Hilton smiled his sudden comprehension, and eagerly bent his eyes upon the chart. The captain, seeing that his purpose was likely to be understood, pointed first to Hilton, then to the chart, in effect asking him to give as much information as he could. Very soon Hilton put his finger on London and looked at the captain, who nodded comprehension. Then he slowly traced the course of the “Merry Maid” on the chart until nearly abreast Lisbon, when he stopped, feigned to go to sleep; to strike his head with his eyes shut; to awake struggling in the water; to withdraw a tube from his waistcoat pocket; and to inflate by its means a concealed life-saving garment. The captain thoroughly understood this pantomime, and clenched his fist in anger at those who had perpetrated so dastardly a deed. Then, once more pointing questioningly to the chart, he gave Hilton to understand that he wished to know whither the “Merry Maid” was bound, whereupon the remainder of the route to Malta was traced out for him. After this, being mutely questioned in his turn, Pereiro made a start at Lisbon, Hilton following his movements with breathless attention. Stopping near the spot indicated by the latter, he gave a sharp cry, tossed his arms as if struggling in the water, made a pantomimic rescue, and then began to rub himself vigorously, and to pump his arms up and down to show that artificial respiration had been resorted to. Hilton squeezed his hands gratefully, and murmured words of thanks, of which Pereiro had no difficulty in grasping the import, although they were uttered in a tongue of which he knew nothing but that it was English. After this, anxiously watched, he slowly traced a course which filled Hilton’s heart with dismay, for he never stopped until he had rounded Cape Horn, and followed what seemed to his companion to be an interminable coastline. Finally, he stopped at Callao, and was astounded to see that his information was received with every symptom of distress. For a time, Hilton knew not what to do, for he felt stunned. To go all that distance, and in a sailing vessel, too, was equivalent to being dead to friends and foes alike for many months. Moreover, he was rendered utterly useless, and could do nothing but fret and worry at the trouble which would be felt at home on his own account. “My mother will wonder why she does not hear from me. Those scoundrels will forge some plausible tale to account for my disappearance, and poor Harley will be doomed to undergo the whole of his horrible sentence in prison, if, indeed, he lives so long. Between grief for Harley, and grief for me, my poor mother will fret herself into the grave. And poor Annie! My God! how everything is playing into the hands of those villains! It seems unbelievable--and there is that bottle of papers I threw overboard, too. Perhaps that will soon disclose the true state of affairs, and Harley’s liberation may be effected without any further help from me.”