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It was night in the harbour of Noumea; a night of pitiless, white, revealing moonlight which sharpened the black outline of every shadow, and made the whitewashed wall of each low house gleam like mother-o'-pearl. Had there been no secret business on foot, Virginia Beverly's beauty-loving soul would have been on its knees in worship of the scene as she sat on the deck of the yacht, which seemed not to float in water, but to hang suspended in the transparent, mingling azure of sea and sky. To her the moon was an enemy, cruel and terrible. She would have given her right hand for a dark curtain cloud to be drawn across that blazing lamp and the scintillating stars reflected in the water like sequins shining through blue gauze.

Midnight was near, and the yellow lights of the town were fewer than they had been. The quay was quiet and deserted, and the Ile Nou was a black shape in the translucent glitter of the water. On the Bella Cuba all was very still, and each whisper of the little waves that lapped against the side of the yacht came distinctly to Virginia's ears.

The Countess de Mattos had not appeared at dinner, but had sent excuses, her head being much worse. But it was Virginia's opinion that, once out of sight of Noumea, the lady intended to be convalescent. Kate Gardiner also was in retirement, and had for once shown temper even to Virginia; but Dr. Grayle's report of the day was reassuring, and as Kate had had no opportunity of doing harm, even if she had wished it, she and her grievances were dismissed from Virginia's mind in these supreme moments.

Her eyes were straining after a small electric launch, which was already distant. Virginia could not look away, and still she tried to persuade herself that she could not see the little black gliding thing distinctly, because, if it was plainly visible to her, it must be so to other eyes also—if eyes on shore were waking and watching now.

Suddenly the boat disappeared behind a buttress of rock silhouetted on the silver track of the moon, and at the same instant the yacht's anchor began slowly to be hauled up.

Virginia knew what that meant. To-night's work was for Roger and George, not for her; but she had each detail of the programme at her fingers' ends—indeed, had helped to arrange it. When the launch had gone a certain distance from the Bella Cuba, on its stealthy way toward the Ile Nou, the yacht's captain—an Englishman, discreet and expert—had orders to follow slowly. The start had not been made earlier, because it was desirable that town and prison should be asleep, and the danger of discovery minimized. If the yacht were seen moving in the night suspicion would be aroused, for leaving the harbour of Noumea is a perilous undertaking except between sunrise and sunset; yet she must move, and follow the boat like one of the great black sharks swimming with grim expectancy behind her, lest the little bark should be overtaken in case of alarm and pursuit.

No explanation had been given to Captain Gorst, who neither needed nor desired any. His orders were to follow the boat, and stand in as near the Ile Nou as possible without arousing attention on shore; there to wait until the launch returned, or to approach still closer to the island, if pursuit rendered it advisable. These orders Virginia knew he would obey to the letter; and she knew also, though no word had been spoken to her on the subject, that the little cannon, which had been silent since the Bella Cuba had been a lightly armoured despatch-boat in the American-Spanish War, were ready to speak to-night, if worst came to worst.

It was that vague "worst" that troubled Virginia's soul as, almost soundlessly, the heart of the Bella Cuba began to beat, and she glided through the glimmering water. If only one could know exactly where and how to expect the blow, the thought that it might fall would be more bearable, the girl felt. But one of many things might happen to wreck their hopes; and failure now probably meant failure forever.

Maxime Dalahaide might be too ill to make the attempt to-night, or he might be watched in the act of making it. The men in the launch might miss seeing him, even if he had contrived to escape from the hospital and gain the beach. Or his flight might be discovered, and the launch only arrive near the shore in time for its occupants to see him dragged back to the old life, with all its past horrors, and many new ones added by way of punishment. Possibly the coral reefs and jagged rocks might prevent the launch getting close to shore, and Maxime would have to swim out to it. Then, there were the sharks. Virginia had already seen two or three to-day—hideous, black shapes swimming far down below the surface of the clear water—and she shuddered as she remembered the great snouts and cold, evil eyes of the man-eaters. What was that the Commandant had said in the afternoon? "The sharks are the best guardians the Ile Nou can have." Were those horrible watch-dogs of the sea on the lookout now?

At the same moment, the same thought was in the minds of Roger Broom and George Trent, as the little electric launch rounded the point of rock and lost sight of the Bella Cuba. The water, as they looked toward the Ile Nou, which must be their destination, was a flood of molten silver poured from the white-hot furnace of the full moon. They knew how black the launch must be on this sheet of radiance, how conspicuous an object to watchful eyes on shore; and though the glittering sheen destroyed the transparent effects of the water here, they guessed what gliding shapes were surely upon their track, coldly awaiting disaster.

Sitting in the boat they could not see the hospital; not a light was visible in any prison building; and they had the feeling that in any one of a dozen great masses of shadow armed surveillants might be hiding, to spring out upon Maxime Dalahaide as he crept toward his friends and far-off safety. There was no sound except the crisp rustle of the water as the launch cut through it; but as they entered the lagoon, where among tall reeds the image of the moon lay unbroken like a fallen silver cup, a whispering ran through the rushes, as if to pass the news of their approach from ear to ear.

Suddenly a tall figure rose up on a slight eminence and waved its arms, then disappeared again so quickly that it might almost have been a fantastic shadow; but quickly as it had come and gone, Roger and George knew that their hope had not been in vain. Convict 1280 had completed the first stage of his journey. He had seen them coming to the rescue, and he had given them the secret of his hiding-place.

The two men were alone in the launch. Now, without a word, Roger Broom headed it for the point where the figure had appeared. There was a strange confusion of emotions in his brain, which still left it clear to act. Under his habitual air of lazy indifference he hid strong feelings, and at this moment they worked within him like fermenting wine. In this adventure he was playing for great stakes. Twice in the last year had Virginia refused him; her love and her beautiful self were all that Roger craved for in the world, but he had meant never to ask for them again, when this mad scheme of rescue had been conceived. He had opposed it as foolish and impossible; then Virginia had hinted that, if he would join her in it, giving help and advice, she would refuse him nothing. After that day he had thrown himself into the adventure heart and soul, saying little, but doing all that man could do. Though his few words had sometimes discouraged Virginia's ardent hopes, he had doggedly meant to succeed if he had to die in the supreme effort. He had put his whole soul into the work, with no other thought until to-day. Then—he had seen what George Trent had seen; a certain look in Virginia's eyes as they pleaded with Maxime Dalahaide to free himself. Her lips had said: "Do this for your sister's sake." But her eyes had said: "Do it for mine." Never had such a light shone in those beautiful eyes for Roger; never would it so shine for him; and he knew it well, with a dull, miserable sickening of the heart, which was like a pinch from the hand of Death.

In a moment the whole face of the world had changed for him. He was a man of honour, and he would go on along the path which he had traced out for himself; but the wish to succeed in his task for the sake of success was murdered by that sweet light in a girl's eyes. Something coldly calculating said to Roger Broom that it would be a good thing for him if Maxime failed to come to the rendezvous, on that night or any other night; or, if, in case he came, he should be retaken. Should this happen, Virginia's implied promise need not hold good, but Roger thought he knew her generous heart well enough to be certain that she would in the end reward him for what he had tried to do, even though—not through his fault—the fight had been in vain. On the other hand, if he and George succeeded in saving Dalahaide, in bringing Dalahaide to Virginia—but Roger would not quite finish that thought in his mind. Resolutely he turned his back upon it, yet it grinned an evil, skeleton grin over his shoulder, and he could not make his ears deaf to the whisper that though he could and would hold Virginia to the keeping of her bargain, her heart would always have a holy of holies shut away from him.

Roger hated the cold Voice that explained his heart to his head, and he did his best not to listen. But all he could compass was not to let himself be guided by its promptings. If he had desired Dalahaide's escape as whole-heartedly as before, he could have worked for it no harder than he did; still, he experienced no warmth of gladness at sight of the dark figure silhouetted for an instant against a moonlit haze. Trent was not close to him in the launch, and yet somehow he felt the thrill of joyous relief which shot through the younger man's body at the signal, and envied it. But all was different with George; he could afford to be single-minded. Roger knew very well that George was in love with Madeleine Dalahaide, and that there was nothing he would not sacrifice for the happiness of giving her back her brother.

As Roger Broom wrestled with his own black thoughts, the launch, which had hitherto slipped swiftly toward its goal, dividing the rushes and reeds of the lagoon, refused to move on. The lush, green barricade was too thick to be cut through by its clean bow and the force of its powerful little electric motor.

"It's no good," whispered George. "We can't get on any farther. This is what I was afraid of. He'll have to come out to us. Thank goodness, if we can't get through, neither can the sharks."

"Where is he? Can you see him?" Roger asked. And the Voice was loud in his ears again.

"No, I wish I could. I don't like to sing out. This luck of ours so far is too good to last."

"Stand up and wave your hand. Perhaps he'll see and reply," said Roger.

Somehow he wanted George to take the initiative now. He was afraid of being unconsciously guided by the Voice.

George stood up and waved a handkerchief. No figure rose in response, but as if in answer, they heard a distant splashing in the water, and then, following so quickly that it blurred the impression of the first stealthy sound, came the sharp explosion of a shot. Instantly the slumberous silence of the tropical night was shattered by a savage confusion of noises. Other shots were fired, a great bell began to clang, another boomed a sullen echo, and from far away spoke the deep, angry voice of a cannon.

"Good heavens! that's the cannon on board that beastly steam tub of theirs!" cried George. "Luckily for us it's a makeshift concern and no gunboat; but it can catch us on our way back to the yacht, and if it does, all's up."

Roger did not answer. His ears were strained for the splashing in the water, if still it might be heard as an undertone beneath the distant din of the alarm. The launch could not advance a foot farther, if it were to save all three lives; and it would take some time at best for Dalahaide to wade, and swim, and fight his way to them, among the tangling reeds. The escaping prisoner was weak still from his recent wound; no matter how high his courage might be now, it could not in a moment repair the physical waste which he had voluntarily allowed to go on, courting the sole release he had then foreseen.

The one chance left, now the alarm was given, lay in the hope that, though Dalahaide's flight from the prison hospital had been discovered, the direction he had chosen was not yet known. But the lagoon was at least as likely a place for the search to begin as any other; and then the launch might have been seen moving across the bright streak of the moon's track before it could reach the shelter of the rocks on its way to the lagoon. A few minutes at most, and the hounds would be on the right scent.

These things Roger told himself, but he had not sat still to listen. After the first second of straining attention, he sprang up, threw off his coat and waistcoat, and kicked off his shoes.

"I'm going to help him if I can," he said. "His strength may fail, or some stray shark may be a little cleverer than its fellows and find its way through the rushes. Anyhow, here goes; and if Dalahaide gets to you before me, don't wait. Push out the best you can, and I'll catch you up, swimming."

There was no time for arguing or objecting, even if it had been in Trent's mind to do either. Since it was right for one to go, and Roger chose to be that one, he must stay; but, even for Maxime's sake, and for Madeleine's, he could not, he decided, leave Roger Broom to follow—for there were the sharks. No, they three must stand or fall together, whatever happened now.

The lagoon, in the spot where Roger left the launch, was too deep for wading, nor could he swim there. Somehow—he scarcely knew how—he seemed to tread water, his feet slipping among the slimy tangled stems that were like a network under the surface, a brackish taste in his mouth, the rank, salt smell of seaweeds in his nostrils, and his ears a soft, sly rustling which might mean the disturbed protest of a thousand little subterranean existences, or—the pursuit of an enemy more deadly than any on land.

It was a harder task than he had thought; still he persevered. "Dalahaide, where are you?" he called.

"Here!" came the answer, only a few yards away. "I'm caught in something, and up to my knees in mud. I think my wound's broken out again. For heaven's sake, go back and let them take me. After all, what does it matter for me? I'm done. A thousand times better die than get you all into trouble."

"You all!" Even in that moment Roger said to himself that "all" meant Virginia. Dalahaide was thinking of her. He would rather die than she should be punished for this bold attempt to break the law. But aloud Roger cried out that he would go back with Maxime or he would not go back at all, and cheering the other, with death in his own heart, he struggled along, half swimming, half wading, but always moving on, how he hardly knew. Then at last he saw a dark head, and a face, white in the moonlight, floating seemingly on the reedy surface of the lagoon, like a water lotus on its stem.

Roger grasped a handful of slippery stems and held out a strong left hand to the wounded man.

"Take hold, and I'll pull you out," he said.

The two hands met, one thin and white with a prison pallor, the other brown and muscular and dependable. They joined, and Roger held on to the bunch of slippery stems so hard that they cut into his fingers. Once he thought they were yielding, but at that instant Dalahaide was lifted out of the mud in which he had sunk. Roger caught him under the arm and held him up. Scrambling, rustling, pushing, sinking, rising, spitting out salt, brackish water, they struggled back toward the launch.

There it was, waiting, Trent crouching down, scarcely breathing in his agony of impatience. They saw him, and at the same time their heads came into sight for him, among the tall, dark spears of the rushes. In another moment George in the launch and Roger in the water were pulling and pushing Maxime, half fainting now, up over the side of the swaying boat.

As he tumbled in, limply, Roger saw a dark stain on the wet, gray convict jacket. It was black in the moonlight, but Roger knew it would be red by day. The wound in his back had broken out again, as he had thought; even if they saved him now, it might only be to die. It was the cold Voice that said this; and Roger shuddered, yet half his nature welcomed the suggestion. "I've done what I could, let him die," was the answer that came. Quickly the little launch began to back out from the entanglement of the rushes, and as soon as there was room George turned her and sent her out like an arrow from the lagoon to deeper, clearer water. Beyond a certain point of rock the Bella Cuba should lie by this time, and once on board her all might yet be well, for she could easily show her heels to anything that walked the sea in these waters.

They headed straight for the place where they hoped to find the yacht waiting, and with an exclamation Trent pointed to the sky, across which floated a black, gauzy scarf of smoke.

"Ripping old chap, Captain Gorst," chuckled George. "That's his signal. Trust him to be where he's wanted on time and a bit before."

But Roger was silent. There was a thought in his mind with which he could not darken George's mood by speaking out. Sufficient for the moment was the evil thereof.

They were close to the jutting rock now, and it seemed within ten minutes of safety. But something shot into sight round the point, something big, and black, and swift, with a gleam of fiery eyes and a belching stream of smoke streaked with fire.

"By thunder!" stammered George. "It's not the Cuba. It's the Government boat, coming down on us. We're trapped, sure as fate."

The words rang in Maxime Dalahaide's ears and reached his dimmed consciousness. The danger was not for him alone, but for the others who were risking everything to save him. It was this thought which seemed to grip him, and shake him into sudden animation. He sat up, resting on one elbow, not even wincing at the grinding pain that gnawed within the lips of his re-opened wound.

"Not trapped yet," he said. "Keep to the right; to the right—not too far out. She daren't come where we are, for she'd be ripped to pieces on the reef, and she knows that."

"Hark! They've spotted us. She's hailing!" cried Roger Broom.

"Halte! halte!" came harshly across the moonlit space of water, as, obedient to Dalahaide's quick hint, the course of the launch was changed.

The three fugitives were mute, and again a raucous cry broke the silence of the sea.

"Halt, or we fire!"

"They've two cannon," said Maxime. "I was mad to bring this on you, my friends. If they fire——"

"Let them fire, and be hanged to them!" grumbled George Trent. "Two can play at that game. In heaven's name, where's the yacht? Ah—you would, would you!"

This in answer to a shot that, with a red blaze and a loud report, came dancing across the water, churning up spray and missing the launch by a man's length.

"Keep her going, George," said Roger as quietly as was his wont. "Our hope's in speed now, and dodging, till the Bella Cuba takes a part in this game."

As if the calling on her name had conjured her like a spirit from the "vasty deep," the graceful form of the yacht came into sight. George, tingling with the joyous lust of the battle, could not resist a hurrah; but his shout was deadened by the din of another shot, and then an answering roar from the Bella Cuba. One of those cannon of hers had "paid for its keep" at last. Now the yacht, and every one on board her—to say nothing of the three who wished to be on board—were in for a penny, in for a pound.

The act just committed was an offense against law and justice (not always the same) and joined hands with piracy. To be caught meant punishment the most severe for all, possibly even international complications. If the French prison-boat sunk the yacht and the launch, and drowned every soul concerned in this mad adventure, she would be within her rights, and the fugitives knew it well. The Bella Cuba had flung the red rag into the face of the bull, and Roger Broom and George Trent thought they saw Virginia's hand in the unhesitating challenge. Captain Gorst might have thought twice before assuring himself that the time had come to obey orders given in case of dire necessity; but once would be enough for Virginia.

"She's given herself away!" laughed George, keeping the launch between the lagoon and an irregular line of dark horns which, rising just above the shining surface of the water, marked a group of coral reefs. "There won't be much doubt in Johnny Crapaud's mind now as to what part that tidy little craft's cast to play in this show, eh? Hello-o!"

Another blaze and a following roar drew the exclamation; but before George had had time to draw breath after it, he and Roger and Maxime were all three in the water. The ball from the little cannon of the prison-boat had done its work better this time, striking the electric launch on her nose and shattering her to pieces.

George Trent was a brave man, but his first thought was "Sharks!" and the horror of it caught his throat with a sensation of nausea. The instinct of self-preservation is strong in all healthy men, and, though an instant later he was ashamed on realizing it, the fear that thrilled him was for himself. He expected, as his momentarily scattered senses told him what had happened and where he was, to feel huge teeth, sharp as scythes, meet round his thigh and cut off a leg as cleanly as a surgeon's knife.

While he still quivered with this living horror, he remembered that the danger was Roger's and Maxime's as well as his, and manhood and unselfishness came back. He forgot himself in his fear for them, more especially for Maxime—poor Maxime, who had suffered so much that it would be hard indeed if he were to meet a ghastly death in the very act of achieving safety and freedom. Madeleine's beautiful, tragic face rose, clear as a star, before his eyes, and he knew that it would be reward enough for him if he could give his life for the brother she loved so well. If she should say afterward, "Poor fellow, he died that you might live, Maxime," he felt that the words and the gratitude in the girl's heart would warm him even, if his grave were to be under these dark waters at the other end of the world.

He had gone down at first, and a hundred thoughts seemed to have spun themselves in his head by the time he rose to the surface. Shaking the water out of his eyes, he looked anxiously round for Roger and Maxime. They were nowhere to be seen, and a pang shot through George Trent's breast like a dagger of ice. What if one or both of them had already met the terrible fate which he had pictured for himself?

His whole soul was so concentrated upon this fear that for a few seconds he was deaf and blind to everything outside; but suddenly he realized that the firing between the yacht and the Government boat was still going on, a further cannonade which woke strange echoes over the water.

"Roger—Dalahaide!" he called. No answer came, but, as his eyes strained through the haze of moonlight, a dark dot appeared on the bright mirror of the sea, moving fast, and a cry was raised which, though not loud, carried clearly, and seemed to George Trent the most terrible he had ever heard:

"A shark—a shark!"