Philip sought out Christian secretly, to hint that on a venture three gold pieces might be his. Christian understood him well enough. In the veiled language of the coast, a venture signified honourable service for brave men, though the law of the land held otherwise, and rewarded it as felony. A well-knit League carried on far and near a contraband trade in the lives of proscribed men, and even the scrupulous honesty of Christian brought no reluctance to engage.

'When, and with whom?' he asked.

'To-morrow, you and I,' said Philip, and watched him anxiously.

'Then are you of the League?' said Christian indifferently, nettling the other, still in the young pride of a desired association. The Alien at his best, he knew, would never have been reckoned fit; for though he excelled in strength, he lacked head.

'You and I together,' he said, 'are fairly equal to any other three, and so can our gains be the larger.'

Yet Christian would not readily close on the rich relief. He fixed on the other a thoughtful eye, pondering a question of fairness that might not be imparted. Philip flushed a little.

'I am answerable to the League,' he said nervously; 'and though from outsiders we exact oaths, I will take it upon me to accept as sufficient your bare word for good faith and secrecy.'

This was no more than Christian's credit had established; for from boyhood, under the strict schooling of Lois, he had kept to his word as sacredly as others to their oaths, and from pride and a scruple had ever refused to be sworn.

Long seemed the pause and the trying scrutiny before Christian sighed and said, 'So be it.'

'And secrecy?'

'I promise secrecy.'

'And you will not refuse a strict promise to obey orders—mine?'

A vague foreboding warned Christian to stay, but reason could not sufficiently uphold it against his dire need of the gold. He promised.

'I take it,' said Philip carelessly, 'that your boat would be the easier to handle. Mine is over heavy for two.'

'I cannot risk what is not wholly mine.'

'The League makes good all loss. And remember,' he looked away, and his voice had a strange note, 'if we do not come back—for long—or ever—the League sees to it that our folk do not want.'

Christian looked at him hard.

'Agreed,' he said first; and then, 'You think that likely?'

'A venture is a venture; and, well, I may say that two ventures have miscarried, so many and brisk are the chasers; and I know of some who have fought shy of this one. I volunteered,' he said with pride.

So they went their ways, Philip bidding his conscience lie still and mute, Christian questioning his.

Save Giles, never had any man put out in that boat with the Alien. As the two slid out under early night, Philip looked at him, wondering if his wits were sound enough to tell him this, himself misliking the instance overmuch now. The sea was black and sullen, and the wind chill; Christian, silent and indifferent, was no heartening mate; and the shadow of night brought out a lurid streak in the venture that viewed under daylight had been but dull and faint.

The stealthy boat crept on till midnight; now and then from the cusp of a bay floated out the faint cry of a quail. Then thrice it sounded, when the boat swooped in, touched, and with a third aboard, sprang away swift as a fishing gull.

About to the west, then, Christian steered as Philip gave word; still west and west. He did not scan the stranger with natural interest, nor had he yet asked one question on their goings, though they were stretching for a coast known to him by fatal influence. When the very roar of evil waters sounded, and through it the first expostulation of a buoy bell, Philip's scrutiny could still detect no reluctance.

Oh! fain now would he see a touch of human infirmity for fellowship; night had entered his blood, and shocks of horrid fear coursed; too stark and dreadfully mute was the figure at the helm for him to be void of apprehension. And the terrors of the sinister place, that his venture was to set at nought, according to a daylight mind, came beating in against unstable defences, entered, and took possession.

Christian stooped over the gunwale, peering into the dark water. At that, Philip's hand went searching hurriedly about the bow, and that he sought was missing. He braced himself and approached the Alien.

'Christian, has she never a twig of rowan at her bows?'

The face that turned he could not see to read. 'No,' was the curt answer, and shaken through, he drew off with doubled thumbs.

Too late now he doubted Christian to be no tool for handling with impunity. And worse he dreaded, out of a dark teeming with possibilities, dreadful to human flesh and human spirit. His hair rose, and he flung prayers to the hierarchy of heaven, but chiefly to those three—St. Mary, St. Margaret, and St. Faith. Comfort it was to draw to the side of one who abode, as he himself, within the limits of the five human senses. The quiet voice of the Adventurer rallied him.

'What goes wrong?'

'We bear no rowan, nor leaf, nor berry.'

'Rowan! for protection against evil spirits?'

'Ah! name them not. Not here and now. Rather turn your thumbs against them, and watch him.'

'Him! your chosen mate?'

'God forgive me, and help us—yes. Sir, I tell you, laughter here is more than folly—it is wickedness. No, I will not be questioned how and why. There—look there!'

He grasped the sceptic's arm and pointed; Christian again had suddenly leaned down to peer over the boat's side.

'What does he see?'

Philip's teeth chattered. 'God knows, I dare not think.'

He crowded sail recklessly, and the boat leapt along, quivering like a thing in fear. At speed they fled on further west, till the Sinister buoys were all passed by, and the Land's End drew up and turned behind them. Then Philip, with a heart lighter by some degrees, hove to, close furled, to wait and watch through the chill, long hours, till nearing dawn turned them back to the safe desolation of the evil place.

Daylight better than dark speech declared the three to each other. The Adventurer considered well the men charged with his life and fortunes. Of a splendid make they were, both above the common in stature and strength, and well favoured in singular contrast. A practised student of his kind could read lines of weakness, and some feminine virtues also, in the dark, oval face with luminous, fine eyes, and a mouth too fully perfect for a man, and could read on the face from the resolute north a square threat of obstinacy showing from the bones out, and daring and truth in the grey eyes, deep set, and from brow to chin every imprint of integrity. Both faces were set and haggard, and their eyes encountered with a sombre disaffection that augured but ill for success. Strife was latent.

Christian's glance rested on the Adventurer, unhooded to the morning light, and he guessed him, and knew him by silver mane and black brows an old lion-lord of a famous herd. The ray of recognition was caught and weighed. 'He has not been trusted, yet his looks are fit,' ran the old man's thoughts. He weighed Philip, whose features twitched, whose hands were nervous, who eyed his fellow with an uncertain glance, wavering at a return impassive as stone. Without hesitation he questioned for clearance.

'Is all well—so far?'

'Ay—so far?'

'At your discretion I would hear how our chances lie, and on what side peril. To a landsman we carry on in an aimless fashion.'

Philip looked at him straight enough, then furtively towards Christian. The stranger dropped his voice.

'Is danger yonder?'

Philip did not answer him, and strengthened in misdoubt, he spoke with a note of authority.

'I would know your plans.'

'You shall,' said Philip, but still he looked at Christian, and found it hard to begin. He took heart of wine.

'Hearken—you also, Christian.

'Sir, my undertaking is to put you aboard a foreigner, due to pass with her consorts off the Land's End, may be this day, or to-morrow at latest, whose part is but to contrive so that darkness may cover this bit of contraband trade.

'Your flight discovered will for sure have brought an embargo on all the coast. Not a sail will be out, but chasers on the watch. Ashore now, not a chance were possible; but we took wing betimes; and here may we bide under daylight, and at night make again for the Land's End to watch our chance.'

'Go on. This contrivance is too incredibly bald to suffice. How, then, when presently a patrol sails round yonder head?'

'May Heaven forfend!'

'Heaven! are you mad? Is all our security to be the grant by Heaven of a miracle?'

'First, sir, I will tell you that we are like enough to be unharried; for it cannot be in mortal reckoning that we should dare here, since this place is a death-trap to be given wide berth in winter gales.'

'The very place to seek men fugitive and desperate.'

'By your leave, sir, I came into this venture as a volunteer, and not from desperation.

'The special danger of these coasts you do not know. Our winter storms, sudden and fierce, strike here at their hardest. Learned men say that high ranges leagues off over sea make a funnel to set them here. We fishers have another way of thinking—no matter what. But 'tis wide known that there is no record of any boat caught in a winter burst within sound of these breakers living to boast of it.'

'Is, then, the favour of Heaven also to be engaged to preserve from storm as from chase?'

Philip, tongue and throat, was dry, and he drank again deeply.

'You tell me of risks that I cannot bring myself to believe a volunteer would engage; not though, as I hear, he doubled his price.'

Wine and resentment mounted a flush.

'You do ill, sir, to fleer at a man who for your service risks freedom, life—ay, more than life—but that you would not believe; for you laughed, under night even, you laughed!'

'By heavens! every look of a death-trap comes out on your own showing; and except you show me the key to unlock it, I myself will hazard the forcing; I and your mate yonder, who well I see is not in your confidence, whose face tells that he has no liking for you and your doings.'

Christian turned away and made no response.

'For God's sake, sir,' whispered Philip then, 'have patience, or you ruin all!'

'Let be that wine and speak out.'

'Drink you, Christian.'

He refused. Philip fetched breath for a plunge.

'Bear me out, Christian, when I say that one there is who can do what none other living can—and will.'

Christian waited with a face of stone.

'Who can carry us safe through the reefs. Christian—this—you promised—you must undertake this.

'Look you, we may never be driven to it; a far ship could not easily make us out against this broken background.

'Christian, not another soul knows or shall know. Sir, you can tell him that the League had not even a guess. I stood out for that.

'You asked nothing. Had you but cared to ask, I would have told you earlier. You may have guessed; you cannot deny you are able. Sir, he is; and when I asked his services, he promised—without reserve he promised.

'Christian, you never have failed of your word; all your life that has been your pride, and so have I relied on it—a man's life relies on it.'

Christian kept an averted face, and stared down into the water.

'You can—I know you can!'

'I can.'

'And you will—to your promise I trusted.'

'I promised, and I will.'

Philip grasped his hand in cordial gratitude; Christian suffered it, but his face was sullen. The Adventurer saw sweat standing on the brow of each, so that he wondered at what were behind.

Philip turned with a brightened eye.

'Now, sir, you may see that our chances are not so desperate, since, from storm or chase, we can put to safe haven beyond the reefs, to wait or dodge; or at worst, to get ashore and take to the hills—a put back, but to you a good exchange for four walls. Only I have a thing to ask of you, sir, come good or ill: that you will never breathe to a soul of this way of escape.'

The Adventurer eyed him with something of distrust still, while he fingered his beard thoughtfully and smiled, half sneering.

'I understand—you would preserve a monopoly, and continue a good trade. But it looks to me that you have done some cheating by your mate, that might make him decline partnership and seek his own market.'

'By heavens! you are over ready with your imputations!' said Philip, angry. 'The Alien there is welcome to make what profit he can for me. Never with my goodwill shall I be here again. For why I undertook it, I had my own good reasons, which concern you not at all. But I will tell you that I know not of another man who would dare partnership with the Alien—ay, ask him, and he will not deny it; or who would put body and soul in jeopardy in this place.'

The Adventurer turned to Christian, smiling, courting friendly intelligence.

'You, it appears, have put body and soul in jeopardy, and know the place; and body and soul are none the worse.'

Without any answer, Christian looked at him, and colour ebbed from his face. Philip touched for warning, and with lifted finger indicated the want, half guessed already by that fixed, blank gaze.

'Answer only at your pleasure, but for my soul's salvation I do desire to know what threats it here.'

For the moment Philip did not suspect derision. Discreetly he told of the fatal tradition, that the settled conviction of generations had brought men fatally to uphold and abet. So much of reason he had discovered for himself, and he desired that Christian should hear.

The work was taken out of his hands by a skilled master. The reverend superstition was subjected to all the disintegrating forces that human scepticism can range; and with cold reason, logic, and analogy, went such charm of courteous tolerance, and wit, and wise and simple exposition, as tempered the mordant touch of lurking ridicule. He was but for pastime, trying his practised touch upon two young fools. Half scared, half fascinated and admiring, Philip responded; Christian stayed sullen and silent.