It was impossible, he conceived, that a door which stood only two paces from the bed could be locked and unlocked without their hearing it--neither was it probable that Desborough would have thought of thus needlessly securing the place of his late detention. Such an idea might occur to the aider, but not to the fugitive himself, to whom every moment must be of the highest importance. Who then could have assisted him? Not Major Montgomerie, for he slept in the after part of the cabin--not Miss Montgomerie, for she was upon deck--moreover, had not one of these, he had so much reason to suspect, interceded for the fellow only on the preceding day. Such was the reasoning of Gerald, as he passed rapidly in review the several probabilities--but, although annoyed beyond measure at the escape of the villain, and incapable of believing other than that the daughters of the Governor had connived at it, his was too gallant by nature to make such a charge, even by implication, against them. Although extremely angry, he made no comment whatever on the subject, but contenting himself with wishing his charge a less than usually cordial good night, left them to their repose, and once more quitted the cabin. During the whole of this examination, Miss Montgomerie had continued on deck. Gerald found her leaning over the gangway at which he had left her, gazing intently on the water, through which the schooner was now gliding at an increased rate. From the moment of his being compelled to quit her side to inquire into the cause of Sambo's exclamation and rapidly succeeding fall, he had not had an opportunity of again approaching her. Feeling that some apology was due, he hastened to make one; but, vexed and irritated as he was at the escape of the settler, his disappointment imparted to his manner a degree of restraint, and there was less of ardor in his address than he had latterly been in the habit of exhibiting. Miss Montgomerie remarked it, and sighed. "I have been reflecting," she said, "on the little dependence that is to be placed upon the most flattering illusions of human existence--and here are you come to afford me a painful and veritable illustration of my theory." "How, dearest Matilda! what mean you?" asked the officer, again warmed into tenderness by the presence of the fascinating being. "Can you ask, Gerald?" and her voice assumed a tone of melancholy reproach--"recall but your manner--your language--your devotedness of soul not an hour since--compare these with your present coolness, and then wonder that I should have reason for regret." "Now, Matilda, that coldness arose not from any change in my feelings towards yourself--I was piqued, disappointed, even angry, at the extraordinary escape of my prisoner, and could not sufficiently play the hypocrite to disguise my annoyance." "Yet, what had I to do with the man's escape that his offence should be visited upon me?" she demanded quickly.