On the third day Jean found the boat fairly seaworthy. Hilda felt a
severe pang at leaving Judith, who had not reverted to the subject of
her marriage. Whether her parent or not, she loved her dearly; she felt
also the pain of parting with Tita, but her resolution never swerved.
She had given her heart to Jean; she felt also a presentiment that she
would discover her father; while it was her belief that the parting from
her old associates was but temporary.

When the sun went down Jean set his sail, meaning to make a rapid dash
across the bay, and seeing no cause for concealing his movements. There
was more swell than he liked for so frail a craft, but wind and tide
were favourable to the enterprise, and the night was exceptionally
bright, the moon being full; this brightness would have been fatal had
the inhabitants been on the alert, but under present circumstances the
pale beams were welcome. Hilda took the helm; she knew every passage in
the labyrinth of submerged rocks, and they were soon in comparatively
open water. Jean then assumed control, wrapping the maiden in his
cloak, for the waves were tossing their spray over the boat as she
heeled over to the breeze.

They had traversed in safety three-fourths of their course when Jean,
looking seaward, saw a dark sail bearing down on them. One of the pirate
ships, delayed by contrary winds, was hurrying homeward, the crew of
five men hoping to arrive ere the feast was over. Jean's hope that the
boat might not be discovered was soon dispelled: the vessel altered her
course slightly and hailed. Jean made no answer. The pirate was
evidently in no mood to parley; the crew were in a fierce temper, angry
and discontented at the postponement of their arrival. She made a
deliberate attempt to run the boat down. Jean divined her object and,
putting up his helm sharply at the right moment, let her shoot by him