Coming, indeed,—­were they; and that with vast velocity.  So careful, however, was the stroke, that they were within two hundred feet of the yawl before Raoul and his companion took the alarm, and plunged their own oars again into the water.  Then, indeed, the gigs might be dimly seen; though the shadows of the land deepened the obscurity of night so far, as to render objects at even a less distance quite indistinct.  The suddenness and imminency of the danger appeared to arouse all there was of life in Carlo Giuntotardi.  He steered, and steered well, being accustomed to the office, by living so long on the coast; and he sheered in for the rocks, with the double view of landing, if necessary, and of getting still deeper within the shadows.  It was soon evident the English gained.  Four oars against two were fearful odds; and it was plainly apparent the yawl must be overtaken.

“Oh, uncle! toward the arch and water-cavern of the point,” whispered Ghita, whose hands were clasped on her breast as if to keep down her emotions. “That may yet save him!”

The yawl was in the act of whirling round the rocks which form the deep cove on which the Marina Grande of Sorrento lies.  Carlo caught his niece’s idea, and he kept his tiller hard a-port, telling Raoul and Ithuel, at the same time, to take in their oars as quick as possible.  The men obeyed, supposing it was the intention to land and take to the heights for shelter.  But just as they supposed the boat was about to strike against some perpendicular rocks, and Raoul was muttering his surprise that such a spot should be chosen to land at, it glided through a low, natural arch, and entered a little basin as noiselessly as a bubble floating in a current.  The next minute, the two gigs came whirling round the rocks; one following the shore close in, to prevent the fugitives from landing, and the other steering more obliquely athwart the bay.  In still another minute, they had passed a hundred yards ahead, and the sound of their movements was lost.

Chapter XXV.

     “And chiefly thou, O spirit, that dust prefer,
     Before all temples, the upright heart and pure,
     Instruct me; for thou know’st!”

     MILTON

The spot in which Carlo Giuntotardi had taken refuge is well known on the Sorrentine shore, as the water-cavern at the ruins of Queen Joan’s country-house.  Cavern it is not, though the entrance is beneath a low, natural arch—­the basin within being open to the heavens, and the place resembling an artificial excavation made to shelter boats.  Let the origin of this little haven be what it may, art could not have devised a more convenient or a more perfect refuge than it afforded to our fugitives.  Once through the arch, they would have been effectually concealed from their pursuers under a noonday sun; nor would any, who were unacquainted with the peculiarities of the entrance, dream of a boat’s lying, as it might be, buried in the rocks of the little promontory.  Neither Ghita nor her uncle any longer felt concern; but the former announced her intention to land here, assuring Raoul that she could easily find her way into the bridle-path which leads to St. Agata.