They carried me to a shed in the great court of Gleys, and set me on straw: and there, till far into the afternoon, I lay betwixt swooning and trembling, while Delia bath’d my head in water from the sea, for no other was to be had. And about four in the afternoon the horror left me, so that I sat up and told my story pretty steadily.
“What of the house?” I ask’d, when the tale was done, and a company sent to search the east cliff from the beach.
“All perish’d!” said Delia, and then smiling, “I am houseless as ever, Jack.”
“And have the same good friends.”
“That’s true. But listen—for while you have lain here, Billy and I have put our heads together. He is bound for Brest, he says, and has agreed to take me and such poor chattels as are saved, to Brittany, where I know my mother’s kin will have a welcome for me, until these troubles be pass’d. Already the half of my goods is aboard the Godsend, and a letter writ to Sir Bevill, begging him to appoint an honest man as my steward. What think you of the plan?”
“It seems a good plan,” I answer’d slowly: “the England that now is, is no place for a woman. When do you sail?”
“As soon as you are recovered, Jack.”
“Then that’s now.” I got on my feet, and drew on my boots (that Matt. Soames had found in the laurel bushes and brought). My knees trembled a bit, but nothing to matter.
“Art looking downcast, Jack.”
Said I: “How else should I look, that am to lose thee in an hour or more?”