of the tie: and as law never yet made a marriage happy which lacked the
elements of bliss, our lawless union need not have missed happiness.
Lesbia, you said that you would hold by me, come what might. The worst
has come, love; but it leaves me not the less your true lover.'

She looked at him with wild despairing eyes, and then, with a hoarse
strange cry, rushed from the cabin, and up the companion, with a
desperate swiftness which seemed like the flight of a bird. Montesma,
Hartfield, Maulevrier, all followed her, heedless of everything except
the dire necessity of arresting her flight. Each in his own mind had
divined her purpose.

They were not too late. It was Hartfield's strong arm that caught her,
held her as in a vice, dragged her away from the edge of the deck, just
where there was a space open to the waves. Another instant and she would
have flung herself overboard. She fell back into Lord Hartfield's arms,
with a wild choking cry: 'Let me go! Let me go!' Another moment, and a
flood of crimson stained his shirt-front, as she lay upon his breast,
with closed eyelids and blood-bedabbled lips, in blessed
unconsciousness.

They carried her on to the steam-yacht, and down to the cabin, where
there was ample accommodation and some luxury, although not the elegance
of Bond Street upholstery. Rilboche, Lady Kirkbank, Kibble, luggage of
all kinds were transferred from one yacht to the other, even to the
vellum bound Keats which lay face downwards on the deck, just where
Lesbia had flung it when the _Cayman_ was boarded. The crew of the
steam-yacht _Philomel_ helped in the transfer: there were plenty of
hands, and the work was done quickly; while the Meztizoes, Yucatekes,
Caribs, or whatever they were, looked on and grinned; and while Montesma
stood leaning against the mast, with folded arms and sombre brow, a
cigarette between his lips.

When the women and all their belongings were on board the _Philomel_,
Lord Hartfield addressed himself to Montesma.

'If you consider yourself entitled to call me to account for this
evening's work you know where to find me,' he said.

Montesma shrugged his shoulders, and threw away his cigarette with a
contemptuous gesture.

_'Ce n'est pas la peine,'_ he said; 'I am a dead shot, and
should be pretty sure to send a bullet through you if you gave me
the chance; but I should not be any nearer winning her if I killed
you: and it is she and she only that I want. You may think me