He was ill for some days, during which Olivia nursed him tenderly. She found in the vigil a balm for her own sorrow, a respite from the anxieties which ate her heart. The uncertainty made it worse for her. She would fall asleep, sitting uneasily in the chair by the bed, to dream of her husband lying in the earth, among the roots of the creepers, the mould in his eyes. Or she would see him chained to a log, working in the gang, carrying mud bricks to the walls, or singing, like the man in Cammock’s tale, with whip-cuts on his body. Sometimes, in the worst dreams, she saw him with the veiled figure of a woman, and woke crying to him to come back to her, knowing herself deserted. She had at first prayed that the men would attack Tolu at once, to bring him back to her. The point had been debated among the captains. But Perrin, at his best now, with his quiet, clumsy sympathy, had shown her that this was not possible. “And see, Olivia,” he said, “they must expect us. And we must run no risk of failure. You see, don’t you, what a danger it would be to him if we tried and failed? And the town will be full of troops for the next week or two, expecting an attack.” There were other good reasons against instant action. Cammock was sure that the Spaniards would send a force against the lurking-places along the Main, now that they had his charts as guides. Other captains thought this possible; so the word was given to return to Springer’s Key. After their arrival, they prepared the fort against attack, and warned all privateers at the frequented anchorages. Then, having time, they careened the _Broken Heart_, washing her with lime till she had something of her old speed again. Other privateers joined them when they heard that they intended to take Tolu. Margaret, sitting in the cabin, a convalescent, talked of his plans with Olivia. Many of the buccaneers were employed ashore, making long “dug-out” canoas for the attack. He pointed to one of these, as it lay bottom up on the sand, while the seamen tarred it against the worm. “I expect we shall bring your husband off in that one,” he said. “Yes?” she answered. “But I’ve been thinking, Charles, that I shall never see Tom again.” “What reasons have you?” he asked. “Look, Olivia, I’ve been thinking it over. There is so much possible to you. Your husband would be happy at a kind of life I’ve planned for him. On a sugar estancia in Jamaica. Or one of the big plantations here, as soon as the ground is cleared.” “Charles,” she said, “the plantations here will never be cleared. You’ve been dreaming. I’ve been dreaming. And I shall never see Tom again.” “You were always the despondent one in the old days,” he said lightly; then, growing grave, he added, “Olivia, all the voyage, I helped your dreams. I lied to you. All the voyage long, I lied. I longed to spare you. I could see no better way.” “I was a great fool, you thought.”