Then, while they were still four miles from the fishing-fleet, where lay their only known chance of succour for me or for themselves, there came suddenly to their incredulous eyes a shape on the sea and a column of smoke. Denny’s spring forward went near to capsizing the boat. Oars were seized again, weariness fled before hope, the gunboat came in view, growing clear and definite. She moved quickly towards them, they slowly, yet eagerly, to her; the interval grew less and less. They shouted before they could be heard, and shouted still in needless caution long after they had been heard. A boat put out to them: they were taken on board, their story heard with shrugs of wonder. Mouraki could not be seen. ‘I’ll see him!’ cried Denny, and Hogvardt plied the recalcitrant officer with smooth entreaties. The life of a man was at stake! But he could not be seen. The life of an Englishman! His Excellency slept through the heat of the day. The life of an English lord! His Excellency would be angry, but--! The contents of Denny’s pocket, wild boasts of my power and position (I was a favourite at Court, and so forth), at last clinched the matter. His Excellency should be roused; heaven knew what he would say, but he should be roused. He went to Neopalia next week; now he was sailing past it, to inspect another island; perhaps he would alter the order of his voyage. He was fond of Englishmen. It was a great lord, was it not? So, at last, when Hogvardt was at his tongue’s end, and Denny almost mad with rage, Mouraki was roused. He heard their story, and pondered on it, with leisurely strokings of his beard and keen long glances of his sharp eyes. At last came the word, ‘To the island then!’ and a cheer from the three, which Mouraki suffered with patient uplifted brows. Thus came Mouraki to Neopalia; thus came, as I hoped, an end to our troubles. More than the half-hour which the Governor had given me passed swiftly in the narrative; then came Mouraki’s summons and my story to him, heard with courteous impassivity, received at its end with plentiful assurances of redress for me and punishment for the islanders. ‘The island shall be restored to you,’ said he. ‘You shall have every compensation, Lord Wheatley. These Neopalians shall learn their lesson.’ ‘I want nothing but justice on Constantine,’ said I. ‘The island I have given back.’ ‘That goes for nothing,’ said he. ‘It was under compulsion: we shall not acknowledge it. The island is certainly yours. Your title has been recognised: you could not transfer it without the consent of my Government.’ I did not pursue the argument. If Mouraki chose to hand the island back to me, I supposed that I could, after such more or less tedious forms as were necessary, restore it to Phroso. For the present the matter was of small moment; for Mouraki was there with his men, and the power of the Lord--or Lady--of Neopalia in abeyance. The island was at the feet of the Governor.