"My horse?" she said quickly. "What became of him?"
"He was swept away by the tide!"
Into the proud eyes came a softer light—of regret, pain.
"Your Ladyship should remember it might have been worse," he added, in tones intended to reassure her. "After all, it was only a horse—"
"Only a horse!" she exclaimed indignantly. "But, I suppose you can't understand—caring for a horse!"
"I can understand caring for a ship!" he answered quickly, a flash of amusement, hardly concealed, in his bold, dark eyes.
"A ship!" scornfully; "dead wood and iron."
"Live wood and iron! Beautiful as—" The simile failed him; he looked at my lady. "Something to be depended on, with a hand to the wheel, and an eye keen for mad dancings and curvetings."
"I might appreciate them better," she interrupted dryly, with delicate brows uplifted, "an they brought me nearer to the Mount. That, and not idle opinions," in accents that conveyed surprise at the temerity of one in his position to express them, "is of most moment!"
He accepted the reproof with a readiness that further surprised her. "Your Ladyship is right," he said. "I will see what may be done. The storm has passed. There is yet daylight, and"—an expression, almost preoccupied, came to his features—"a boat may be sighted."