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 terrible, and her reliance
upon Pierre's good faith increased daily. Somehow, unaccountably, she
had wholly ceased to regard him as an enemy. Possibly her fears and even
her antagonism were only dormant, but at least they did not torment her.
She did not start at the sound of his voice, or shrink from the straight
regard of those hard eyes. She knew by that instinct that cannot err
that he meant to keep his word.
They left the regions of endless summer behind at last, and the cooler
breezes of the north swept the long, blue ridges over which they
travelled. They came into a more frequented, less dreamlike sea, but
though many vessels passed them, they were seldom near enough for
greeting. And Stephanie came to understand that it was not Pierre's
desire to hold much converse with the outer world. Yet she knew that
they were heading straight for England, and their isolation was bound
ere long to come to an end.
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