Then, later in the night, came George Warren’s turn to watch, and he stayed it out till morning, for, with all the fun of the day, there was something that would keep turning over and over in his brain, and which took away the sleepy feeling and left in its stead a feeling of unhappiness; a sense of something wrong. His father would have said it was conscience, but George wrestled long and hard through the morning hours to avoid recognizing it as that, for conscience would say, if recognized, that it was all wrong, what they were doing,—and George Warren wanted to think he was having a good time. These moody thoughts began to dissipate, however, with the coming of the warm golden glow in the east; and when the sun was at length up, and the boys had had their morning swim, and sat about a fire awaiting breakfast, George Warren seemed himself again. But the breakfast was rudely interrupted by a series of whoops from young Joe, who had taken his brother’s place on guard at the end of the point of rocks, and who now came running down alongshore, crying out that there was a sail that looked like the _Nancy Jane_ coming out from around the islands across the bay, and they all raced back to have a look at it. “It’s the _Nancy Jane_, sure enough,” said Henry Burns. “It’s her big mainsail, with the high peak. She’s making slow headway, though, with this breath of wind. However, we shall have to be off at once, if we are going to try to escape.” It was noticeable that Henry Burns said “if.” However, as no one felt like proposing to give up, they lost no time in getting aboard the _Spray_, and had sail on and the anchor up in what Captain Sam would have called a jiffy. Heading out into the open bay that lay between them and the outer islands, they bade good-bye to Cold Harbour and began a long, slow beat to windward, in the light breeze. “There’s more wind coming, down between the islands,” said Bob. “There’s a line of breeze about two miles to the southward, and we shall catch it a good half-hour before the _Nancy Jane_.” “That’s so; it will give us a fine start,” said Arthur. But, somehow, no one seemed wildly enthusiastic over their prospects. However, as they caught the fresher breeze, and the little _Spray_ stood stiffly up into it and ate away to windward, their spirits rose. Then, as the islands came plainly into view and they drew nearer and nearer to the first, big Saddle Island, with its low range of little hills dropping down in the centre in the shape of a horse’s back, the excitement became intense; for the _Nancy Jane_ had not rounded the point of Eagle Island, and it seemed as though they might be out of sight behind Saddle Island before they could be seen by those aboard the pursuing yacht. “Go it, old _Spray_! Good little boat!” cried young Joe, as the yacht glided swiftly up into the shadow of the island. “We’re going to make it, and, once behind old Saddle, who’s to know which way we have gone?”