"and I will be trustworthy."

She knew it for a definite promise, however insolently expressed. It was
plain that he meant what he said. It was plain that he desired to win
her confidence. And in a measure she was reassured. His actions
testified to a patience of which she had not deemed him capable.

Slowly, in unconscious submission to his will, she laid her hand in his.

"And afterwards, monsieur?" she said. "Shall I be able to trust you
then?"

He leaned slightly towards her, looking more closely into her face.

Then: "All my life, Stephanie," he said, and before she realised his
intention he had pressed her hand to his lips with the action of a man
who seals an oath.

VIII

From that hour forward, Stephanie was no longer a close prisoner. She
was free to wander wherever she would about the yacht, but she never
penetrated very far. The vessel was no mere pleasure boat, and there was
much that might have interested her, had she been disposed to take an
interest therein. But she shrank with a morbid dread from the eyes of
the Spanish sailors. She longed unspeakably to hide herself away in
unbroken seclusion.

Her wound healed rapidly, so rapidly that Pierre soon ceased to treat
it, but it took much longer for her to recover from the effects of that
terrible night at Maritas. The horror of it was with her night and day.

Pierre's treatment of her never varied. He saw to her comfort with
unfailing vigilance and consideration, but he never attempted to obtrude
himself upon her. He seldom spoke to her unless she addressed him. He
never by word or look referred to the compact between them. Her fear of
him had sunk away into the background of her thoughts. Furtively she
studied him, but he gave her no cause for fear. When she sat on the
deck, he never joined her. He did not so much as eat with her till one
day, not without much inward trepidation, she invited him to do so. And
she marvelled, again and again she marvelled, at his forbearance.

Calmly and uneventfully the endless summer days slipped by. Her strength
was undoubtedly returning to her, the youth in her reviving. The long
rest was taking effect upon her. The overstrung nerves were growing
steady again. Often she would sit and ponder upon the future, but she
had no definite idea to guide her. At first she shrank unspeakably from
the bare thought of the end of the voyage, but gradually she became
accustomed to it. It seemed too remote to be terr