The skipper of the tug had received a sovereign from Colonel Cranstoun as passage money for 'the young gentleman,' and fully expected to receive another from Colonel Haughton on delivering the said young gentleman in good order at his own front door. But this money was never earned, for it cost George but little effort to evade the clumsy seaman, and, as soon as the tug touched the quay, he leaped ashore and ran for his liberty. Once out of sight he defied capture, though no attempt was made to take him, and, having written his father a letter, in which he described his adventure and stated his intentions, he returned to the quay after nightfall, hired a dingy, and pulled out to the brig, where he had a satisfactory interview with her skipper. The outcome of this was an arrangement whereby George was to help as far as he could on the voyage to Chatham Island, to pay the cost of his food, and to give the skipper a bonus of two pounds. In return he was to receive a free passage to whatever New Zealand port the brig should first touch at on her return voyage. The agreement made, George and the skipper shook hands heartily with mutual esteem, each complimenting himself upon his shrewdness in driving an excellent bargain. And so George fulfilled his promise to Terence that he would not be long in following him; though, little as he expected it, he was destined to meet with some strange adventures before he once again clasped hands with his friend. CHAPTER III THE PRICE OF SUCCESS It was a lovely evening; lovely as evening can be in the isle-strewn, iridescent seas beneath the Southern Cross. The sun, setting behind the ship which came sailing out of the radiant west, threw his magic mantle over the rolling clouds which lay in inky masses where the ocean touched them in the distant east, filling their hollows with crimson, fringing their pinnacles and battlements with ruddy gold. Fronting the dreamy horizon, Wari-Kauri, Rangi-Haute, and Rangatira[1] slumbered peacefully in the rosy light, while great Te Wenga's gloomy bosom caught and kept the fire-tipped shafts. Northwards, the uprising cones of basalt reflected the flames in the sky. Southwards, green-black forest and fern-grown gully blazed for a moment ere they paled away in the dusk. Ahead, the surges, fearful of the night, curled and broke with ceaseless thunder upon the reefs, flinging high their snowy crests to snatch yet one more glory from the day, and falling back, a shower of jewels of ineffable hues. Astern, as if to guide the gliding ship, long paths of crimson light streamed from the sinking sun, and shot aslant in wavering lines from sky to sea, from sea to shore. And as the _Stella_ slipped to her moorings, the rattle of the chain, the splash of the falling anchor, broke in upon the sweet peace; day, affrighted, fled with the sun, and night, fearing no terrors, brooded upon sea and land.