poop-rail she recognized Sir Oliver, and saw that he slept.
She never heeded the two Nubians immovable as statues who kept guard.
She continued to bend over him, and then gradually and very softly sank
down on her knees beside him. There were tears in her eyes--tears
wrung from her by a tender emotion of wonder and gratitude at so much
fidelity. She did not know that he had slept thus last night. But it
was enough for her to find him here now. It moved her oddly, profoundly,
that this man whom she had ever mistrusted and misjudged should even
when he slept make of his body a barrier for her greater security and
protection.

A sob escaped her, and at the sound, so lightly and vigilantly did he
take his rest, he came instantly if silently to a sitting attitude; and
so they looked into each other's eyes, his swarthy, bearded hawk face on
a level with her white gleaming countenance.

"What is it?" he whispered.

She drew back instantly, taken with sudden panic at that question. Then
recovering, and seeking womanlike to evade and dissemble the thing she
was come to do, now that the chance of doing it was afforded her--"Do
you think," she faltered, "that Lionel will have reached Sir John's
ship?"

He flashed a glance in the direction of the divan under the awning where
the Basha slept. There all was still. Besides, the question had been
asked in English. He rose and held out a hand to help her to her feet.
Then he signed to her to reenter the poop-house, and followed her
within.

"Anxiety keeps you wakeful?" he said, half-question, half-assertion.

"Indeed," she replied.

"There is scarce the need," he assured her. "Sir John will not be
like to stir until dead of night, that he may make sure of taking us
unawares. I have little doubt that Lionel would reach him. It is none
so long a swim. Indeed, once outside the cove he could take to the land
until he was abreast of the ship. Never doubt he will have done his
errand."

She sat down, her glance avoiding his; but the light falling on her face
showed him the traces there of recent tears.

"There will be fighting when Sir John arrives?" she asked him presently.

"Like enough. But what can it avail? We shall be caught--as was said
to-day--in just such a trap as that in which Andrea Doria caught Dragut
at Jerba, saving that whilst the wily Dragut found a way out for his
galleys, here none is possible. Courage, then, for the hour of your
deliverance is surely at hand.