The day before the wedding was a jewel of a day, such as New England at her best can fling into the lap of early autumn.  A wind from the sea, flocks of white cloud scudding across the sapphire sky, and a sun all kindness—­such was the day.  It was never a “weather breeder” either; but steady, promising good for the morrow.

Many times during the week James and Chamberlain and Agatha had their heads together, planning surprises for the bridal pair.  The result was that on Tuesday Jim and Chamberlain borrowed the white motor-car, loaded it down with a large variety of junk, such as food from Sallie’s kitchen, flowers and so on, and started for Charlesport.  They ran down to the wharf, transferred their loot to the rowboat, and pulled out to the Sea Gull, swinging at her mooring in deep water.

A half-hour of work, and the yacht was dressed for festival.  There were strings of flags to stretch from bow to masthead and to stern; pennants for topmasts; the Stars and Stripes in beautiful silk for a standard, and a gorgeous banner with an embroidered A and M intertwined, for special occasions.  Flowers were placed in the cabins, and food in the lockers.  The seamen had been aboard, made the yacht clean and shipshape as a war vessel on parade, and had got permission to leave for their last night ashore.  Everything was in readiness, even to the laying of the fire in the engine hold.

The bride and groom were to come aboard the next day about noon, and cruise down the coast leisurely, as weather permitted.  Hand, in charge of the white motor-car, with Madame Reynier, Chamberlain, Agatha and Jimmy, were to start for New York, touring as long as their inclination lasted.  The sophisticated Lizzie was to travel to what was, for her, the center of the universe, by the fastest Pullman.

Jimmy and Chamberlain, on the way home from their visit to the Sea Gull, came very near being confidential.

“I want to say, Mr. Hambleton, that I shall never forgive myself for bungling about that Chatelard business.”

“As I understand the matter, it wasn’t your bungling, but the sheriff’s.”

“It’s all the same,” conceded Mr. Chamberlain mournfully.  “And in my opinion, the Frenchman’s not done with his tricks yet.  He’s a dangerous character, Mr. Hambleton.”

Jim laughed, remembering certain incidents on the Jeanne D’Arc.

“Do you know,” Chamberlain continued, “I’m convinced the bloomin’ beggar is hiding about here somewhere.  I’m glad Aleck is getting away.”

“I thought the evidence favored the theory that Chatelard had made straight for New York.”

“Not a bit of it.  Aleck and I let you all believe that, for the sake of the ladies.  But the evidence is all the other way.  We would surely have caught him if he had been on any of the New York trains.  I believe he’s about here and means mischief yet.”

“If he’s about here, there’s no doubt about the mischief.”