"Whence come you?" she asked the woman.

"From France, lady. This ship put in at Marseilles, and there I
was hired to nurse one who lay sick, which suited me very well,
as I wished to go to Jerusalem to seek my husband, and good money
was offered me. Still, had I known that they were all Saracens on
this ship, I am not sure that I should have come--that is, except
the captain, Sir Hugh, and the palmer Nicholas; though what they,
or you either, are doing in such company I cannot guess."

"What is your name?" asked Rosamund idly.

"Marie--Marie Bouchet. My husband is a fishmonger, or was, until
one of those crusading priests got hold of him and took him off
to kill Paynims and save his soul, much against my will. Well, I
promised him that if he did not return in five years I would come
to look for him. So here I am, but where he may be is another
matter."

"It is brave of you to go," said Rosamund, then added by an
afterthought, "How long is it since we left Marseilles?"

Marie counted on her fat fingers, and answered:

"Five--nearly six weeks. You have been wandering in your mind all
that time, talking of many strange things, and we have called at
three ports. I forget their names, but the last one was an island
with a beautiful harbour. Now, in about twenty days, if all goes
well, we should reach another island called Cyprus. But you must
not talk so much, you must sleep. The Saracen called Hassan, who
is a clever doctor, told me so."

So Rosamund slept, and from that time forward, floating on the
calm Mediterranean sea, her strength began to come back again
rapidly, who was young and strong in body and constitution.
Three days later she was helped to the deck, where the first man
she saw was Hassan, who came forward to greet her with many
Eastern salutations and joy written on his dark, wrinkled face.

"I give thanks to Allah for your sake and my own," he said. "For
yours that you still live whom I thought would die, and for
myself that had you died your life would have been required at my
hands by Salah-ed-din, my master."

"If so, he should have blamed Azrael, not you," answered
Rosamund, smiling; then suddenly turned cold, for before her was
Sir Hugh Lozelle, who also thanked Heaven that she had recovered.
She listened to him coldly, and presently he went away, but soon
was at her side again. Indeed, she could never be free of him,
for whenever she appeared on deck he was there, nor could he be
repelled