“Edward! Oh, my God! Edward!” she screamed, and then she fell in a senseless heap at the foot of the mast.
I sprang toward her, as did Sir George, dropping the planks. We were at her side together.
“Curse you!” he cried. “Have you come back from death to take her from me again?”
“Even from death,” I said. “Even from death, my lord. I come, not to claim her, but to kill you. For she was mine by every right of heaven and earth, and you took her from me.”
“I loved her first,” he almost shouted the words. “And she is mine now by the rights of man; that of possession. Make the most of that, you witch-traitor.”
“You shall answer for your words later,” I said.
So we stood thus, perchance while a man might have counted a score slowly. Around us was the waste of waters. Under our feet the quivering Eagle, that was like to go to pieces every second. Between us, as pale as death, was Lucille, the cause of both of us being there. Perhaps she was dead, and our bitter words were spoken in vain.
The seas were calm for a little time while thus we stood, or we must have all been washed into the waves.
Then I saw the hand of Sir George steal to his sword. I clapped mine to my side only to meet with nothing. He smiled.
A wave lifted the Eagle, and after it had passed the craft settled down more deeply in the water. We both started.