Before Captain Plum could recover from the surprise of this whispered announcement the little old man had freed himself and was pattering swiftly through the darkness of the next room.  The master of the Typhoon followed close behind him.  Outside the councilor hesitated for a moment, as if debating which route to take, and then with a prodigious wink at Captain Plum and a throatful of his inimitable chuckles, chose the path down which his startled visitor of a short time before had fled.  For fifteen minutes this path led between thick black walls of forest verdure.  Obadiah Price kept always a few paces ahead of his companion and spoke not a word.  At the end of perhaps half a mile the path entered into a large clearing on the farther side of which Nathaniel caught the glimmer of a light.  They passed close to this light, which came from the window of a large square house built of logs, and Captain Plum became suddenly conscious that the air was filled with the redolent perfume of lilac.  With half a dozen quick strides he overtook the councilor and caught him by the arm.

“I smell lilac!” he exclaimed.

“Certainly, so do I,” replied Obadiah Price.  “We have very fine lilacs on the island.”

“And I smelled lilac back there,” continued Nathaniel, still holding to the old man’s arm, and pointing a thumb over his shoulder.  “I smelled ’em back there, when—­”

“Ho, ho, ho!” chuckled the councilor softly.  “I don’t doubt it, Nat, I don’t doubt it.  She is very fond of lilacs.  She wears the flowers very often.”

He pulled himself away and Captain Plum could hear his queer chuckling for some time after.  Soon they entered the gloom of the woods again and a little later came out into another clearing and Nathaniel knew that it was St. James that lay at his feet.  The lights of a few fishing boats were twinkling in the harbor, but for the most part the town was dark.  Here and there a window shone like a spot of phosphorescent yellow in the dismal gloom and the great beacon still burned steadily over the home of the prophet.

“Ah, it is not time,” whispered Obadiah.  “It is still too early.”  He drew his companion out of the path which they had followed and sat himself down on a hummock a dozen yards away from it, inviting Nathaniel by a pull of the sleeve to do the same.  There were three of these hummocks, side by side, and Captain Plum chose the one nearest the old man and waited for him to speak.  But the councilor did not open his lips.  Doubled over until his chin rested almost upon the sharp points of his knees, he gazed steadily at the beacon, and as he looked it shuddered and grew dark, like a firefly that suddenly closes its wings.  With a quick spring the councilor straightened himself and turned to the master of the Typhoon.

“You have a good nose, Nat,” he said, “but your ears are not so good.  Sh-h-h-h!” He lifted a hand warningly and nodded sidewise toward the path.  Captain Plum listened.  He heard low voices and then footsteps—­voices that were approaching rapidly, and were those of women, and footsteps that were almost running.  The old man caught him by the arm and as the sounds came nearer his grip tightened.