It is marvel to us now how the next hours of suspense did pass. Yet pass they did, and in a joy that was fairly certitude; for I could not doubt the witness of my inmost soul. At length I saw that Marc believed also. His grave, dark face grew luminous as he said, after long balancing of the matter:

“Her eyes, my Paul, have opened at the last instant, and she has chosen exile with thee! Even so would Prudence have done. And seeing how thou, my comrade, lovest her, I am ready to believe she may be almost such another as Prudence. Wherefore she is here, quod erat demonstrandum!”

Even as he spoke, a soldier came down the ladder and stood before us.

“I am bidden to say,” said he, “that Mademoiselle de Lamourie desires to see Captain de Mer and Captain Grande on deck; and I am ordered by Lieutenant Shafto to fetch you at once.”

With such haste as was possible—it is not easy when handcuffed to climb ladders—we made our way on deck, and straight came Yvonne running to meet us, both small hands outstretched. Her eyes sank into mine for just one heart-beat—and that look said, “I love you.” Then her guarded face grew maidenly impartial.

“My friends! My dear friends!” she cried; but stopped as if she had been struck. Our hands had not gone forth to meet hers. Her eyes fell upon our fetters. She turned slowly toward Captain Eliphalet and Lieutenant Shafto, who had followed close behind her. Flame gathered in her eyes, and a dark flush of indignation went over her face. She pointed at our handcuffs.

“This to my friends—in my presence!” she cried. “Of a truth your courtesy is tempered, gentlemen!”

With an angry exclamation Captain Eliphalet sprang forward to remove the offending irons; but the exquisite lieutenant was too quick for him. At a sign the guard who had brought us slipped them off, and stood holding them behind his back, while his officer was left free to make apologies.

These were abundant, and of such a tone as to leave no doubt of their sincerity. Moreover, by his manner, he included Marc and myself in his expressions of regret, which proved sound policy on his part, and went far to win his pardon from Yvonne.

“Believe me, mademoiselle,” he concluded, “it was never for one moment intended that these gentlemen, your friends, officers in the French army, and therefore, though my enemies, yet honoured members of my own profession, should thus obtrude upon your gentle eyes those chains, with which not their fault, but the chances of our profession have for a season embarrassed them.”

This was so apt and so elegant a conclusion that Captain Eliphalet felt himself urged to some great things, if he would not be quite eclipsed in his guest’s entrancing eyes.

“Indeed, mademoiselle,” he made haste to say, “as these gentlemen are your friends and kinsmen, and you have dared so splendidly for their sake, they may say good-by to the irons for the rest of the voyage, if they will but give their word of honour that they will in no way use their liberty to the detriment of my duties and responsibilities, nor to free any of the other prisoners.

He turned to us with a very hearty air. Yvonne looked radiant with satisfaction. Lieutenant Shafto’s face dropped—for he doubtless thought our continued freedom would much limit his privileges with Yvonne. But I spoke up at once, forestalling Marc.

“I need hardly assure you, Monsieur le Capitaine, that we do from our hearts appreciate your most generous courtesy. But beyond the few hours of freedom which we dare hope you may grant us each day, for the priceless solace of our fair kinswoman’s company, we cannot in conscience accept a favour that would too enviably distinguish us from our fellows.”

Captain Eliphalet looked unaffectedly astonished. Yvonne looked hurt and disappointed for a moment; then her face changed, and I saw that her swift brain was drawing intricate inferences from this strange rejection of parole—to which Marc had assented in a word. As for the elegant Mr. Shafto, however, he was frankly delighted.

“Right soldierly said, gentlemen!” he exclaimed. “A good officer stands by his men. I am honoured in meeting you!” and with a very precise civility he shook hands with us in turn.

“But it is very cold here, is it not?” cried Yvonne, with a little shiver, pulling her cloak close. “Let me invite you all to my cabin.”

This invitation she gave with a flying radiance of look at Captain Eliphalet, wherewith he stood a millionfold rewarded.

In the cabin I was not greatly astonished, though more than greatly pleased, to find Mother PÊche. The undisguised triumph in her eyes said, “Didn’t I tell you?”—and in involuntary response to the challenge I thrust my hand into my breast and felt the little deerskin pouch containing the tress of hair and the mystic stone. She smiled at the gesture.

I pressed the dear old witch’s hand, and said in a low voice:

“In all my life to come I cannot thank you enough. But isn’t it wonderful? I’m in fear each moment of waking, and to find it a dream.”

“She is a dream, Master Paul!” said the old dame. “And see how all men dream when they look upon her!”

With a jealous pang I realized the truth of what she said; and thereupon I made haste to Yvonne’s side, where I saw Marc, Shafto, and Captain Eliphalet all hanging devoutly upon her words. I was but a dull addition to the sprightly circle, for I was wondering how I should manage to get a word with her.

Had I but known her better I need not have wondered. Presently she broke off in the midst of a sparkling tirade, laid her hand upon my arm, and said:

“Will you pardon me, gentlemen, but I have a brief word awaiting the ear of Captain Grande,” and calmly she walked me off to the cabin door.

“I presumed, perhaps too hastily, that you still wanted me, dear,” was what she said.

I dared not look straight at her, for I knew that if I did so my face would be a flaunting proclamation of my worship. I could but say, in a voice that strove for steadiness:

“Beloved, beloved! have you done all this for me?”

A happy mirth came into her voice as she answered:

“No, Paul, not quite all for you! I had to think a little of a certain good man, madly bent on marrying a woman who would, alas! (I know it too well) have made him a most unpleasant wife. George Anderson will never know what I saved him from. But you may, Paul! Aren’t you a little bit afraid?”

I am well aware that in this supreme moment I betrayed no originality whatever. I could only repeat myself, in expressions which I need not set down. Trite as they were, however, she forgave them.

“We have so much to talk about, dear,” she said, “but not now. We must go back to the others; and I must take your cousin Marc aside as I have done with you, so that this won’t look too strange. Does he like me—approve of me?” she asked anxiously.

“Second only to his little Puritan he loves you,” said I. “He knows everything.”

Then, just as we turned back to the others, I whispered in her ear:

“Be prepared for events to-night!”

She gave me a startled look, understanding at once. Then indeed, as now, whatever is in my mind she is apt to read as if it were an open book.

“So soon? Oh, be careful for my sake!”

I could give no answer, for by this, the cabin being small, we were quite returned from our privacy.

For perhaps two hours Yvonne entertained us, not only conversing herself with a gracious wit that struck but to illumine, never to wound, but calling forth a responsive alertness in her cavaliers. Captain Eliphalet began to wonder at his own readiness of repartee and compliment. Lieutenant Shafto forgot the perfect propriety of his ruffles, engrossed for once in another than himself. Even my imperturbable Marc yielded in some measure to the resistless bewilderment, and played the gallant with a quaint, fatherly air that pleasured me. I, only, was the silent one. I could but listen, intoxicated, speaking when I could not escape it, and my ears averse to all words but those coming from her lips.

By and by—I was vexed that his discretion should bring the moment so soon—Marc made his adieux, insisting against much protest that he desired to keep his welcome unworn for the morrow. I could do naught save follow his example; but as I withdrew, Yvonne’s eyes held me so that my feet in going moved like lead. The broad-bearded captain and the impeccable lieutenant most civilly accompanied us to the door of our prison.

“This situation, gentlemen,” said Marc, with a smile of careless amusement, “which your courtesy does so sweeten for us, is certainly not without the relish of strangeness.”

“It shall be made as little strange as lies in our power to make it, sir,” replied Captain Eliphalet heartily; and we parted with all expressions of esteem; not till their backs were turned upon us did we extend our wrists for the irons, which the discreet guard had kept hidden under the flap of his great-coat.