"You do not ask me for any account of my adventures," she said quietly, after watching his perplexed expression in silence for some time.
Her tone almost startled him, its unassumed cheerfulness was so unlooked for.
"No," he answered. "I thought you were too overwrought to talk of them at present."
"Overwrought! Not a bit of it! I was dead beat with the struggle and with screaming for you, but please don't imagine that I am going to faint or treat you to a display of hysteria now that all the excitement has ended. I admit that I cried a little when you pushed me aside on the beach and raised your gun to fire at those poor wretches flying for their lives. Yet perhaps I was wrong to hinder you."
"You were wrong," he gravely interrupted.
"Then you should not have heeded me. No, I don't mean that. You always consider me first, don't you? No matter what I ask you to do you endeavor to please me, even when you know all the time that I am acting or speaking foolishly."
The unthinking naïveté of her words sent the blood coursing wildly through his veins.
"Never mind," she went on with earnest simplicity. "God has been very good to us. I cannot believe that He has preserved us from so many dangers to permit us to perish miserably a few hours, or days, before help comes. And I do want to tell you exactly what happened."
"Then you shall," he answered. "But first drink this." They had reached their camping-ground, and he hastened to procure a small quantity of brandy.
She swallowed the spirit with a protesting moue. She really needed no such adventitious support, she said.