The young man’s jaw set.  There was no holding back now, however; he had to go on—­and he did, with seeming indifference and bold enough step.  At the top of the ladder the sailor passed him on to some one else—­an officer—­who led him this way and that until they reached a secluded part of the deck, where, near the rail, stood a tall dark figure, glass in hand.  Until the last moment Mr. Heatherbloom had hoped it might be only the captain he would be called on to encounter, and that that august person would summarily dispose of him, ordering him somewhere out of sight, below, to work his passage in the sailors’ galley, perhaps.  He would have welcomed the most ignominious service to have found now a respite—­to be enabled to escape discovery a little longer.  But the wished-for contingency had not arisen.  He faced the inevitable.

“The man, your Excellency!”

His excellency looked.  He had been scanning the horizon and his expression was both moody and preoccupied.  Mr. Heatherbloom bent slightly forward; his lids fell to conceal a sudden glitter in his eyes; his hand touched something hard in his pocket.  If his excellency recognized him—­There was one way—­a last mad desperate way to serve, to save her.  It would be the end-all for him, but his life was a very small thing to give to her.  He did not value it greatly—­that physical self that had been such an ill servant.  He gazed at the prince now with veiled expectancy, his attitude seemingly relaxed, innocent of strenuosity.  Would the prince’s gaze flare back with a spark of remembrance?  If in that tense instant it had done so, then—­

But his excellency regarded Mr. Heatherbloom blankly; his eyes were emotionless.

“You mean the fellow we ran down?” The prince spoke as if irritated by the intrusion.

“The same, Excellency!” The officer stepped back.  Mr. Heatherbloom did not move.

“What did you get in our way for?” The prince’s voice had a metallic ring; he towered, harshly arrogant, over his uninvited passenger.  “Don’t you know enough to get out of the way?”

“It appears not, sir.”  Heatherbloom wondered at the sound of his own voice.  It seemed to come, small and quiet, from so far off.  His excellency had not recognized him, but was he suspicious?  Maybe not.  No one would be fool enough to get deliberately in the way of the fast-steaming Nevski.  Small craft were numerous in the bay and accidents to them would happen.  There was nothing so out of the ordinary for a big boat to run down a tiny craft.  It was somewhat uncommon for any one in the wee boat to save himself, truly, but even in this feature of the present case the prince experienced but a mild interest.

“Who are you?” he said.  “A fisherman?”

“Not exactly,” answered Mr. Heatherbloom, “though sometimes I crab.  I was crabbing yesterday.”

As he spoke his gaze swept beyond to not far-distant cabin doors and windows.  He and the prince were standing on the starboard side of the boat; it was this side that had faced the island when the young man had gazed down upon the yacht from the big sand-hill, and fancied he had seen—­