"Why then, what's amiss?" I questioned as we went on again and I very conscious of her hand yet upon my arm.
"I know not," she sighed, "'tis the stillness, mayhap, the loneliness and dreadful solitude, I feel as though some danger threatened."
"A storm, belike," says I, glancing round about us and across the placid sea.
"O Martin, 'tis hateful to be a woman! Why should I fear thus and no reason, 'tis folly!" And here she must pause to stamp her foot at herself. "And yet I do fear!" says she after a while. "O Martin, glad am I to have man like you beside me."
"Though another man might serve as well!" says I, "Of course?"
"Of course, Martin!"
At this I turned to scowl at the placid sea again.
"Any man?" says I at last.
"O Martin, no—how foolish under grow—'any man' might be evil as Black Bartlemy."
"I've heard I am much like him in looks."