She reached up a quick, nervous hand and laid it against his breast. Her eyes, wide and steadfast, never flinched from his. "I've come--to stay," she repeated. And then, after a moment, "It's all right. I left a note behind for Bunny. I told him I wasn't going back." He caught her hand tightly into his. His hold was drawing her, and she yielded herself to it still with that quivering laughter that was somehow more eloquent than words, more piteous than tears. Saltash spoke, below his breath. "What am I going to do with you?" he said. Her arms reached up to him suddenly. Perhaps it was that for which she had waited. "You're going--to keep me--this time," she told him tremulously. "Oh, why did you ever send me away--when I belonged to you--and to no one else? You meant to give me my chance? What chance have I of anything but hell and damnation away from you? No, listen! Let me speak! Hear me first!" She uttered the words with passionate insistence. "I'm not asking anything of you--only to be with you. I'll be to you whatever you choose me to be--always--always. I will be your valet, your slave, your--plaything. I will be--the dust under your feet. But I must be with you. You understand me. No one else does. No one else ever can." "Are you sure you understand yourself?" Saltash said. His arms had closed about her. He was holding her in a vital clasp. But his restless look did not dwell upon her. It seemed rather to be seeking something beyond. Toby's hands met and gripped each other behind his neck. She clung to him with an almost frenzied closeness. "You can't send me away!" she told him brokenly. "If you do, I shall die. And I'm asking such a little--such a very little." "You don't know what you're asking, child," he said, and though he held her fast pressed to him his voice had the sombre ring of a man who battles with misgiving. "You have never known. That's the hell of it." "I do know!" she flung back almost fiercely. "I know--all I need to know--of most things. I know--very well--" her breath came quickly, but still her eyes remained upraised--"what would have happened--what was bound to happen--if the yacht had never gone down. I wasn't afraid then. I'm not now. You're the only man on this earth that I'd say it to. I hate men--most men! But to you--to you--" a sudden sob caught her voice, she paused to steady it--"to you I just want to be whatever you're needing most in life. And when I can't be that to you any longer--I'll just drop out--as I promised--and you--you shall never know a thing about it. That I swear." His look came swiftly to her. The blue eyes were swimming in tears. He made a sudden gesture as of capitulation, and the strain went out of his look. His arms tightened like springs about her. He spoke lightly, jestingly. "_Bien!_ Shall I tell what you shall be to me, _mignonne_?" he said, and smiled down at her with his royal air of confidence.