Lucille took from her bosom a paper, all crumpled and stained and wet from the sea water. By the dim light of the fire I saw that it was the pardon she had obtained. I kissed it, for it was my first love letter from Lucille, verily a strange one. I would have kept it, but she said she would hold it until we reached some safe place, as it might yet be needed.
“We sailed on,” related Lucille, “until it grew dark, and then, in fright, I called from the cabin to know when we would land and find you. ‘Presently,’ answered Sir George, and I waited, with small patience. Simon lighted a lantern, so that its beams fell upon Sir George, as he stood at the helm. ‘Is it not true, my lord?’ I called to him. ‘Presently,’ he said again, and he smiled. In that smile I saw the trick he had played.
“I stood before him then, and, though I feared him, I demanded that he instantly set me ashore. At that he only smiled once more, and called to Simon to make sail.
“‘Put me ashore, my lord, as you are a gentleman and a soldier,’ I pleaded. ‘I had rather be alone in the woods than here with you.’ ‘You shall go ashore in good season,’ he said. I begged and pleaded with him, until his smiles became frowns. Seeing that it was useless to beg him to release me, I cried out that I would throw myself into the sea. I ran to the rail, but Simon sprang after me and dragged me back. Sir George gave the tiller over to him, and, standing before me, said:
“‘Lucille, I pray you to forgive me for what I have done, but I cannot let you go, now that I have found you again. Captain Amherst has not escaped; he does not wait for you, hiding in the woods. Ere this ’tis likely that he is no longer alive. But I am alive, I am here, and, Lucille, I love you. I have waited and searched for you many years,’ he went on, ‘and now I will not let you go. As there is a God above us I mean you no wrong. But I love you, oh, how I love you!’”
I must have shown the feeling in my heart as Lucille repeated the words of Sir George.
“Heed not his words, Edward,” she said; “they were only words to me. He said we would sail far away from New England, to the New Jersey Colony, where he had friends. ‘There,’ he said, ‘you will have learned to care for me. And, if you do not, we will go down into the depths of the sea together, for, if I cannot have you in life I will have you in death.’
“Oh, how I was frightened, my love, but I thought of you, and how brave you were, and that gave me courage. I told Sir George I would never love him, in life nor death, and I said I would not even die with him, so much did I hate him. I said I would appeal for help to the first person I met when I reached shore. Whereat he laughed and said it would be many days ere we touched land. Then he begged me to enter the cabin, which had been fitted up with some degree of comfort, saying that he would not intrude himself upon me. More to escape him than because I was weary, I went down, and bolted the door.”
Then Lucille told me of the long voyage that followed. Sir George was like a madman with one idea in his head. He never sailed near shore, save when supplies were needed, and then Simon rowed to the beach in a small boat. The two men were most gentle to her, and once, when Simon had grumbled at taking the meals to her in the cabin, Sir George felled him to the deck with a blow. After that the sailor had little to say. Sir George and his man steered the craft by turns, and the master stopped at no task, however mean, performing all, as did the man. To such will love or its counterfeit go.
On they sailed, and never once did Lucille, by any chance, get near enough a passing vessel, or within distance of shore, so as to make a cry heard.