Once more the key grated in its lock, and Frazer heard two men enter the long cabin, which by now was enveloped in gloom. Seeming to stand near the threshold, while their eyes were probably accustoming themselves to the darkness, neither of these men spoke at first, but finally the prisoner heard one whisper to the other and, with a deep oath, advance farther into the room. “He hides. Do you, Dyonis, guard the door.” Harvie obeyed, while Rouse, growing more and more amazed, searched the cabin without success. He might have searched until the crack of doom and come no nearer to a trace of the cunning quarry. For, even on their first entrance midway into the room, when Rouse had supposed that Harvie held the door, and Harvie that the captive must certainly be before them, the bird had flown. Softly, in that first moment, the heavy arras undulated, as though a breeze were passing across it from end to end of the apartment. Then, parting from the wall near the entrance, it fell flat again—a motionless, innocent piece of tapestry in darkness. And, suppressing a laugh, Master Ralph lowered himself into Hugh’s canoe, to paddle away under the cover of evening. After propelling the light craft silently for several minutes, he listened. An oath rang out in deep bass from the _Admiral’s_ deck. Hearing this, he turned the prow of his canoe toward a narrow inlet, and entered on a winding forest stream. The moon, just rising above the trees, ensilvered his course with a radiance that found itself reflected yet more brightly in his youthful eyes. On and on he paddled with silent speed, until, coming to an abrupt bend in the stream, he saw another canoe on the opposite shore. Looking about him, he appeared to hesitate; but suddenly a golden thing, round like a second moon, appeared over the edge of the lonely craft. “You will find them,” he called, “on a direct line with your canoe, back in the brushwood. Farewell, Gyll, and thank you.” “Thank you!” came the answer, in exasperation, after him. “Here have I been starving, fearing to move! Villanous—” but he was beyond earshot now, as, running the prow of his boat onto a shelving bank in the distance, he plunged straightway into the forest. CHAPTER XIV “Their blood and yours shall seal these treacheries!” —MARLOWE, in _Edward the Second_. “Browsing soul! I cannot contemplate so much obtuseness without longing to prod thee to some show of wakefulness with my sword!” It was Roger Prat who spoke, and Hugh Rouse who gave no answer. They were lying at full length on the brow of a low cliff, looking out across the water. It was night. Not a star shone. The town lay seemingly asleep behind them. A large culverin stood close to one side, also peering through a fringe of grasses. The two ships, at anchor within musket-range, carried no lights.