"Miss Ascena, I think we both understand each other. I am afraid I have done very wrong in kidnapping you. Well, now, I am going to put a question to you, straight and fair. When the yacht slipped anchor at Brighton, I had a marriage-licence in our names, in a morocco case in my pocket, upon which any clergyman on the Continent is bound to act. It's no Gretna-Green business, I can assure you."
"I'll talk about it this afternoon, if I am well enough," I said, holding on to a rope (it was very rough), and, feeling myself turning deadly pale.
"Are you married already?" he asked, with a something like a choking in his mouth.
"No, no, no," I cried. "I like you very much."
I got out of the general embarrassment by fainting away until I found myself in the Hotel Royal, Dieppe.
Again I pause to say that I fancy somehow I am making a mess of this story. To my list I have added an absolutely pointless and superfluous case of kidnapping, which would be unpleasant were it not ridiculous.
Well, the Doctor came, and said I was to have a large glass of port wine and a small glass of beef tea every ten minutes. This did me good. After a few hours of this treatment, feeling more communicative, I told Captain Charles all I have written here. I also explained to him my difficulty in carrying on my tale without a collaborateur.
He stooped over me, kissed me gently on the forehead, and said—
"Never mind, dearest. I will send for a curious old man from Strasburg, and have myself a shot at the story. Two pens are better than one."
I could only wonder how it would all end, and, vaguely hope for the best.