Anthony took the glass and picked up the approaching vessel. She was brig-rigged and slackly kept; her dress of sails was shabby and patched, but the morning light caught and held in a foretopsail that was white and new. XLIII Mademoiselle Lafargue was reading at one of the windows of the main cabin when Anthony came in. He went to the arms-chest in one corner, threw up the lid, and stood glowering into it. She said nothing. He took out a musket, examined the lock, and snapped it; and he did the like with a half-dozen more. Then pistols: he carefully laid them upon a settle in a row--cold, shining, deadly; he loaded them, and the muskets, too. Then she spoke. "Something has happened," she said. "There is a vessel ahead that I have reason to mistrust," said Anthony. "A slatternly-looking ship; the same that I saw going up and down the coast before you sent for me." She put down her book and arose. "They have found us!" she said, but she said it without a deal of fear. "What a strange thing, in all these seas, to have come to this one place!" "It was no chance," said Anthony, scowling; "it is not in nature to hit a thing off as precisely as that." "You have suffered," she said; "you have suffered a deal, and dared more; and now you are in a new danger when you thought to win safely home. I am sorry." Yes, she was sorry; he saw it in her eyes. She was wistful, too, and it pleased him. To have a beautiful woman think so of one is no mean thing. But this was not all, and he continued to look at her. Sorrow did not make her hold herself so proudly; wistfulness did not keep her eyes so level; and neither of them gave her manner that serene sure quality. It was confidence. His heart quickened as he understood: danger had come again, but nowhere in her mind was there a doubt but he'd make through it; she had no thought but that he'd keep her safe. Her silence was saying a thing to him any man would be proud of; and his mind was still listening to it when he heard voices hailing the ship, and the creak of blocks from very close at hand. They went upon deck. It was crisp and blowing; the waves were short and tufted with white; the light gleamed on the sea; and the blue swept overhead and down into the west like a great cascade. The stranger brig was lying, with flapping sails, directly in their course; there was nothing for Anthony to do but throw his own ship out, and the two drifted and rose and fell within speaking distance, Tarrant stood at the rail amidships, a sneer upon his handsome mouth and victory in his look. Blake was near him. Both were watching the ship, and Blake's laugh came ringing over the water. "Now hold to that," he said, "and we'll be aboard of you directly."