removing his hands from his pockets, put a foot upon the bulwark and
sprang lightly on to her deck.



CHAPTER IX.


CHAOS IN THE CAPTAIN'S LODGINGS.

I leave you to guess what were my feelings as foot by foot the
packet's quarter fell away wider of the quay. If, as the skipper
thrust off, I had found presence of mind to jump for her, who knows
what mischief might have been prevented? I could at least--whatever
the consequences--have called a warning to Captain Coffin to give his
enemy a wide-berth. But I was unnerved; the impulse came too late;
and as the foresail filled and she picked up steerage way, I stood
helpless under the lamp at the quay-head--stood and stared after her,
alone with the sense of my incredible folly.

Somewhere out yonder Captain Coffin was waiting in his shore-boat.
I listened, minute after minute, on the chance of hearing his hail.
A heavy bank of cloud had overcast the moon, and the packet melted
from sight in a blur of darkness. Worst of all--worse even than the
sting of self-reproach--was the prospect of returning to Stimcoe's
and wearing through the night, while out there in the darkness the
two men would meet, and all that followed their meeting must happen
unseen by me.

This ordeal appeared so dreadful to me in prospect that I began to