That evening, for the second time in obedience to a fierce demand from Lauré, Hester Pugh crept timidly on deck as soon as it was dark, and then repenting of her venture she was about to retreat when she felt a grasp like steel clasp her wrist, and in a low voice that made her shudder Lauré began to upbraid her, speaking passionately of his love, and telling her that it was his wish to win her by his tenderness, and not by force, while she in turn told him of his cruelties, and piteously pleaded for mercy.
“Yes,” he said at last, “the same mercy that you have had on me,” and flinging his arms round her he drew her shuddering form tightly to his breast.
“Make a sound,” he hissed in her ear, “and you slay Dutch Pugh, perhaps all here on board except my party. Be silent and you shall be my happy, loving wife, a princess in wealth and station.”
Maddened by her position, Hester struggled fiercely and lettered a stifled cry for help, and at the same moment almost there came the sound of approaching feet, followed by the sound of a blow; and half fainting, she found herself loosened from the arms that held her, and ran, how she never knew, to her cabin, to fall exhausted into Bessy Studwick’s arms.
“Lock the door, lock the door!” she panted, clinging tightly to her friend. “Oh Bessy, Bessy, if I could but die.”
Bessy locked the door, and returned wondering to Hester’s side.
“Hester, darling, your husband must be a perfect monster,” she cried, taking the sobbing woman in her arms.
“No, no, no,” wailed Hester, “he is all that is good and noble and true, but he thinks me wicked.”
“How dare he treat you like this, if he does!” cried Bessy, indignantly, as she smoothed Hester’s dishevelled hair.
“No, no, no, it was not he,” panted Hester.