It was Philip's voice. Her cheek had been cold the moment before; now she felt the blood tingling in her face. She slid to the floor, threw a shawl round her, and went to the casement.
The tapping began again. For a moment she could not open the window. She was trembling from head to foot. Philip's voice reassured her a little.
"Guida, Guida, open the window a moment."
She hesitated. She could not—no—she could not do it. He tapped still louder.
"Guida, don't you hear me?" he asked.
She undid the catch, but she had hardly the courage even yet. He heard her now, and pressed the window a little. Then she opened it slowly, and her white face showed.
"O Philip," she said breathlessly, "why have you frightened me so?"
He caught her hand in his own. "Come out into the garden, sweetheart," he said, and he kissed the hand. "Put on a dress and your slippers and come," he urged again.
"Philip," she said, "O Philip, I cannot! It is too late. It is midnight. Do not ask me. Why, why did you come?"
"Because I wanted to speak with you for one minute. I have only a little while. Please come outside and say good-bye to me again. We are sailing to-morrow—there's no doubt about it this time."