tonight
is like that storm. Its greatness terrifies me. Do you think that all
is well, monsieur?"

I was glad that she could not see my face. "Yes, I think that all is
very well," I answered. "Blessedly well. Sleep, now, madame. I shall
stay here, and your whisper would wake me. Is there terror in the
wilderness now?"

Again she shook her head. "No," she whispered.

I lay beside her couch and cushioned my head in my arm. I had answered
her truly. All was very well with me, for at last I saw clearly; I
knew myself. The dream, the night, and something that I could not
name, had stripped me naked to my own understanding. I felt as if, man
that I had thought myself, I had played with toys until this moment,
and that now, for the first time, I was conscious of my full power for
joy or suffering. I looked up through the star spaces and was grateful
for knowledge, for knowledge even if it brought pain.

I had not lain this way long when I heard her stir.

"Monsieur," came her whisper.

I lifted myself to my knees. "Yes, madame."

"You were not asleep?"

"No, madame."

"Monsieur, I was loath to disturb you, but I cannot sleep. Tell me.
Suppose that Lord Starling should find us. Will he have power to take
me?"

"Away from your husband? How could he, madame?"

She stirred, and turned her face from me, even though I could not see
it in the dark.

"But he has a warrant," she whispered. "The letter said that you must
deliver me to my cousin if we were found. What will be done with you,
monsieur, if you refuse to obey?"

Then I bent close and let her hear me laugh softly.

"I know of no warrant that applies to you," I murmured. "Cadillac's
letter mentioned an Englishman. I know of none such. I travel with a
woman, my wife, and commandants have naught to do with us. Was that
what was troubling you, madame?"

She bowed, and her breath came unevenly. Her right hand lay outside
the blanket, and I bent and touched it with my lips.

"How you hate Lord Starling! How you hate him!" I whispered. "I
wonder, can you love as singly? Can you love with as little care for
self and comfort and for all the fat conveniences of life? Madame, you
are a willful child to lie here and tilt at shadows when you should be
garnering strength by sleep. I promised you my sword and my name, and
I agreed that they should both be yours till of your own wish you
should send me away. Had you forgotten that I promis