"I fear that is hopeless indeed, Melanie; still there is a possibility; and if I see the signal you may be sure that I shall be up here the same evening."
They had by this time returned to the window. "I must be off now," he said; "we have captured a valuable prize to-day, and I shall be anxious about her safety until we are alongside of her again. Keep a sharp look-out for us. When I do come I shall try to pass along the coast here between ten and eleven o'clock in the morning, so that you will know when to look out for me. God bless you both. I wish that I could get a month's leave and stay here; then I could make pretty sure of saving you and your mother."
"Good-bye, Peter. If we never see you again we shall remember to the last how kind you were and how you did your best to save us."
He kissed them both for the first time, and as he knew, perhaps for the last. He then, as they closed the window, turned and ran hastily away, with his cheeks wet with tears. He had been gone little over two hours when he again reached the shore and hailed the boat. Two men were on watch, and the rest, who were stretched in the bottom, at once scrambled up. The grapnel was speedily hauled in and the boat rowed to shore. Peter jumped in.
"Back all," he said; "now pull bow and three, then lay out, for I want to be on board as soon as I can."
"We were not expecting you back so soon, sir," the man who was rowing the stroke oar said apologetically, "or else we should all have been on the look-out."
"No; I have been fortunate, and have not been more than half the time I expected to be."
As soon as he was on board, the anchor was run up to the bow, the sails hoisted, and the Alert was under way again. Peter went to the wheel.
"Be very careful with your steering," he said; "the course is south-east by south, a half south. They will not have shown her lights by the time we get there, so we must mind that we don't miss her."