“It shall be that,” Margaret said. They shook hands in the alleyway, making their bonds of peace. “You’re my Tom again now,” she said lowly. “I’ve forgotten all the rest, dear.” “Right,” he said, kissing her. “I was a beast. Good-bye, dear.” “Not a beast,” she said. “Never that.” Margaret turned aside, crushing his hat-brim, wondering what new misery was in store for her. He walked softly out on deck, leaving the two to their farewell. Perrin said something to him. Cammock was not in sight. A little knot of men stood in the waist, idly watching the sloop. Presently Stukeley came from the alleyway with a grin upon his face. “Anything for a quiet life,” he said. “Down into the boat with you, Maggy.” As they shoved off from the _Broken Heart_, Olivia waved to them from her state-room port. Margaret felt a pang of remorse that he had not shaken hands with Perrin, nor spoken with Cammock, before leaving the ship. He was nearly alongside the sloop when he saw Cammock’s hat above the poop nettings. “He’s hailing you, Captain Margaret,” said the stroke oar. “Oars a moment.” The men lay on their oars, watching the drops fall from the blades into the sea. The roar of Cammock sounded. “What does he say?” said Margaret. “I can’t make out.” “Something about a map, I think he said, sir.” “Did you hear, Stukeley?” “Map or tap, or something. But let’s go on. We’re late.” “No. I must hear. Back a stroke, port oars. Why, starboard. I’ll pull back to find out. Way together.” Fifty yards nearer to the ship they again lay on their oars. This time the hail was clear. “Have you seen my book of maps?” “No,” Margaret shouted. “You had it in your pocket last night.” “What’s that you say?” “You had it in your pocket last night.” “Yes. But I can’t find it.” “I’ve not had it. Ask Mr. Perrin.” He sat down in his seat, Cammock shouted a farewell, to which Margaret raised his hand in salute. “He’s lost his book of maps,” said Margaret to Stukeley. “Nothing can be lost in a ship,” said Stukeley. “Besides, what’s a book of maps?” “That book was worth a good deal. The Spaniards would pay a high price for it. With all those charts to help them, they could put down privateering when they pleased.” “Oh, rubbish,” said Stukeley, swinging himself up the sloop’s side. “He could easy get duplicates.” The sloop was already under sail. The men climbed aboard, and let the boat drag astern. The helm was put up a little, the fore sheet was let draw. Soon, as the boom swung over, straining the blocks, when the mainsail filled, they slipped clear the anchorage. Looking over the rail, they saw the nettings of the two ships lined with men, some of whom waved caps in farewell. Captain Tucket came to command his sloop. He talked little; for he was trying a new dye. He was boiling a handkerchief in a pan of herbs, over a little brazier fixed on the deck. The experiment made him silent; but in moments of enthusiasm he spoke a few words, stirring the mess with a fid.