"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--as your prisoner?" she whispered, trying weakly to free herself
from his hold.
Pages:
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350