"She's gone," he muttered. "Forever."
"That's exceedingly unfortunate, sir, for you," I replied crisply. "As soon as it's perfectly safe, we'll see to it that you depart also."
The sting of my words apparently did not touch him.
"You don't understand," he said dully. "I know what you think, and I do not blame you. She came back; you know that.
"'You are coming with me,' she said. 'I care for you. I want you. You are coming with me, at once.' I told her I was not; that I loved her, but that I could not, would not, go.
"She opened a port and showed me one of her countrymen, standing not far away, watching the ship. He held something in his hand.
"'He has one of your hand bombs,' she told me. 'I found it while I was hidden and took it with me when I left. If you do not come with me, he will throw it against the ship, destroy it, and those within it.'
"There was nothing else for me to do. She permitted me to explain no more than I did in the note I left. I pleaded with her; did all I could. Finally I persuaded her to give you the word she did, there before the great flame.
"She brought me back here at the risk of her own life, and, what is even more precious to her, her power. In—in her own way, she loves me...."