“You’ll have three scars, captain,” came the maddening voice, “one on each cheek and one on the forehead.  It’s not enough punishment for a slaver, but, in truth, it’s something.  And now I’m going.  You can’t see to follow me, or even to take care of yourself but I leave you in the hands of your two sailors.”

Robert put on his coat and greatcoat, resumed all his weapons and his pack and turned away.  The sailors were still sitting on the log, gazing at each other in amazement and awe.  Neither had spoken throughout the duel, nor did they speak now.  The victor did not look back, but walked swiftly toward the north, glad that he had been the instrument in the hands of fate to give to the slaver at least a part of the punishment due him.

He kept steadily on several hours, until he saw a smoke on the western sky, when he changed his course and came in another half hour to a small log house, from which the smoke arose.  A man standing on the wooden step looked at him with all the curiosity to which he had a right.

“Friend,” said Robert, “how far is it to New York?”

“About ten miles.”

“And this is not the coast of Acadia.”

“Acadia!  What country is that?  I never heard of it.”

“It exists, but never mind.  And New York is so near?  Tell me that distance again.  I like to hear it.”

“Ten miles, stranger.  When you reach the top of the hill there you can see the houses of Paulus Hook.”

Robert felt a great sense of elation, and then of thankfulness.  While fortune had been cruel in putting him into the hands of the slaver, it had relented and had taken him out of them, when the chance of escape seemed none.

“Stranger,” said the man, “you look grateful about something.”

“I am.  I have cause to be grateful.  I’m grateful that I have my life, I’m grateful that I have no wounds and I’m grateful that from the top of the hill there I shall be able to see the houses of Paulus Hook.  And I say also that yours is the kindliest and most welcome face I’ve looked upon in many a day.  Farewell.”

“Farewell,” said the man, staring after him.

Two hours later Robert was being rowed across the Hudson by a stalwart waterman.  As he passed by the spot where his boat had been cut down by the schooner he took off his hat.

“Why do you do that?” asked the waterman.

“Because at this spot my life was in great peril a few days ago, or rather, here started the peril from which I have been delivered most mercifully.”

An hour later he stood on the solid stone doorstep of Master Benjamin Hardy, important ship owner, merchant and financier.  The whimsical fancy that so often turned his troubles and hardships into little things seized Robert again.  He adjusted carefully his somewhat bedraggled clothing, set the sword and pistols in his belt at a rakish slant, put the pack on the step beside him, and, lifting the heavy brass knocker, struck loudly.  He heard presently the sound of footsteps inside, and Master Jonathan Pillsbury, looking thinner and sadder than ever, threw open the door.  When he saw who was standing before him he stared and stared.