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 schooner that trusted us. We'll have to do something."

"I know," Joan said again; "but we can't."

"What do you suppose they've done to Fogger and Mudder? Have they killed them, Joan?" His voice went up unsteadily at the end.

"No, no!" Joan cried. "They're just holding them somewhere, perhaps in a boat. I don't know. That—that creature said they were safe. But I don't know whether he told the truth," she murmured to herself.

It was still again. Joan felt that her head would burn up. Her hands and feet were cold, but her head throbbed and whirled.

Garth spoke again.

"If I came to you, do you think that I could untie you, Joan?"

"No," she said. "There are hundreds of knots, knotted and twisted and turned. No one could, especially in the dark. Besides, you couldn't come to me. And aren't your own hands tied?"

"Yes."

"Behind you, or in front of you?"

"Behind my back."

"You couldn't possibly untie me, belovéd."