Her eyes closed. He stooped over her in an anguish. One of the boat officials approached him.
"Madame ferait mieux de descendre, monsieur. La traversée ne sera pas bonne."
Delafield explained that the lady must have air, and was a good sailor. Then he pressed into the man's hand his three francs, and sent him for brandy and an extra covering of some kind. The man went unwillingly.
During the whole bustle of departure, Delafield saw nothing but Julie's helpless and motionless form; he heard nothing but the faint words by which, once or twice, she tried to convey to him that she was not unconscious.
The brandy came. The man who brought it again objected to Julie's presence on deck. Delafield took no heed. He was absorbed in making Julie swallow some of the brandy.
At last they were off. The vessel glided slowly out of the old harbor, and they were immediately in rough water.
Delafield was roused by a peremptory voice at his elbow.
"This lady ought not to stay here, sir. There is plenty of room in the ladies' cabin."
Delafield looked up and recognized the captain of the boat, the same man who, thirty-six hours before, had shown special civilities to the Duke of Chudleigh and his party.
"Ah, you are Captain Whittaker," he said.