A bitter sob would struggle from his heart as he told himself it was to gaze again upon poor Mace's grave. Always there, sleeping or waking, never shut from his mental vision, that sweet, pale face smiling at him as the ship sped on; and only when forced by want of provisions did they enter port, till once more upon the tide the weather-beaten ship rode safely into the mouth of the little river. Then the big boat was lowered and manned, a tow-rope run out, and the men pulled cheerily to keep the little vessel's head straight as she glided on up the fast narrowing stream, till the spars nearly touched the branches on either side, and her old moorings were made. Wat Kilby played the part of spy, and went ashore, for now that they were back the fancy that had floated before Gil's eyes had been seen no more; and moody and despondent he had shrunk from leaving his ship. It was Wat Kilby then who made his way over the hills and through the forest to the village, and had borne back the news which stirred Gil to action; and for Mace's sake, as he said, he had determined to save poor old Mother Goodhugh from so horrible a fate. "She would have urged me to do it," he said to himself; and, making his plans, he had been successful; while there, half dead, the poor creature lay, with the adventurer sitting meditating by her side. "What shall I do now?" said Gil to himself in a bitter tone. "Set sail again, I suppose, for this Sir Mark, unless too busy with his wedding, will try to hunt us down. "Well, let him come if he will," he added, wearily, and then rising. "Now, my lads!" he cried, "to work." His men jumped up; and as he stood by, watching and thinking how in one year the ferns and wild plants set in the crevices had concealed the mouth of the store, iron bars and shovels were plied, the stones loosened and thrown aside, till at last only one large piece remained, and that had so tightly wedged itself in that it resisted all their efforts to dislodge it. "Come boys," Wat Kilby cried, "have you left all your strength in the Indies? Lay to at it with a will. Now, all together--heave ho!" As he spoke he brought his whole strength to bear upon it, but dropped the bar directly after, and stood shaking his head; for he had never recovered from the terrible burns and injuries he had received at the explosion--injuries that had left him for months a helpless invalid during the early part of the voyage, and a cripple for life. "Skipper," he said, "I'm not quite so strong as I was, and my bones don't seem to be knit together as they were. It'll take some pounds o' Mas' Cobbe's best to lift that out." Gil frowned, for the old man's speech brought up a host of painful recollections. "Shall we get up some powder, skipper?" said Wat. "And fire the barrels that are in the store?" said Gil sternly. "Nay," growled the old fellow; "we could hoist out that stone without reaching any that is in yonder: it is too far away."