"I am here, at Mistress Quinton's service."
M. de Perrencourt (to call him still by his chosen name) came forward and groped his way to my arm, whispering in French,
"All is easy. Be gentle with her. Why, she turns to you of her own accord! All will go smoothly."
"You may be sure of it, sir," I said. "Will you leave her with me?"
"Yes," he answered. "I can trust you, can't I?"
"I may be trusted to death," I answered, smiling behind the mist's kind screen.
Barbara was by his side now; with a bow he drew back. I traced him as he went towards where Lie stood, and I heard a murmur of voices as he and the helmsman spoke to one another. Then I heard no more, and lost sight of him in the thick close darkness. I put out my hand and felt for Barbara's; it came straight to mine.
"You—you'll stay with me?" she murmured. "I'm frightened, Simon."
As she spoke, I felt on my cheek the cold breath of the wind. Turning my full face, I felt it more. The breeze was rising, the sails flapped again, Thomas Lie's boat buffeted the waves with a quicker beat. When I looked towards her, I saw her face, framed in mist, pale and wet with tears, beseeching me. There at that moment, born in danger and nursed by her helplessness, there came to me a new feeling, that was yet an old one; now I knew that I would not leave her. Nay, for an instant I was tempted to abandon all effort and drift on to the French shore, looking there to play my own game, despite of her and despite of King Louis himself. But the risk was too desperate.