roy and ethel stood by the rail on the yacht's deck as the tender drew alongside. they were filled with anxiety over the results of the search upon the shore. dismay touched them when they saw the cap that van dusen carried in his hand as they stepped forward. ethel's cheek blanched, but she asked no question; only stood waiting while the detective stepped aside with roy and gave him garnet's note. the young man hastily read the message. for a moment, he mused as if in doubt concerning its significance; then he asked:

"do you think that he made the crossing in safety?"

"i think not," was the reply. "captain ichabod went through the channel to the other side. he looked everywhere for signs of garnet's having continued on up the beach, but the search was fruitless. i have an idea that the doctor, in his weakened condition, was unable to breast the tide, and so was carried out to sea. to my mind, it seems, perhaps, the best ending for that drug-crazed man. at the same time, i confess i'm heartily sorry for the fellow. had there been any way to get him clear of the charges it would have been necessary for him to face, i for one would have been willing to go to any length to save him, to get him away to some place where he was not known and could begin life anew."

roy showed the note to ethel, and explained how the evidence seemed to indicate that the physician was dead. the girl listened quietly, but when her lover had made an end, she turned quickly and went away to her stateroom, to be alone with her grief.

during ethel's absence the yacht was got under way for beaufort. van dusen and ichabod restored their energies by a hearty meal. by the time the moon had risen, the party of four were gathered aft, talking together quietly, and enjoying the beauties in the panorama of sea and shore and sky unfolded by the yacht's progress. there was rapture in the hearts of both lovers in this reunion after so great trials. each of them had sailed over these waters in an agony of grief and fear while they were separated from each other. now, they were once again together. the fear and the peril were things of the past. for the present, there was only joy, a joy that would endure for the days to come.

van dusen explained to the others how he had extended an invitation to ichabod to make use of the yacht for his honeymoon-trip. ethel was astonished and delighted to learn of the old fisherman's romance and his intended bridal on the morrow.

"but, do you know," she exclaimed with a smile, to captain jones, "i supposed, of course, you were married, and had grandchildren?"

"not me!" the old man answered, unabashed. "but i do aim to!"

van dusen further explained that the only thing now wanting was the consent of the bride herself to the plans. he then spoke again of the reward to be paid to ichabod. roy declared that this should be made out immediately. once again, captain icky protested against the payment, but without much heart in his objections, and finally, after mumbling something as to the time lost from his fishing, he consented to receive the amount. but on a condition. he stipulated that the check should be made out to sarah porter, and that in the left-hand corner there should be written the words:

"in lieu of all other pre-nuptals."

the fisherman gave it as his positive opinion that this would clinch the matter for the following day.

"anyhow," he added grimly, "if it don't, i'll be dogged if she gits it!"

when the yacht reached beaufort, the party went ashore, for it had been decided that ethel should be cared for at the inlet hotel, where, if need be, she might prove of service in persuading sarah into meeting the ardent ichabod's wishes.

the hostess greeted the girl warmly, and fussed over her with a maternal solicitude that promised well for the fisherman's hopes in the matter of grandchildren. then, when she had seen her guest comfortably installed, sarah returned to the porch, where ichabod, armed with the check, was anxiously awaiting her.

"oh," she exclaimed tenderly, "i'm so glad you have returned safely! i've really worried about you. i was afraid that dreadful man might do something terrible if you came upon him unexpectedly."

"no, sir," was the spirited retort; "there ain't nothin' kin git me now but you!"

the gallant remark so pleased the spinster that she patted his hand affectionately, as they sat down side by side on a porch settee.

ichabod braced himself for the encounter. he felt that there was to be no shilly-shally now. moreover, his backbone was amazingly stiffened by the five-thousand-dollar check. he meant business! besides, it would never do to disappoint his new friends. he was going to make that honeymoon-trip, or "bust!"

"sarah," he began, "do ye remember as how in the old days i was always said to be a man o' very few words?"

"why, yes, ichabod," sarah agreed—perhaps a little doubtful, "come to think about it i believe you were. but what's agitating of you to-night? there seems to be something heavy-like on your mind."

"thar is, sary—somethin' mighty big an' i reckin as how you'll think it sudden. but that's the only way to do—jest speak right plumb out an' have it over."

his hearer paled slightly. she had a horrid suspicion that her lover had backslidden, that he meant to return to his hermit life on the island, and was here now to jilt her.

"of course, ye understand that me an' you are promised to wed?" ichabod went on.

"yes," came the faltered response.

"wall, thar ain't but one thing now as i see it that is a-standin' in the way, an' that is them-thar pre-nuptals you mentioned when i wanted to hurry things a leetle. now, what i'm a-comin' to is this: i'm mighty well aware that them things takes time an' costs money. in lieu o' them as the lawyers say i'm servin' ye with this"—he extended the check—"an' we'll fix the hull thing up in the mornin', an' sail no'th in the evenin' on my new york friend's yacht, for our after-nuptals. but, consarn ye! thar's jest one other condition: sure as shootin', ye'll have to pay our way back!"

sarah took the check to the light. she gasped as she read the four figures. there was awe in her voice as she pronounced the words aloud:

"five-thousand dollars!"

then, after a moment, she questioned seriously:

"ichabod, are ye goin' to build the addition on the hotel besides?"

the old fisherman nodded emphatically.

"that," he stoutly declared, "was a gentleman's promise!"

sarah capitulated.

"ichabod jones, i ought to call you a triflin' rascal for starting in to scare me like you've done. anyhow, i jest can't make it earlier than eleven-thirty. will that do?"

the fisherman's reply was to take sarah in his arms. roy and van dusen in the hotel lobby hailed the smack that followed as a signal of the wooer's success.