e shut her eyes and
set herself to endure.

But the pain was almost insupportable; it seemed to rack her whole body.
And the presence of the man she feared, his nearness to her, his touch,
added tenfold to the torture. Yet she was helpless, and, spent,
exhausted though she was, for very pride she would utter no complaint.

Minutes passed. She was near to fainting again, when abruptly Pierre
stood up. She heard him move, and she was conscious of a blessed
lessening of the pain. But she dared not stir or open her eyes, lest her
self-control should forsake her utterly. She could only lie and wait in
quivering suspense.

He bent over her without speaking, and suddenly she felt the rim of a
glass against her lips. With a start she looked up. His swarthy face was
close to her own, but it was grimly immobile. He seemed to have clad
himself from head to foot in an impenetrable armour of reserve. His lips
were set in a firm line, as though all speech were locked securely
behind them.

Mutely she obeyed his unspoken command and drank. The draught was unlike
anything she had ever tasted before. It revived her, renewing her
failing strength.

"I thank you, monsieur," she said faintly.

He set down the glass, and busied himself once more with her wounded
hand.

"I shall not hurt you any further," he said, as involuntarily she
winced.

And he kept his word. The worst of his task was over. He only bathed and
bandaged with a gentleness and dexterity at which she marvelled.

At last he looked at her.

"You are better?" he asked.

She met his eyes for an instant. They were absolutely steady, but they
told her nothing whatever of his thoughts.

"Yes, I am better," she said, with an effort.

"Can you walk?" he said.

"I think so, monsieur."

"Then come with me," he rejoined, "and I will show you where you can
rest."

She sat up slowly. He bent to help her, but she would not accept his
help till, rising to her feet, she felt the floor sway beneath her.
Then, with a sharp exclamation, she clutched for support and gripped his
proffered arm.

"Monsieur!" she gasped.

He held her up, for she was tottering. Her pale face stared
panic-stricken up to his.

"Monsieur!" she gasped again. "What is this? Where am I?"

He made answer curtly, in a tone that sounded repressive.

"You are on board my yacht, mademoiselle." She swayed, and he put his
arm round her. "You are in safety," he said, in the same brief fashion.

"As