“Risk!” exclaimed Henry; “I thought you knew all the passages about the island!”

“So I do, lad—­all the passages; but I don’t profess to know every rock and reef in the bottom of the sea.  Our only chance is to make the island on the south side, where there are no passages at all except one that leads into a bay; but if we run into that, our masts will be seen against the southern sky, even from the harbor where the schooner lies.  If we are seen they will be prepared for us, in which case we shall have a desperate fight with little chance of success and the certainty of much bloodshed.  We must therefore run straight for another part of the shore, not far from the bay I have referred to, and take our chance of striking.  I think there is enough of water to float this little cutter over the reefs, but I am not sure.”

“Think! sure!” echoed Thorwald, in a tone of exasperated surprise; “and if we do strike, Mr. Gascoyne, do you mean us to go beg for mercy at the hands of your men, or to swim back to Sandy Cove?”

“If we strike, I shall take the boat, land with the men, and leave the cutter to her fate.  The Avenger will suffice to take us back to Sandy Cove.”

Ole was rendered speechless by the coolness of this remark; so he relieved himself by tightening his belt, and spouting forth volcanoes of smoke.

Meanwhile, the cutter had run to within a short distance of the island.  The night was rendered doubly dark by the rapid spreading of those heavy clouds which indicated the approach of a squall, if not a storm.

“This is well,” said Gascoyne, in a low tone, to Henry Stuart, who stood near him; “the worse the storm is to-night the better for the success of our enterprise.  Henry lad, I’m sorry you think so badly of me.”

Henry was taken aback by this unexpected remark, which was made in a low, sad tone.

“Can I think too badly of one who confesses himself to be pirate?” said Henry.

“The confession is at least in my favor.  I had no occasion to confess, nor to give myself up to you.”

“Give yourself up!  It remains to be seen whether you mean to do that or not.”

“Do you not believe me, Henry?  Do you not believe the account that I gave of myself to you and your mother?”

“How can I?” said the young man, hesitatingly.

“Your mother believed me.”

“Well, Gascoyne, to tell you the plain truth, I do feel more than half inclined to believe you; and I’m sorry for you; I am, from my soul.  You might have led a different life, you might even do so yet.”

“You forget,” said Gascoyne, smiling sadly.  “I have given myself up, and you are bound to prevent my escaping.”

Henry was perplexed by this reply.  In the enthusiasm of his awakened pity he had for a moment forgotten the pirate in the penitent.  Before he could reply, however, the cutter struck violently on a rock, and an exclamation of alarm and surprise burst from the crew, most of whom were assembled on deck.