The boat sped seawards. The wind had freshened since the morning, and worked round after the sun, as the wind does in settled weather. It blew now from the south-east, and the boat reached out with a free sheet. Una sat in the stern and held the tiller. Her eyes glistened with excitement and delight. At her feet, on the floor boards of the boat, sat Neal, dripping after his swim out of the cave. The sun shone warm on him, and he had Una close to him. He was safe at last, freed from the terrible anxiety and fears. He had life before him--a glad, good thing, yet there was more sorrow than joy in his face. In an hour, or less than an hour, he must say farewell to Una. He felt that he would gladly have gone back to the gloom of the cave for the sake of a brief visit from her every day. He would have accepted the life of a hunted animal rather than part, for years perhaps, from Una. He was sure that he had never known the fulness of his love for her until this hour of parting. His eyes never left her face. Now and then, when she could spare attention from her steering, she answered his glances. In her face there was no sorrow at all, only merry delight and the anticipation of more joy. “I have brought you a suit of my clothes, and some change of linen,” said Maurice. “I have them in a bundle here, done up in a great sheet. Hullo! there are two bundles. I didn’t notice that you had brought a second one, Brown-Eye. You’ll not leave me a rag to my back if you give Neal two suits.” “It’s all right, Maurice,” said Una, “the second bundle has my clothes in it.” “Your clothes, Brown-Eyes! Why have you brought clothes?” “I’m going with Neal, of course.” Neal sat upright suddenly and stared at her with a new expression in his eyes. He was the prey of sheer astonishment, then of a rapture which set his heart beating tumultuously. “You are going with Neal! Nonsense, Brown-Eyes. How can you?” “I’ve money to pay my passage,” she said, “and if I hadn’t I’d go just the same. I shall climb up into the brig, and I won’t be turned out of her.” “You can’t,” said Maurice. “Oh, but I can, and I will. Do you think you and father are the only two in the family that have wills of your own. You’ll take me, Neal, won’t you? We’ll be married as soon as ever we get to America. I’m like the girl in the song-- “‘I’ll dye my petticoat, I’ll dye it red, And through the world I’ll beg my bread,’ but I won’t leave you now, Neal.” She began to sing merrily, exultingly-- “Though father and brother and a’ should go mad, Just whistle and I’ll come to you, my lad.” “Well,” said Maurice, “if you go I may as well take my passage, too. I daren’t go home and face my lord with the news that you’ve run off from him. But steady, Brown-Eyes, watch what you’re doing. We’re close on the brig now. We’ll neither go to America nor back home if you upset us now.”