More than an hour of steady rowing followed, daring which time the yawl was making swift way toward the Marina Grande of Sorrento.  After passing Massa, Raoul felt no further uneasiness, and he requested Carlo Giuntotardi to sheer in toward the land, where less resistance from the breeze was met with, and where it was also easier to know the precise position.  Apprehension of the boats now ceased, though Ithuel fancied, from time to time, that he heard smothered sounds, like those of oars imperfectly muffled.  Raoul laughed at his conceits and apprehensions, and, to confess the truth, he became negligent of his duty again, in the soothing delight of finding himself, once more free, in all but heart, in the company of Ghita.  In this manner the yawl moved ahead, though with materially diminished speed, until, by the formation of the heights, and the appearance of the lamps and candles on the piano, Ghita knew that they were drawing quite near to the indentation of the coast on which is situated the town of Sorrento.

“As soon as my uncle and myself have landed at the Marina Grande, Raoul,” said Ghita, “thou and the American will be certain to seek thy lugger; then thou promisest to quit the coast?”

“Why ask promises of one that thou dost not sufficiently respect to think he will keep them?”

“I do not deserve this, Raoul; between thee and me, no promise has ever been broken.”

“It is not easy to break vows with one who will neither given nor accept them.  I cannot boast of keeping such idle faith as this!  Go with me before some priest, Ghita, ask all that man ever has or can swear to, and then thou shalt see how a sailor can be true to his vow.”

“And why before a priest?  Thou know’st, Raoul, that, in thine eyes, all the offices of the church are mummery; that nothing is more sacred with thee, for being sworn to at the altar of God, and with one of his holy ministers for a witness!”

“Every oath or promise made to thee, Ghita, is sacred in my eyes.  It wanteth not any witness, or any consecrated place, to make it more binding than thy truth and tenderness can insure.  Thou art my priest—­my altar—­my—­”

“Forbear!” exclaimed Ghita, in alarm, lest he should utter the name of that holy Being toward whom her heart was even at that moment swelling with gratitude for his own recent escape from death.  “Thou know’st not the meaning of thine own words, and might’st add that which would give me more pain than I can express.”

“Boat, ahoy!” cried a deep, nautical voice, within twenty yards of them, and in-shore; the hail coming in the sudden, quick demand that distinguishes the call of a man-of-war’s man.

A pause of half a minute succeeded, for they in the yawl were completely taken by surprise.

At length Ithuel, who felt the necessity of saying something, if he would not bring the stranger close alongside of them, answered in the customary manner of the Italians.