I am very
sorry, of course, that it should have happened."

She was singularly collected, and spoke in a matter-of-fact voice.
Barebone's eyes gleamed suddenly; for she had aroused--perhaps
purposely--a pride which must have accumulated in his blood through
countless generations. She struck with no uncertain hand.

"Yes," he said, slowly; "it is to be regretted. Is it because I am the
son of a nameless father and only the mate of 'The Last Hope'?"

"If you were before the mast--" she answered--"if you were a King, it
would make no difference. It is simply because I do not care for you in
that way."

"You do not care for me--in that way," he echoed, with a laugh, which
made her move as if she were shrinking. "Well, there is nothing more to
be said to that."

He looked at her slowly, and then took off his cap as if to bid her
good-bye. But he forgot to replace it, and he went away with the cap in
his hand. She heard the clink of a chain as he loosed his boat.

CHAPTER X. IN THE ITALIAN HOUSE

The Abbe Touvent was not a courageous man, and the perspiration, induced
by the climb from the high-road up that which had once been the ramp to
the Chateau of Gemosac, ran cold when he had turned the key in the rusty
lock of the great gate. It was not a dark night, for the moon sailed
serenely behind fleecy clouds, but the shadows cast by her silvery light
might harbour any terror.

It is easy enough to be philosophic at home in a chair beside the lamp.
Under those circumstances, the Abbe had reflected that no one would rob
him, because he possessed nothing worth stealing. But now, out here in
the dark, he recalled a hundred instances of wanton murder duly recorded
in the newspaper which he shared with three parishioners in Gemosac.

He paused to wipe his brow with a blue cotton handkerchief before
pushing open the gate, and, being alone, was not too proud to peep
through the keyhole before laying his shoulder against the solid
and weather-beaten oak. He glanced nervously at the loopholes in the
flanking towers and upward at the machicolated battlement overhanging
him, as if any crumbling peep-hole might harbour gleaming eyes. He
hurried through the passage beneath the vaulted roof without daring
to glance to either side, where doorways and steps to the towers were
rendered more fearsome by heavy curtains of ivy.

The enceinte of the castle of Gemosac is three-sided, with four towers
jutting out at the corners,