"I shall always obey you," she replied—"always, always—so long as you do not again leave me alone in Fort Beatrix."
"William Trigget was there," he ventured. "And Maggie Stone."
She laughed at that. "Poor Maggie!" she sighed. "Poor Maggie! She will rate me soundly for my boldness. She has ever a thousand discourses on the proprieties ready on the tip of her tongue."
"Ah, the proprieties," murmured Bernard, as if caught by a new and somewhat disconcerting idea. "Rip me, but I've never given them a thought!"
Beatrix laughed delightedly. "You must not let them trouble you now," she said. "When we get back to Bristol, I will guard myself with a dozen staid companions, and—" She paused, and blushed crimson. "I forget that I am penniless," she added.
Kingswell's left hand closed over hers where it lay in her lap. "How long, think you, shall you stand in need of chaperons in Bristol?" he asked.
The three boats sought shelter in a tiny, hidden bay, and Kingswell, Mistress Westleigh, Ouenwa, and Tom Bent made an overland trip to a wooded hill overlooking Wigwam Harbour. There lay the Heart of the West, close in at her old anchorage after the day's fishing. Work was going briskly forward on the stages at the edge of the tide. The other vessels, which were much smaller than Trowley's command, lay nearer the mouth of the river harbour. The declining sun stained spars and furled sails to a rosy tint above the green water.
"Hark!" whispered Kingswell, touching the girl's arm, as she crouched beside him in the fringe of spruces.
A bellowing voice, loud and harsh in abuse, reached their ears.
"'Tis Trowley," he said, and chuckled. "How will he sound to-night, I wonder?"