When the sun went down Jean set his sail, meaning to make a rapid dash
across the bay, and seeing no cause for concealing his movements. There
was more swell than he liked for so frail a craft, but wind and tide
were favourable to the enterprise, and the night was exceptionally
bright, the moon being full; this brightness would have been fatal had
the inhabitants been on the alert, but under present circumstances the
pale beams were welcome. Hilda took the helm; she knew every passage in
the labyrinth of submerged rocks, and they were soon in comparatively
open water. Jean then assumed control, wrapping the maiden in his
cloak, for the waves were tossing their spray over the boat as she
heeled over to the breeze.
They had traversed in safety three-fourths of their course when Jean,
looking seaward, saw a dark sail bearing down on them. One of the pirate
ships, delayed by contrary winds, was hurrying homeward, the crew of
five men hoping to arrive ere the feast was over. Jean's hope that the
boat might not be discovered was soon dispelled: the vessel altered her
course slightly and hailed. Jean made no answer.
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