“I shan’t promise anything,” said Nellie, promptly.

“I don’t think I’ll promise anything either,” joined in her cousin.

“Humph!  You had better.  It’s rather stuffy in that little stateroom.”

“We can stand it,” answered both.

“All right, suit yourselves.  But when you want to come out, let me know.”

With these words Dan Baxter walked away, leaving the girls once more to themselves.  Both sat down on the edge of a berth, and Nellie placed her head upon Dora’s shoulder.

“Oh, Dora, what will become of us?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, Nellie.”

“They may take us away down the river—­miles and miles away!”

“I know that.  We must watch our chances and see if we cannot escape.”

“Do you think the Rover boys are following the houseboat?”

“Let us hope so.”

Thoroughly miserable, the cousins became silent.  They felt the houseboat moving swiftly along with the current, but could see nothing on account of the mist and the darkness.  Soon they heard the rain coming down.

“It is going to be an awful night,” said Dora.  “I don’t see how anybody could follow this houseboat in such a storm.”

Both girls felt like crying, but did their best to hold back the tears.  Each was tired out by the doings of the day gone by, but neither thought of going to sleep.

The lanterns had been lit, and both Baxter and Flapp stationed themselves at the front of the houseboat, in an endeavor to pierce the mist.  Occasionally they made out some distant light, but could not tell where it belonged.

“We ought to be getting to somewhere pretty soon,” remarked Lew Flapp, after a couple of hours had passed.  “Don’t you think we had better turn her in toward shore?’”

“Not yet, Flapp; we ought to place as much distance as possible between the boat and Skemport.  Remember, those Rovers will be after us hot-footed when once they learn the truth of the situation.”

“Do you know anything about the river around here?”

“A little, but not much.  Do you know anything?”

“No,—­I never cared for geography,” answered Flapp.  “It’s getting as black as pitch, and the rain—­Hullo, there’s another light!”

Flapp pointed to the Kentucky side of the river.  Through the mist appeared a dim light, followed by another.

“Wonder if that is the shore or a boat?” mused Baxter.

“Better yell and see.”

“Boat, ahoy!”

No answer came back, and for the moment the lights appeared to fade from sight.

“Must have been on shore and we are passing them, Baxter.”

“More than likely, and yet—­There they are again!”

Dan Baxter was right; the lights had reappeared and now they seemed to approach the houseboat with alarming rapidity.

“They’ll run into us if they are not careful,” said Flapp, in fresh alarm.  “Boat, ahoy!” he screamed.  “Keep off!”