“Good-night, my lord.”
We parted, and thus began the vigil of the night.
CHAPTER XXI.
OF THE VOYAGE OF LUCILLE.
Beneath the rock I had selected as our shelter for the night I kindled a fire, and the wind, taking the smoke away, made the place comfortable. The heat served to dry our garments and warmed our chilled blood. Lucille clung to me, trembling with the recollection of all she had passed through, and I held her in my arms and bade her be of better cheer, for the worst was now past.
“You had a long voyage,” I said, for I did not know how to begin so that she might tell me of the cruise of the Eagle.
“And a terrible one,” she answered, with a shudder. “Oh, Edward, my love, I thought never to see you again, and I wished myself dead a hundred times. There was naught but fear and misery in my heart, but now--now--I am so very happy. Yet not altogether happy, Edward.”
“And why?” I asked.
“Because I think of the morrow.”
“So you fear for me, my sweet?”
“Much, Edward, for he is a terrible man.”