I stood where no motive of prudence could reach and
no fear restrain me. If I were caught, the grave or a French prison
would be my fate; to get clear off, he might suppose that I should count
even the most august life in Christendom well taken. Yet he had leapt,
and, before heaven, I feared that I had killed him. If it were so, I
must set Barbara in safety, and then follow him where he was gone; there
would be no place for me among living men, and I had better choose my
own end than be hunted to death like a mad dog. These thoughts spun
through my brain as my arms drove the blades into the water, on an
aimless course through the mist, till the mass of the ship utterly
disappeared, and we three were alone on the sea. Then the fear overcame
me. I rested on my oars, and leaning over to where Barbara sat in the
stern, I shaped with awe-struck lips the question--"Is he dead? My God,
is he dead?"

She sat there, herself, as it seemed, half-dead. But at my words she
shivered and with an effort mastered her relaxed limbs. Slowly she
dropped on her knees by the King and raised his head in her arms. She
felt in her bosom and drew out a flask of salts, which she set to his
nostrils. I watched his face; the muscles of it contracted into a
grimace, then were smoothed again to calmness; he opened his eyes.
"Thank God," I muttered to myself; and the peril to him being gone by, I
remembered our danger, and taking out my pistol looked to it, and sat
dangling it in my hand.

Barbara, still supporting the King's head, looked up at me.

"What will become of us?" she asked.

"At least we shan't be married in Calais," I answered with a grim smile.

"No," she murmured, and bent again over the King.

Now his eyes were wide-opened, and I fixed mine on them. I saw the
return of consciousness and intelligence; the quick glance that fell on
me, on the oars, on the pistol in my hand, witnessed to it. Then he
raised himself on his elbow, Barbara drawing quickly away, and so rested
an instant, regarding me still. He drew himself up into a sitting
posture, and seemed as though he would rise to his feet. I raised the
pistol and pointed it at him.

"No higher, if you please," said I. "It's a matter of danger to walk
about in so small a boat, and you came near to upsetting us before."

He turned his head and saw Barbara, then gazed round on the sea. No sail
was to be seen, and the fog still screened the boat in impenetrable
solitude. The sight