place
amidships, and pushed the canoe free. The lights of a small boat were
just emerging from the dark a dozen feet away. But the canoe slid by
unobserved, in the fog. They heard the nose of the small boat bump
against the schooner; then an oath, and a man's voice calling the watch.
"They've found my painter," whispered Tom, "and in a second they'll find
the sailor on their deck."
The lights of the _Southern Cross_ grew dim; vanished; the sound of angry
voices became muffled. They were half-way to shore when they heard the
noise of oars again. Evidently some one had started in pursuit. For a
moment Tom rested, listening intently; but the sound was still some
distance away. Probably, he thought, they were heading directly for the
shore, whereas he, at a considerable angle, was making for the boathouse
at the north end of the beach. In ten minutes he had beached the canoe
within a rod of the point from where he embarked.
"I can't hear them," whispered Tom, after a moment's listening. "They've
made for shore down the beach. They can't find us in the dark. I've got
Fleetwing tied to a fence in the meadow yonder. Come."
It was the work of a moment to stow the canoe, lock the boathouse, run
across the sands, and mount Nancy in front of him on the back of his
trusty hunter. A second later Fleetwing's hoofs were striking fire on the
stones that the high tides had washed into the beach road. In the
distance there was a cry, the sharp ring of a pistol shot; but they were
safe on their way, racing wildly for the Inn. The escape, the adventure
had thrilled Nancy. Tom's arms were around her, and her hands on his that
grasped the bridle. At last they were in the avenue, and Tom pulled in
under the great branches of the Red Oak. He slipped from the back of the
horse and held out his arms to Nance.
"We are safe, girl," he whispered.
"You are sure? Oh, thank God, thank God! Quick, let us in! Can they be
following?"
"No, no. They won't follow. It's all right. Easy,--before we go
in--please, dear--once--kiss me."
"Oh, Tom, Tom," she whispered, as she lifted her face to his.
"I have you at last, sweetheart," he murmured. "You love me?"
"Ah!" she cried, "with my whole heart and soul."