“Lucy,” said Sylvester, “there’s one thing you must let me say. I know you gave your life for mine, quite as much as if we’d been under fire, and you had waited to help me out.”
“Oh no, I didn’t,” said Lucian. “I let go because I thought there was no good in killing two people instead of one. I was done for before that. What! the pony carriage come round? Let me rest for five minutes, Syl, and then we’ll go.” Lucian was helped into the pony carriage, and Sylvester sat beside him, and drove along a lovely sunny road with a wide view of the blue sparkling sea. They did not talk much more, only Lucian made his companion notice each point of interest, and very observant eyes he had for bird or flower, picturesque costume, or strangely-shaped boat dancing on the water—the traveller’s keen eyes for the characteristics of a new country.
Suddenly the keen eyes fixed themselves, and he started half upright, and laid a detaining hand on the reins.
“There she is!” he said, breathlessly.
Sylvester saw a tall young lady, in a grey dress, coming along the road towards them; but his sight was shorter than Lucian’s, and only a lover’s instant insight made him say—“Amethyst? Impossible!”
“No—they are somewhere in these parts. Stop, Syl! She is coming.”
Sylvester pulled up short, sprang out, and went to meet her.
“Miss Haredale,” he said, desperately, “Lucian is here. He has seen you; will you come and speak to him?”
“Here!” ejaculated Amethyst. “Oh yes—if he wishes it. I hope he is better?”
She came up to the side of the carriage, and Lucian raised himself, and looked up in her face.