“There must be,” he answered quickly. “This is either Flores or Corvo, I don’t know which. But on the eastern side of each there’s a town.” “Across the mountain?” “Yes. Santa Cruz in Flores, Rosario in Corvo; either would do. But I think this is Flores. We left Fayal for Grasiosa and were blown off our course by a southeast wind. The boat must have gone to pieces on the southeast point of Flores--there was too much east in the wind for Corvo.” “Then we’ll suppose we’re on the southwest side of Flores. How far would it be to Santa Cruz?” “Ten miles, as the crow flies. Twenty or more, allowing for the mountain and no track. I could be there to-morrow.” “And get a boat and sail back. You could slip into some little bay and come for us at dawn the day after, if you’d had a fair wind. I’ll bring food, and we could hide in some tiny inlet the yacht would never notice if they sailed round the island till doomsday. Then when they get tired and go, we can sail to Fayal. How far is it?” “A hundred and fifty miles or so. You wouldn’t be afraid in an open boat?” “I’d take her away from him if we had to go on a raft,” she said hardly. “Come and eat now, and then you’d better go. Have you a compass?” “I don’t want one. I can go by my watch and the sun. You don’t think they’ll try to take you both while I’m gone?” “They won’t try to take me, and I don’t think they’ll dare to hurry her so. Raimond will take his time, even in making love. And he won’t find her very kind, if she’s promised to marry you.” “She hasn’t, in so many words.” “It doesn’t matter,” Andria answered wearily. “She means it. Come and eat; you must be on your way before daylight. You’re not afraid of the man and his beasts?” “I’m afraid to leave you alone here for two days,” he said shortly. “I tell you plainly I don’t like it.” She had opened the door into the dining-room where her neglected dinner stood cold on the table. Under the bright light of the hanging lamp she turned on him with a wild passion that there was no gainsaying.