Great dread possessed him. Storm and chase were light perils, not to be
compared with her displeasure, her mere displeasure, irrespective of how
she might exert it. With heavy grief had he borne late estrangement, and
her severe chastisement of offence. Were his limbs but for his own
service, lightly, so soon as they were able, had he risked them again to
worship his love and seek grace. Alas! she could not know that loyal, and
strong, and tender his devotion held; she would but see an insolent and
base return, meriting final condemnation. Helpless rages of grief urged
him to break from all bonds, and plunge headlong to engage her wrath or
her mercy. He cast on the sleepers then a thought, with ugly mirth,
mocking the control of his old enemy in his heart.

How would she take the forfeit! With her rocks and waves she had broken
him once, and the surrender of all his bones to them in despair he had
firmly contemplated; but human flesh and spirit shrank from horrors
unknown, that she might summon for vengeance. Could he but see what
lurked below.

Spite of the ripe mutiny in him he minded his watch, and swept the
horizon momently with due attention. The day altered as the slow hours
dragged: a thin film travelled up the clear sky; the sun took a faint
double halo, while the sea darkened to a heavy purple. He knew the signs:
small chance was there now of a stormless night. Not two hours of full
daylight were left when below the sun rose a sail. His hopes and fears
took little hold on it, for as yet it was but a speck; and he knew that
before it could close darkness would be upon them, and belike storm also.

With a desperate remedy before his eyes a devil's word was in his ears:
the League makes good all loss. Foul play? Nay, but had not the League by
Philip played him foul first, with injury not to be made good. And those
for whose sake he had owed regard for his wretched life would be bettered
by his loss.

When Philip rose up from sleep a blackness stood upon the distant sea,
threatening the sun; the chill wind had dropped, but a heavy, sullen
swell insisted of a far-off tyranny advancing. To him no sail showed, but
Christian flung him word of it, and his sinking heart caught at high
hope.

Then, since their vigil was soon to pass, Philip dared greatly; for he
bade Christian sleep, set hand himself to sail and tiller, glided in past
the buoys, and rocked at trespass.

'It is safer so, should the haze part,' he