She ate, and drank, and laughed. The colour came back to her cheeks, and the light to her eyes. The sunbeams caught her disordered curls, and played hide and seek in the golden web. Her voice was cool, but not icy, as on the previous evening, only cool, and fresh, and dainty, like the cool air that came in delicate wafts across the water. But time was flying, flying cruelly fast, he knew. Soon the sails of the _Good Hope_ would be in sight, and never again might he kneel so near his lady. Now or never, before this last chance was snatched from him, he must tell his tale. "Madam," he began, "this is, perhaps, the last time I may have a word with you in private. Will you give me leave to speak, and entreat your pardon for much that has passed?" Audrey's head was turned away; it rose a little more proudly, but no answer came for a minute. Then, "I think you have need to ask it," came in muffled tones. He paused, doubtful what to do. His line of action ought to depend on her state of mind, and who could guess what that might be? She could hardly fail to be indignant with Mr. Marshman, but on which of the many counts was she angry with him? He had argued over the case so often in his mind that he had become desperate of any conclusion, and out of his very desperation a wayward hope began to whisper that possibly, just possibly, as she now knew through Mr. Marshman of the marriage contract, she might even accuse him of carelessness, and hold him to be but a laggard in love. Was she now punishing him for having exposed her to Mr. Marshman's misapprehension, or was she merely troubled and cast down? Who could guess anything while she kept her head turned stiffly away. A wild desire seized him to take her by her pretty shoulders, and turn her round. "Will you not let me see your face?" he pleaded. "What prisoner would dare sue for mercy if the judge turned his back?" His voice was not used to the tone of deference, even when he entreated there was something of command in it. He leaned over, and took her hand, and slowly she turned her head towards him. "I know not," he said gently, "what Mr. Marshman may have dared to say to you, but I do entreat of you to believe whatever he said was without my knowledge or leave to meddle with matters of such privacy. I knew not that he understood anything of my matters; but I have to ask your pardon for having spoken unadvisedly in his presence." "I am glad he was not your ambassador," answered Audrey, rather coldly. "And more I have to confess," he continued. "I see now how cowardly a thing I did in hiding in your house, and bringing you into all this peril--for that also I do most heartily ask your forgiveness." "It was by my asking you came to my house," she answered, in rather a lofty tone. "If I chose to run risks, it was by mine own will; in that matter there is not anything to pardon."